The Generation Z

I felt a little stupid walking into a quasiexpensive salon braving an outside temperature of 42^oC (107.6^o F) in Nagpur’s infamous summer. The roads were deserted, as one would expect, in the middle of the day. However, I could not postpone my visit—overt growth of facial hair had started restricting my social life. So I walked in, almost stealthily, to the comfortably air-conditioned salon expecting to see a bunch of sleepy-eyed people giving me the why-is-this-dame-here-at-this-ungodly-hour look.

Instead, I was happily surprised to see a couple of slaves-to-beauty-consciousness clients ensconced in the chairs and a mild buzz of activity around them. I was greeted with a big smile from the pretty receptionist—how much of this smile was for my obvious need for threading and how much of it was at the thought of emptying my purse remains debatable. The next surprise was bigger, literally. The girl who emerged from behind a door was tall with long, never-ending legs clad in a pair of body-hugging, designer jeans. She was 19 something and had that devil may care attitude typical of girls her age. She had a face angelic and impudent at the same time. Tribal style bracelets adorned her not-so-delicate wrist, a diamond nosering reflected some light and more attitude, many diamonds that decorated her ear-lobes spied about her background. I was definitely not expecting a she-could-have-been-a-model to do my eye-brows! My astonishment must have been evident (and not new to her) because she gave me a patronizing look and asked me to take a chair.

The way her hands moved swiftly, surely and she rid me of my facial hair without making me reach for wads of tissues—all in less than five minutes, gave me a feeling that she belonged to the rare group of people who are highly efficient and perfect in whatever they decide to do. I felt like asking her what she was doing in a salon. Why a prospective supermodel would chose a profession that included cleaning smelly toes of people is way beyond my understanding.

But then again, I was meeting the generation Z. They know their minds, they have the courage to follow their hearts, they know no work is undignified. The girl, who in all possibilities might never have poured herself a glass of water, was playing Abigail to clients. As a mom, I was disturbed by the thought of my son following his heart to someplace similar to. But hey, will I not be proud of him, at his courage, even secretly?