I had a haircut yesterday morning.
I walked to the shop, which is about a kilometre from my house, got my hair cut for Rs 100, gave the barber Rs 50 as tip, and walked back home.
Total cost: Rs 150. I call my guy a barber because I paid so less. If I had paid more than Rs 500, I would have called him a hair stylist.
If Rekha had had a haircut…wait…women don’t just do haircuts. They do precision cuts, blowouts, hair styling, updos, braiding, highlights, lowlights, root touch-ups, keratin treatments, perms, and deep conditioning.
Anyway, if Rekha had gone for a haircut, she would have taken an Uber Prime, which would have cost her Rs 600 to go to the second-nearest Toni & Guy, got her haircut done, which usually costs Rs 2,200, and then taken another Uber back.
Total cost: around Rs 3,400. That is almost three years’ worth of my haircuts.
And just for interest’s sake, let’s see how many years of haircuts I can manage in Rekha’s one year of haircut cost.
Please note that we won’t be taking into account all the money she spends on L’Oréal hair dye, shampoos, conditioners, serums, masks, clips, sprays, and other products that make the bathroom shelf look like a chemistry lab.
We are only taking into account her haircut costs.
I get one haircut every 45 days. For Rekha, there is no fixed time. If anyone in our extended family gets married, she gets a haircut. If any family member buys a house and does a housewarming ceremony, she gets a haircut. If someone invites us home, she gets a haircut. If we invite someone home, she gets a haircut.
If she has a new saree and blouse ready, she gets a haircut. If she doesn’t have a saree ready, she still gets a haircut because apparently a visit to the parlour triggers dopamine, the happy hormone.
The list goes on.
If I am liberal, I get one haircut done every 45 days. That is Rs 150 multiplied by 8, which comes to Rs 1,200 a year.
Let’s assume Rekha also gets one haircut done every 45 days. That is around eight haircuts in a year, costing a total of Rs 3,400 multiplied by eight, which comes to Rs 27,200.
So her one year’s haircut cost is equal to what I will be spending on 181 haircuts for myself, spread over 22 years.
If I had known she would be spending so much on haircuts I would have never told her that I love short hair. Don’t blame me…for I grew up watching Geetanjali Iyer, Usha Albuquerque, and Rini Khanna slice through evening news headlines on Doordarshan with chic “bob cuts”.
Or I could have opened my own parlour. Since every business should have a strong brand, I would spend at least a week picking my brand name from the top four choices.
Of course, we are inspired by Tony & Guy.
- Phony & Guy
- Toni & Why
- Wife & Guy
- Split Ends & Friends
But I guess that alone won’t be enough – just because I have a parlour and its name sounds similar to Toni & Guy, my wife won’t go there.
Remember, earlier you read that she goes to the second-nearest Toni & Guy, and not the nearest one? We would probably save Rs 800 on every visit if she went to the one closer to home.
But no sire. Apparently, the hair stylist at ‘that’ Tony & Guy is better.
I don’t know his name but my wife seems to love him more than she loves me.
You know us Rajans. We may be docile nerds, but when someone comes after our women, we don’t let it go easily.
You may have heard that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.
You may have even heard a modification of it which says the way to a man’s heart is not through his stomach, but from slightly below. If you get it, you get it.
But let me tell you a secret today – the way to a man’s heart is through jealousy.
If you can selectively poison him with a little bit of jealousy, he will hold you closer.
Don’t try this at home without expert guidance. This act needs a professional like Rekha to execute.
Anyway, let’s get back to the “special” hairstylist at the second-nearest Toni & Guy.
When, for the third time, Rekha said she wanted to go to that particular Toni & Guy, I grew suspicious. As she got into her Uber, I borrowed my friend’s Yamaha and his helmet, and followed her.
She was barely looking behind the car. Considering the secret meeting she was having at the parlour, I expected her to be a little more alert.
But she was busy on her phone. On second thoughts, maybe she was talking to him…telling him that she was on the way and excited.
I rode my Yamaha close to her Uber and peeped into the car from the side to see if I could figure out who she was speaking to.
I couldn’t. But I almost came under a truck coming from the opposite direction. When you are 51, jealousy is dangerous mainly because your reflexes are not what they used to be.
Anyway, after getting down at Toni & Guy, she walked into the parlour. I could spot a certain happiness in her walk.
“You cruel woman,” I thought to myself. “This is what I get for giving away 25 of my youthful years to you?”
With my helmet still on, I walked inside the parlour right behind her. Rekha, of course, couldn’t recognize me.
The lady at the reception looked at me and asked, “Courier?”
I nodded my head to say no.
“Zomato?” she asked.
I nodded again.
“Blinkit?” she asked.
I nodded and refused again, but by now Rekha had got curious and was about to turn back to see who the receptionist was talking to.
I have told you before, when the going gets tough, the tough get going. I quickly pointed at a lady getting her eyebrows done, and that was enough for the receptionist.
Since that lady was around 45 or so, she thought she was my wife and I had come to pick her up.
The receptionist said, “Sir, your wife is almost done…just 15 more minutes. Would you like some tea?”
If I had even uttered the word “yes,” Rekha, who was standing only four feet away from me, would have recognized me.
So I just waved my hand and refused. As I picked up a newspaper and hid behind it, I heard Rekha talking to the receptionist.
“Hi, my name is Rekha Rajan, and I last came on 6 April. I want the same hair stylist who worked on me last time.”
“Do you know his name?” the receptionist asked.
“Ohh, I am sorry. I forgot,” Rekha said apologetically.
That bit made me happy. So she didn’t know his name.
But somehow wives know when their husbands are getting happy, because they immediately do something to douse that happiness.
“But I do remember that he was tall and well built. Kind of wheatish. He had long hair, with blue streaks on the right side, I think. If I remember right, he was from Pune and has been working here for the last two years. He lives with his parents in Velachery area.”
Rekha literally had to gasp for breath once she was done. If I had asked Rekha to say five sentences about me, she would have failed. But here she was creating a one-hour Netflix special called “My Handsome Hair Stylist” for this random guy
“Ohh, that’s Himanshu Talpade. Let me call him,” the receptionist said.
For the next half hour, I waited there.
Himanshu was doing a good job styling my wife’s hair. It was clear that my wife was not cheating on me, so I got back home.
All of this happened last week.
Yesterday, as I waited at my saloon for my turn, I realized it had no receptionist and no sofa.
It was a poor man’s place…the perfect place where I would be welcome. Just as I sat there, a thought occurred to me.
What if my saloon had everything Rekha’s salon had, and I walked in and told the receptionist: “Hi, my name is Jamshed Rajan. I came here 45 days back. I want the same lady who cut my hair last time. Is she available?”
The receptionist would say, “I am sorry, sir. Do you know her name?”
“I am sorry, I don’t remember her name,” I would reply.
“Hmm…in that case can you please describe her for me?” The receptionist will continue.
“I remember she had a slender build, kind of like Kareena Kapoor. She had long curly hair that came up to her shoulders, and I think she had brown eyes as well. She had worked in Mumbai and Bangalore before coming to Chennai last year. She had said that her close friends call her ‘Pinky’. I think she has a younger brother who is in 12th standard and a father who was not keeping well. Here in Chennai she is staying in a PG.”
Rekha wouldn’t like to hear that I knew so much about my hair stylist. Or would she be OK? Unfortunately there is no way to find out.