Yaar, sitting here on my porch after a long day, watching the Gulmohar shed its flowers like confetti. That new unisex chain near the station—they’re offering a “first cut free” coupon. I saw my regular lady, Mrs. Patil, walk past with it in her hand yesterday. First I felt that pinch, you know? But then I thought, theek hai—let them try their fancy AC and loud music; my women know I’ll remember their mother’s arthritis and their daughter’s board exam. Market sorts it out in the end. Like how my son’s engineering admission came through after all that waiting—when the pressure is real, people go with what works, not what’s shiny.

That new unisex chain near the station—they’re hiring girls on “trial” for two months without a stitch of paper. I spent twenty years cutting hair for film crews in Mumbai without a single contract, just a handshake and cash in an envelope, and theek hai, I built my own shop from that. But now with my son’s engineering fees, I see how one bad season can wipe out a steady client list—yaar, informal work works until it doesn’t, and then nobody helps you pick up the pieces.