Yes, I cheated on my hair-stylist

Okay, I confess. I cheated. The guilt is killing me. It happened in Paris at Le Meurice Hotel.

It was during the fashion week. Contrary to common belief, these fashion weeks are no fun. Since shows are spread all over the city (unlike India where everything is comfortably inside a common area) covering shows in Europe is painful. You get exhausted running between venues, standing in stilettos, changing outfits in between shows, the must-attend re-sees... by the end of the week, you are a wreck.

That's when my colleague from New York pointed at this guy who was getting into the elevator at the hotel and suggested, "Go, do it, you will feel relaxed. I do it every evening." Honestly, I needed a dose of TLC. My feet were aching, my eyes were tired, and my hair was an utter mess.

I desperately needed a hair wash, a blow dry and a pedicure. I decided to take the plunge. My colleague was already by the elevator, dragging me along even before I could put those ridiculous shoes on.

It started with a hair wash until I saw this guy who was strapping on his scissor holster. It was Christophe Robin, the man who gives celebrities that orgasmic au naturel look. The man who took highlighting to another level with his pioneering colouring technique. And I was barely two feet away from him.

And then it happened. One thing led to another. Before I knew, I was under Christophe's scissors. He was gentle with my hair, appreciating its quality and natural colour.

In his incredibly sexy French accent he asked, "So who is your regular.?" I told him Rossano Ferretti. "Hmmm, Italiano eh," he joked faking an Italian accent. A hair dresser with a sense of humour and skilful hands. What more could you ask for?

My colleague, who was in the midst of her pedicure, was right. This was exactly what I needed. A good hair wash and blow dry. But it was supposed to end there.

However, I failed the test of faith. I couldn't resist. I let another man touch, cuddle and chop my hair. But despite his coaxing, I did resist colouring. By then, a sting of guilt was beginning to hit me. A good woman never cheats, especially on her hair-stylist.

If it's any consolation, it wasn't really the same. The curls were too tight and it didn't come out the way I had expected. It didn't mean anything. There was no connection. It was rather clinical.

The relationship between a woman and her hair-dresser is much more intimate than the snip-snap-out-the-door style men have. Much like sex if you will. It is quite acceptable for a man to finish the job and turn around and snore. But the woman lying next to you expects some cuddles and pointless conversation until she drifts off into a smiling slumber. A hair-cut is something like that. You must walk out of the salon smiling, feeling top of the gorgeous world.

A good hair-dresser who understands your hair, its frizz, the soft scalp that needs special attention et al is hard to come by. (It's like finding a husband material or a silent driver). So when you find one, you know he is a keeper.

I bet most women have their hair-dressers on speed dial and certainly on the "important people list". My guess is it will be somewhere between husband/lover and driver.

The hair-stylist plays an important role in a woman's life. He is around for you on your good hair-days and bad-hair days. He plays the psychiatrist without the couch. He speaks to you in his soft measured tone and asks how are you feeling today. How is work?

You don't really have to answer these questions, because he pretty much gets the answers from the state of your hair. If it's too dry: you have been stressed at work or home; outgrown the cut: travelling too much; oily: you are paying less attention to yourself; too many hair products: you are overcompensating for something important. They know how to speak to your hair and get the answers to your life dilemmas.

Which is why her hair is the most important life statement for a woman. It is statistically proven that most women go for a drastic hair style change after a traumatic experience in their lives, especially a divorce or a professional change. I have personally gone from ankle-length hair to pixie cut over the years. Most of these changes invariably followed various personal or professional makeovers in my life.

A hair-stylist judges your mood as he washes your hair, and gives you his opinion on what would look best with that extra chin you think you have developed suddenly, or the forehead that seems to have grown a little out of proportion. He will tell you how to highlight those beautiful cheekbones and bring out your best features.

A good hair-stylist knows what to say and when. And your secrets are safe with him, almost as good as a confession box. That's why cheating on your hair-stylist makes you feel so awful. It is like you lied to the priest, and then confessed it to another one.

I was lucky. Despite cheating on him thrice (I might as well come out full monty now: New York and Goa, besides Paris), my "regular guy" set me straight. He took my indiscretion in his stride and forgave me with a complete change-over.

He said: "You strayed because you were bored and frustrated." Maybe he is right. I am just glad we made up. I am back to my good-hair-days. No more experimenting.

At least, for a while.