The lady round the corner just cut my hair. She’s slightly unbalanced and uncomfortably intense, but her great selling point is that she cuts without gabbing. I feel a bit sorry for her, actually, because her own hair is rather thin and fuzzy (looks like hormonal problem to me) and I think it bothers her. She’s always alone in her shop, and always scowling at herself in the mirrors. Never once in eleven years have I seen another hairdresser, or even an assistant, in her salon, even though it’s really quite large and has lots of sinks. I wonder, is she ‘difficult’? Even ‘temperamental’?
The repetitive cycle I appear to have submitted to over the years is that I get sick of split ends, go to her to get scalped, and then vow for the next 6 months to look for another hairdresser. Then, when I can no longer avoid seeing the bird’s nest on my head, I sigh deeply and surrender myself, cringing, into her power once more. Ach ja. I’m sure therapists have a revealing name for it.
Anyway, I’m sharing this drivel with you because today, even as she was hacking away at my grizzly locks, I had a feeling I’d seen the style she was busy recreating before somewhere. And sure enough, I’ve just found this photo that Drubgyud Tenzin Rinpoche took a couple of years ago at a temple in Kangra of one of the goddesses to whom the temple is dedicated (I think) and I must say, her ressemblance to me as I am today is really quite uncanny.