Salons as Solace: How Women Process Life in Sector-Side Parlours in Chandigarh

Inside a small salon tucked into the corner of Sector 22, a woman sits with her hair wrapped in foil, speaking softly about a miscarriage she never told her mother about. No one flinches. The beautician nods gently, her hands moving with the ease of routine.

In Chandigarh’s sector-side parlours, moments like this unfold every day, not because they’re unusual, but because these spaces have quietly become emotional sanctuaries. Here, the scent of dye mingles with tales of heartbreak, marital strife, career aspirations, and everyday exhaustion. These aren't just beauty appointments; they’re therapy sessions in disguise, held in the soft hum of a fan and the buzz of a wax heater.

Chatter Chairs – Where Parlours Echo With Everyday Lives

Sector-side beauty parlours in Chandigarh began flourishing in the 1990s and early 2000s, largely due to urban planning that prioritised mixed-use commercial zones in every sector. Designed as ground-level shops in residential areas, these small establishments provided an affordable and accessible option for women, particularly homemakers, to gather, socialise, and share gossip. Unlike glossy mall salons, these local parlours evolved into informal community zones, where the line between service and support often blurred.

In these intimate spaces, conversation rarely stays on the surface. “It ranges from personal involving maids and husbands to sometimes emotional, including fights if they get the eyebrows wrong,” shares Menaka, 31, half-laughing. Rekha, 62, adds that it’s common to hear stories about family life and domestic dynamics: “It’s very light and emotional, about kids, daughters-in-law, even health scares.” For some, like Ray, 21, who identifies as enby, the partner-focused chatter can feel alienating, but even they recall unexpected warmth: “This one lady who had five kids once complimented me on my whack hairdo. That stayed with me.”

Silent Listeners

As beauty services unfold, so do layered conversations. The women offering these services often become trusted listeners, absorbing more emotion than they’re paid for. In many cases, these beauticians are from modest economic backgrounds, sometimes working long hours for minimal compensation, yet still extending care beyond the transactional. These roles fall into what sociologists term “emotional labour,” performed without recognition or respite.

Menaka recalls a moment that lingered: “There was this pregnant single mother who worked here; she treated us like queens. That made me sad.” For Rekha, it was a moment of quiet injustice that struck her: “Once I offered to tip a worker, but she said the owner wouldn’t like it. That made me emotional, it showed me how systems limit even small acts of kindness.” Others, like Meena Hari, 48, remember smaller gestures: “One of the parlour women gave a toffee to my child. It was such a small act, but so thoughtful considering their situation.” These instances remind us that salons are as much about listening as they are about looking good.