GOING UNDER A PAIR OF SCISSORS

I sat on a black chair with my head bent down and half closed eyes. My legs were perched on a footrest, and my left hand clasped my right one with a reassuring grip. I sat still on the chair with my tresses brushing against my cheeks on either side. I lost count of time from the moment I sat on that chair because I knew it would take a while.

My gaze could follow only one direction; down. A racy Bollywood number enveloped the room. It doused my anxiety or had a soothing effect on me, I can’t tell. There were momentary instructions of ‘neeche dekho’ and gentle nudging of my head with a finger from behind. This was followed by the sharp noise of metals clanking against each other.

After some time, the white floor seemed to be covered with a carpet of black and fluffy substance. I could feel the thing sliding down with every sharp snap; snap of a pair of scissors. The hands with the pair of scissors and the comb made a rush for every strand of hair jutting out inappropriately. It moved with dexterity to give my hair the perfect shape and length. The busy hands at work moved with a sense of calmness yet efficiency.

I am always particular about my hair but not today because I knew that something exciting awaited me. This time I would raise my head only to find a reflection of new ‘ME’. The more smoothly the hands worked, the faster my heart palpitated. I couldn’t prevent myself from clouding my imagination with my new look.

The justified long wait was finally over. After being snapped, tousled and brushed, I saw the reflection on the mirror with a gratified smile.  It was ‘ME’ but only with a pleasing difference.

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