If you live as long as me, there comes a time when you do not feel the need to explain yourself to anybody.
Since August 5th, I have had to answer many questions about my hair.
The first one was from Ashok who held his shiny scissors against the length of my hair and hesitated.
“Ma’am, are you sure?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Do you want to take it step-by-step so that you may not regret later?”
“No, I’m ok. Just cut it.”
“You know some women have second thoughts and change their minds.”
“I know.”
“So?”
“Cut it.”
“Alright, but let me take pictures of your hair before I cut it.”
I select the camera icon on my phone and hand it to him.
After a couple of pictures, he hesitated again.
“Ma’am, do you really want to …?”
“Yes, my mind is made up.”
He looked at my shoulder-length hair from different angles, and said,
“You know, actually short hair will suit you. It will look fantastic with those silver highlights.”
“I know.”
Ashok's scissors deftly snip my henna-tinted curls which descend to the floor in a lifeless heap.
Fifteen minutes later, I look like this –
Khalas! I love the elegant new look.
In my excitement, I sent the above picture to my husband, close family, and friends. They are supportive. I am confident that they love me unconditionally. I sleep well with this confidence.
The next day, I wake up and absent-mindedly run my fingers through my hair to untangle it. Hmm, there’s not much of it left to untangle, is there?
Time saved, I say to myself, and look in the mirror and get a shock.
My hair looks nothing like the way it looked the day before in the salon. It is bushy, and curling out in all directions.
“I look like a boy” I complain to A.
“Relax, Mama, it will grow out soon if you want it long again.”
“But it refuses to stay put like it did in the salon yesterday. Perhaps it needs some time to settle down.”
I attempt to bring some discipline to my mop with gels and oils.
In a few days, there was a parent-teacher-student conference at A’s school. I doubt whether I looked presentable. All other mothers of my age had neatly dyed and styled long hair. I hoped I would not stand out like a sore thumb.
A gave me a pep talk. She said that the other moms and teachers would be in awe about my decision to embrace my grey hair, and the students would respect me for the way I looked.
That is exactly what happened.
I returned home proudly feeling like a queen wearing a silver crown.
It's more than three months now since my haircut. My hair still refuses to stay put and grows upwards and outwards instead of downwards. I bring some order to it every morning with a wash and a hair cream.
Then I am ready to face myself and the world with the truth of who I really am.
