Arayeshgah
This is quite
an interesting place: an all-female salon in Iran
July 9, 2004
iranian.com
I remember watching a scene out of Braveheart -- Scottish
men in kilts going off to fight the evil British, standing by
the fields to
begin the war, and waging it full force. Then
came the spears raining from the sky and the swords mercilessly
plowing through bodies, as if a breakfast knife through warm butter.
As
I sit there, watching her tower high above me, and swish her
sword to one by one slaughter the lonely, yet unruly soldiers,
I wonder if the pain those characters would have felt is anything
comparable. Unlike the characters in the movie though -- who
will meet their eternal grave upon feeling the knife -- these guys
will
be back by this time in two weeks. It is a constant battle that
is neither won nor lost. She the lonely swordsmen, but strong
enough to behead them all. And I am the middleman -- the ground
upon which they fight.
At
this hour, after the long day, her tweezers
seem be gnawing away at my stomach, reminding me of the lunch
I should have had. Through it all though I look forward to shedding
the extra bit of mass: walking in public with all the excess of
eyebrows was beginning to get to me.
While she moves to get her
scissors, I look at the chair beside me. The girl, -- known as
the band-andaaz -- is so carefully going
through every inch of the woman's face, trying not to leave
a scar -- or hair -- behind. As I watch the lady's
face grow red as a ripe summer tomato, I thank god I don't
have to go through that torture. Plucking eyebrows are
one thing. Having to run a lawn mower on your face every week is
another.
She returns and stands above me. A true Persian
lady some would call her. In attitude, flare, and even facial
features. As I sit there feeling her hands move in and around
my eyebrows, I can tell that it is going to be one of those dark,
stormy days.
She is
mad -- fuming. I can feel it by the rapid movement of her hand,
which pulls out those nasty beings... tat tat tat (pause) tat...
tat tat tat (pause)... tat. She is usually calm and consistent
-- there
is no rhythm. She is moving to a drum -- the drum of
war that is.
"Kokab, beh khodaa agar baraash naahaar beghiri..." (Kokab, if
you buy her luch, I swaer...) She does not go on to complete the
threat.
There is a war going on here.
A different sort of war that sheds no blood and the weapons are
cunning, hurtful words and the dying victims are always things
called pride and dominance. Its boundaries are determined by the
desk in the middle belonging to the boss.
Today though, it is the boss's daughter who, typical of
the one in the movies, is running her hands through her curly hair,
while chewing gum and talking on the phone. There is the right
side army and the left side army. Each has a single commander,
and a few soldiers to follow her lead.
The commanders on each side
are the leaders of the group: The eyebrow lady, Foti Khanom, on
the right and the number one person in charge of
hair, Farah Khanom, on the left. Their objective for waging war
is not very clear, and constantly changing. One day
Farah
Khonam
did not cut Foti Khanom's customer's hair on time.
Another day Masoomeh Khanom answered the phone while the
boss, Eshrat Khanom, was out and had left the task to Foti Khanom.
And in the end, perhaps it's just a group of foozool, middle
aged Iranian women working in a salon.
Although
she is not the oldest person on the staff, Foti has been here
the longest. She also draws the most customers. But the staff on
the left side is older. After the boss leaves, and its times to
hand over power to
the staff, why shouldn't they be next in line
for the throne and enjoy better salaries, tips, as well as kind
words from the usually unapproachable boss.
I am not sure what it is, but somehow,
you will always find yourself sympathizing for Foti. Contrary
to the typical salon worker, she is not nosy. She is not very
chatty.
She is polite. And most importantly, her dress code does not
remind you of a dancer in some wild music video.
This is quite an interesting place: an all-female salon
in Iran. People come to have their bangs cut as if going to their
best friend's wedding. You sometimes think that you might
be caught in the middle of a fashion shoot. Manijeh shows off
the latest bikini top she has
bought from her trip to Spain and Zahra
has the newest designer miniskirt
from her trip to Dubai. Maybe people, by nature, like
to show their accessories in public. And this is as "public" as
it gets here.
 She hands me the mirror and asks me
what I think about her work. I always wonder why she does that
when all is over with.
So what
if she screwed up and half my eyebrow is gone... what
can she do about it? But maybe she knows that -- all too
well. She only hands me the mirror when she has won the war ...
and won it well.
Next battle, same place, same time, in about 2
weeks.
.................... Say
goodbye to spam!
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