Wellness at a cost

I walked into my hairdressers’ for a long overdue haircut. Sorry, the word is no longer hairdresser. The humble hairdresser morphed into a unisex salon which morphed into a spa which currently stands in its mutated avtaar as a wellness centre that promised everything for the tired city slicker’s senses.


Soft piped instrumental music, liveried attendants, and the mandatory frangipani flowers that one associates with such places lure me in.

My immediate need for a haircut is brushed aside. I need much more, I’m told ominously. The sales pitch of wholesome rejuvenation combined with the fragrance of essential oils and scented candles begin take effect on me. I surrender to the place.

I have to answer many objectionable questions before they can decide what to do with me.

All I need is a hair cut, I begin to protest … Does it really matter how many ounces of alcohol or water I have consumed in the last one month. Or for that matter whether I suffer from anxiety or depression or carpel tunnel syndrome? My meek protests about intrusion of privacy fall on deaf ears and the next thing I know, I am filling out a form in triplicate with the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

‘Ma’am your hair is too dry…too brittle. What you need is a hair spa treatment that uses marine algae for infusing life into dead hair.

'..Er isn’t all hair dead ?', the partially awake rational part of my brain wants to question.

And algae! Since when did this lowly unicellular life form attain such an exalted position in the wellness world? These questions never leave my lips, as by now the irrational part of my brain has signed me up for the signature algae hair treatment.

After hair comes face. I’m made to peer into a seemingly innocuous looking monitor and what stares back at me is a grotesque surface with giant white, black and blue spots and craters not unlike what one sees in telescopic pictures of the moon. The haircut I came for is suddenly rendered unimportant. Its more critical to address the craters on my face.

They start with a de-tanning treatment. I should have told them I was dark skinned, not tanned. But then I had already surrendered my senses (and wallet) unto them completely. They cleanse, tone, exfoliate and subject my facial tissues to various other processes. I dont recall how long I had been in that state of suspended reality... till suddenly, I am jolted out of my seat, wincing with pain.

'What are you doing to me ?'


'Ma'am we are removing a stubborn blackhead… '


'That is not a blackhead you moron. it’s a birthmark I was born with'.

And as you may have guessed, that ended my session at the wellness centre. The place was good neither for the wellness of my senses nor my self esteem. The only wellness I saw was that of their ringing cash registers.

 I had decided to make peace with my facial craters, dead hair follicles, dusky skin tone and all my other imperfections! It was all in the larger interest of my longterm wellness!