H air is political. Hair is power. Hair is love. Hair is heartache too. And no one understands this better than a good hairstylist. That is perhaps why, in nearly every survey of ‘happiest workers’, hairdressers are the crowning glory. But where does this contentment spring from? What is the good, bad, and ugly in the life of a hairstylist? I, well, got in the hair of a senior stylist in Bengaluru to find out.
Phalchong Khongsai, who prefers to be called Chand, has been a hairstylist with Bodycraft Spa & Salon in Indiranagar for more than 12 years. Now in her mid-30s, she came to the city from Manipur in 2006 to study and find a job to support her single mother and brother. She felt guilty about spending her mother’s money on her education, and thus began apprenticing at a local salon.
Having experimented with her own hair from her teen years, Chand instinctively knew she had what it takes. But apprenticeship was not easy. The work was gruelling, poorly paid and relentless. “It was about doing all the work nobody wants to do,” she says. But it was also an opportunity to observe and learn as she swabbed floors, cleared dustbins, made tea, cleaned equipment, and after a few months, gave massages, shampooed hair, and trimmed nails. She was also committing to memory the purpose of hundreds of products, not to mention colour wheels and the science of hair colouring. She hadn’t cut a single strand of hair yet!
“It was usual for me to cry myself to sleep every night,” says Chand about her initial years. But she did not give up and kept practising and learning from seniors. After a year, she worked as a hairstylist at a reputed salon where she honed her artistry further. In 2010, she joined her current employer. Today, as one of the senior-most stylists at the salon, she is much in demand, and sees customers only by appointment.
Ubiquitous Instagram
It was a Saturday when I dropped by. Chand was waiting for her second client of the day. She usually comes in by 9.30 am, gobbles down a quick breakfast, and begins her day, which can go on till 8 pm, sometimes longer. “When I see a customer and I know they are happy, it gives me a great feeling,” she says. She believes she does her best work when the customer trusts her. Often, she plays confidant — people confide in her about everything from household problems to boyfriend-girlfriend trouble and itchy skin. But sometimes, she gets obstinate clients who are unwilling to listen. She says, “They bring Instagram and show me… they do not understand that hair styling is also about texture, facial shape, and skin colour!”
Although the salon specialises in customising hair cuts and colours, the demand for vibrant colouring has gone up greatly in recent times. Swati Gupta, creative director of this salon chain, says, “The blues, greens, really flamboyant pinks and neons are now the hottest hair colours. Since it is summer, people are looking for short, easy-to-wear styles.” Swati adds that, interestingly, even some of their older clients are experimenting more nowadays. “Some stick to the conventional styles but many others are more accepting of new trends. For instance, a lady who has been smoothening her hair for years, now believes in keeping it natural and wavy.”
Chand’s client, a woman perhaps in her early 30s, settles down in front of the mirror. She is accompanied by a man, presumably her partner. He is gazing at the price card. In a virtual demonstration of what we had just chatted about, the client fishes out her phone and there is the dreaded Instagram! Later, Swati tells me the latest trends have all sprung from the launch event of the Nita Mukesh Ambani Cultural Centre in Mumbai. The Indo-western hair colours and styles followed by celebrities at the event are “hawt” and much in demand.
Meanwhile, Chand holds a long consultation with her client about how much trimming her hair needs and what colour suits her best. She eventually convinces her that the discount is genuine. Once the price is settled, the husband strolls away and Chand gets to work.
Delayed meals
Chand begins the laborious process of hair colouring with occasional testy interruptions by the client about the length of hair that is being cut and how long it will take for the colour to show up. Once the colour is applied, she gets a 30-minute break during which we talk about her gastric problems because of extended gaps between meals, and her neck and back pains caused by long hours of standing. “Me being short makes it worse,” she says with a twinkling laugh.
To be a great hairstylist, Chand explains, one must be dexterous and also know geometry and chemistry! An aptitude for angles is crucial as is the ability to understand balance and a sense of colour. It is also an attention to detail and the capacity to endure long hours with a smile that makes a difference.
When we talk about the pandemic years, her animated reaction would have been comical if it weren’t so serious. She says, “Oh, don’t remind me… it was the worst time. The salon was closed and once in a while, a client would show up asking for a haircut. I was miserable and worried I would have to go back.”
By the time Chand completes the colouring and the styling, helps me try my hand at the job (see box), and packs off the finally happy client, it is almost 3 pm. “I am hungry!” she declares but makes no attempt to take a break. I urge her to eat. She says she will, but she has to be quick, since her next appointment is almost upon her. Before she runs off, I ask her one final question. What does hair mean to her? Hair is fun, she says with her trademark smile. “You change hairstyle, you change you, you know?” she adds.
Family as guru
After spending a day at one of the fanciest salons in Bengaluru, it was time to get a feel of the modest barber shop near my home. When I first approached Manjunath in his shop, it was closing time and there were no customers. Noticing a woman peering inside, he stepped out. When I told him I was a reporter and would like to chat with him, he was perplexed. “Yaake madam, naavu hair cutting madthivi ashte... (Why us, madam, we are just barbers),” he asked.
Once he was convinced I meant no harm, we fixed up a day and time, but the day happened to be amavasya (New Moon) with a solar eclipse to boot and Manjunath thought it would be inauspicious to meet. Indeed, traditions in certain communities forbid cutting (and sometimes washing) hair on New Moon day, believing it to be an invitation to bad luck.
The next day, we sat down to chat. The shop has space to squeeze in three customers at a time. New Natural Hair Cutting has existed on the Shettihalli Main Road for 28 years now and Manjunath tells me his is the oldest barber shop in the area, started when the area was still called Chikkabanavara village. It is on the outskirts of northwest Bengaluru. Shankar Nag, a favourite poster boy among auto drivers, smiles down from the signboard.
“My grandfather and father both were barbers and I was initiated into the kasbu (trade) in my early teens,” says Manjunath and recalls how his father used to serve customers under a banyan tree. “We used open razors then and my father made me an apprentice with my uncles. By the time I completed my SSLC (10th grade), I had picked up the basics and my father used to convince his patrons to let me try my skills on them. Slowly, my confidence grew as did the trust of the customers,” he says.
As his clientele increased, Manjunath set up his shop. Now in his late 40s, he has braved many ups and downs, including the biggest downer in his professional life — the pandemic. “Earlier, there were not many shops and we had loyal customers. It was normal for me to not get the time to even have nashta (breakfast) till 3 pm!” says Manjunath, mirroring Chand’s experience. A few decades ago, it was also not unusual for the barber to service 25 customers a day, with his day beginning at 6 am and ending only around 8 pm. A fit man, Manjunath shrugs off my question about the long hours of standing. He says he can stand for four hours at a stretch without trouble. “We still open the shop by 6.30 am and close around 8 pm but customers are fewer (around 8-10 in a day) and the money is slightly better,” he says. Manjunath has a whole range of customers — from local businessmen, skilled and unskilled workers to software engineers and marketing executives. “When local IT people have to go to a party or somewhere important, they go to beauty parlours. For regular haircutting, they come to us,” says Manjunath. His oldest customers are over 60 and have been coming to the shop for over 25 years now.
Lockdown woes
He remembers the lockdown years with a shudder. “It was bad. I was worried for my three children. Only a few loyal customers used to come home and some others used to call, asking for instructions on how to cut their hair,” he says. A curious fallout of the pandemic years is that not many seek a shave now. “Avare kalthkondbitru, madam (the clients learnt how to shave),” he says ruefully.
Today, Manjunath faces stiff competition not just from other barber shops on the road but also from posh salons. “People come armed with YouTube videos… I want the style like this, colour like this… I have learnt to take just one glance at the video and replicate the style,” says Manjunath, adding that he charges Rs 20-30 extra for such ‘special styles’. His usual rate for a haircut, head massage and shave ranges between
Rs 200 and Rs 250.
“Clients are particular about cleanliness nowadays… so are we. Even before they say anything, we clean our equipment with ‘Dettol’ in front of them,” he says, pointing to his shelves, choc-a-bloc with shampoos, conditioners, styling gels, dyes and hair colours. He stocks both local and branded products and sources them from trusted suppliers in the Majestic area. Products are used according to what the client demands.
Talent is scarce
Manjunath’s nephew Srinivas, training under him, says they are keen to expand the family business but are not finding enough trained barbers. Traditional barber castes in Karnataka, known under the umbrella name ‘Savitha Samaja’, are largely economically backward, with their work not respected enough. The community also includes nadaswara players, who, says Manjunath, have their own traditional way of training in classical music — a story for another day! In fact, former chief minister B S Yediyurappa had once promised to ban the word hajaama (barber) often used in Kannada as a term of abuse or mockery. “Nowadays, in our community, youngsters are not interested in learning the trade. They want to study and do other stuff,” says Srinivas who considers himself an exception. Manjunath is not keen that his children carry on the family profession. “I want them to study. Hair cutting kashta (is difficult); I don’t want my children to struggle,” he says.
I am clumsy, so I was hesitant to ask Chand to teach me the basics of blow-drying and trimming — she looked quite aghast when I eventually asked her.
“No, customer will not like!” she blurted out. I reassured her that I would only try it out on a mannequin. Relieved, she hunted around for a suitable dummy and found one in a corner with the name ‘Mohan’ scribbled on its neck.
A waist-length wig was plonked on Mohan’s head and Chand got a blow-dryer, a comb, and scissors for me.
“You have to first learn how to comb hair,” she began and told me to take out the tangles. I assure you I comb my hair every day, but this proved to be an unusually difficult task. Chand took one look at my comb stuck mid-hair and offered to help. I refused, and managed to smoothen Mohan’s mane.
I picked up the scissors and held them up with a flourish — like I do while cutting paper. Chand rushed
in to caution me, “No, no, you will cut your fingers!” She demonstrated how the extra-sharp hair-trimming scissors needed to be held — with the ring finger and thumb, a grip that helps the stylist delicately
manoeuvre the instrument while clasping the comb and the hair with the other hand. Oh, all those
YouTube videos make it look so easy! This was tough.
First attempt, I promptly dropped the comb. The second time, I gripped the comb and the hair so tightly that I almost yanked the wig off poor Mohan’s head. Chand was perturbed, afraid that any moment now she might have to run for a first-aid kit. Finally, I figured out how to hold the comb and the hair in my left hand, while I cut the hair slowly, artlessly, as instructed by an increasingly exasperated Chand.
In the next five minutes, I cut about an inch of Mohan’s straight hair. I had managed a trim! Next came the blow-drying. This was the easy bit, though it made me appreciate again the craft that goes into pulling off that salon-like bounce!