2005. THE L’OREAL SALON in Chennai. I was at the eye of a storm, all because Susan (one of the head stylists) and I had bonded instantly over the fact that I wanted my hair cut, as short as possible. Something with an edge, I said. Susan’s smile on hearing the word “edge” was the biggest I had ever received in a salon. She went to work with razors, clippers and two vats of colour, one copper, the other fire-engine red. Considering every other female there was getting a “trim” with the odd blonde highlight or two, Susan and I had unknowingly provided entertainment and conversational fodder for the next two and a half hours. From that day onwards, the fire-spikes got me more than just a little attention. A nun at my college (yes, it was a catholic institution) hinted that I might be setting a bad example, but found it hard to explain herself when I asked her why.
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