Hair cuts and conversations. This was what salons were for, a few decades ago. Friendships were formed over the ‘snip, snip’ of hair dressers’ scissors; opinions were shared as Ilaiyaraaja blared on the radio at the counter. But, as times changed, so did salons. They opened their doors to electric trimmers, hair dryers and steamers; modified and air-conditioned their interiors.
However, some salons refuse to change. Frozen in a time when they did roaring business, they take us back to the city of Madras, where streets were calmer and people had time to savour little luxuries like haircuts and shaves.
Jothi Hair Dressers, in Royapettah, that's been in existence since 1952. Photo: R. Ravindran.
Jothi Hair Dressers, Royapettah
“Politics begins at salons,” says P. Mathivanan, proprietor of Jothi Hair Dressers, as he sits on a chair at the entrance of his salon on a dull afternoon, waiting for customers. He points to a clump of newspapers on plastic chairs. “In the past, there wasn’t a day that went by without my customers discussing what was in them.” The salon was set up in 1952 by his father S.P. Palani. Jothi’s history can be traced back to the days when M. Karunanidhi and the late Murasoli Maran and actor Jaishankar were in their prime. “They were my father’s clients,” says Mathivanan.
Jothi has been done up like a typical salon of its times — concave green glass doors with a hand-painted picture of a boy in shorts saying vanakkam ; red oxide floors; panels of Belgian mirrors framed in Burma teak; and pista-green wooden beams across the high, whitewashed ceiling.
Mathivanan hasn’t changed the workings-on at the salon much. Customers have dwindled, but he still draws the regulars, who find comfort in the polished wooden chairs they’ve sat on for years. The oldest relic in the salon is a framed photo of Gandhiji that Mathivanan’s father got autographed when the Mahatma visited Madras in the 40s. Mathivanan, though, is very matter-of-fact about his workplace. “Customers don’t have the time to admire all this these days,” he feels. “They’re all in a hurry to get a haircut and get on with their routine.”
USP: The interiors and chairs
Kerala Hairdressers, Pondy Bazaar, that's been in existence since 1939. Photo: R. Ravindran.
Kerala Hairdressers, Pondy Bazaar
The salon’s atmosphere is more like a temple – with incense and devotional music floating through its neatly-kept interiors. Kerala is probably the oldest-surviving salon in the city — it has been in existence since 1939. Founded by Sanguni Nair from Thrissur, who belonged to the ‘Valakathara House’, a family that traditionally consists of hairdressers, the salon was taken over by his son Aravindakshan and is now run by A. Sandeep, the founder’s grandson.
Kerala takes pride in its Maan-mark teakwood salon chairs. Handcrafted by an artisan called Vedagiri, who signed with the symbol of a stag in flight, the chairs are a work of art. “We own the first chair that Vedagiri made,” says Sandeep. “It was he who made all our teakwood panels.” Vedagiri’s chairs were a must-have for salons back then. In fact, they were the only available quality chairs.
Sandeep points to the mirrors by the row of chairs. “They were designed specifically to hold the client’s attention,” he explains. “Each rectangular mirror has paintings on either side. He will naturally look right into the mirror, holding his head straight. This will make it easier for us to work.” There are tilted mirrors suspended behind each of the chairs as well. Kerala has a lot of famous people in its clientele, including Nalli Kuppusamy and actor Sivakumar.
The teak panels on its walls and doors have been polished smooth by years of usage and stories of nationalism, government affairs and issues that rocked the nation. “This is what a salon kadai is all about,” smiles Sandeep. People spoke more inside these four walls than anywhere else.
USP: The antique mirror panels
Shanmugam Saloon, Thiruvanmiyur, is over 50-years-old. Photo: R. Ravindran.
Shanmugam Salon, Thiruvanmiyur
The dull clang of the temple bell, the chatter of fruit vendors, and the drone of vehicles form the music for customers at Shanmugam Salon. Located opposite the Marundeeswarar Temple, behind the ancient Bhavani Medai (a raised stone stage), the salon is over 50 years old. “My grandfather T.G.S. Govindaswamy was a nadhaswaram player in the temple,” says S. Venkatesh, who runs the place. “When he was not at the temple, he was doing the rounds of the Mada Veedhis (the four lanes around the temple tank), giving haircuts to regular customers.”
The tiny salon can house not more than two customers at a time. The wooden counter bears a jar of Raja Cool Cream and Jasmine Full Attar, a talcum powder and a small TV talks to the walls at the far end. With an old curtain separating it from the view of the magnificent temple gopuram, it is held by sturdy walls made of ‘kandi kal’ (a variety of bricks) and clay.
“ Mudi thiruthuthal (setting the hair right) is often a family profession,” explains Venkatesh. How much does he charge for a haircut? “Rs. 100,” he answers. “But I often give a discount of Rs. 10 or 20.”
USP: The temple view
C.M. Hairstyles, Pudupet
Tucked deep inside the bowels of Pudupet, this salon serves the men who throng the oil-stained by-lanes of the automobile spare-parts haven. The proprietor M. Narayanaswamy is the proud owner of a ‘Singapore rolling chair’ with an iron base. “The chair is over 50 years old,” he says. “My father got it second-hand from a shop in Mylapore.”
The 50-year-old was once a specialist of the hairstyle Kamal Haasan sported in the movie Ninaithale Inikkum . “We then moved on to the military cut. Right now, I mostly do the scissors cut, that middle-aged men prefer.” A hand-painted price-list from Narayanaswamy’s father’s days holds a special place in the salon — above the panel of mirrors.
USP: The simple scissors cut
B. Munusamy, Choolai
“American style, Tony crop, Police cut, Scissors cut…” B. Munusamy reels off terms for hairstyles as though they’re names of old friends. The 74-year-old hairstylist is seated under the shade of a bus stand on Demellow’s Road, Choolai. It’s been 52 years since he came to this spot, carrying his cloth bag that consists of a steel box of scissors and combs — which can be described as his salon.
“There were 10 of us when we started out,” he says. “We sat along one end of the road with our equipment from 7 a.m., a wooden box that doubled as a stool in front of us.” The men gave haircuts to people who worked in George Town. “For Re. 1, 16 people could get their hair cut,” he remembers.
There were very few salons in the city back then, and the roadside salons were where the common man got his hair cut. Seated under trees and bus stops, these hairdressers were experts in their own right. “But all of my colleagues have passed away,” says Munusamy. “I’m the only one left.” The man must have done thousands of haircuts during his time. “Thousands?” he laughs and shakes his head. “Lakhs.”
USP: The human touch
