This post was long due...for all those times that my mind seems not to be preoccupied with something or the other..these are the thoughts that usually fill in..
A little scratch through my wiry hair suffices enough to say that its the very "wiryness" I am pondering about.
PS : With due respect to those who muse over greying and thinning (:P)
I am one among you too...
So am I happy with my inheritance??... is what I am unable to decide most of the time.
This saga commenced 22 years ago..when there were gasps of 'oohs and aahs' by old kanjeevaram clad ladies who would do anything to slobber up your cute baby face with oodles of watery kisses and having done that would fondly twiddle their fingers around the tuft of hair on the head.. and with long sighs of happiness exclaim " oh so! The baby is going to be such a Rapunzel."
Yes there were standards set and pedestials to reach upto on which I shall elucidate, further on.
So the baby, innocent and unaware of the targets set before it..trundles on in daily life.
( The baby in particular was a cute cherubic thing with beady black eyes and curly black locks. Ahem!!! Am I sounding too full of myself *wink* ?? The aftermath is a part of the plight I have had to deal with till now and maybe all my life.. sniff )
So comes the age old Hindu ritual of tonsuring the baby's hair, with due respect to all the evil eyes they wanted removed and better future and luck they wanted to ensure( still wondering when they shall take effect). And so ended the dream of the beautiful "to be rapunzel" locks.
The child still unaware of the misery it was destined to live with was much too happy with a close crop( read: The delhi heat is too much to bear).
Mother decided in two years that now was the time to cultivate the scalp endowments.( It didnt really make much of a difference to the child who was much above these "hairy" issues then )and just when it was in process; there goes another "mundan" as it is called ( I really wonder when will all those rituals work in my favour).
I faced it...
I was three and was " Ganju Patel teri khopdi mein tel!!!!"
and so I sported a close crop almost all my childhood and teenage years. I loved it. I felt free (saves you the heat!! yes I was blessed with quite a thick endowment ). Never paid heed to the forlorn looks of my father who always wished that his daughter would be a well oiled two braided "ponnu" from a Tam Brahm family.
Instead my days were spent adjusting my hairlook to that of Diana or admiring Kiran Bedi. In my teens my obsession with Rowling's hero made me want to sport his style more(victim and that too of a grave " hairy" injustice).
Yes I have not inherited my mother's hair nor my father's. I have neither straight and silky like his nor wavy like hers. A long line of women in my family have had braids enough to draw gasps of admiration. I am the black sheep.
I merely have a shape shifter. Something that is wiry, frizzy,wild and difficult to tame, affected by water at every place but there are days when they are beautiful, curly locks or when they are straight and set, wavy and fall lucidly over my forehead. Time and again hairdressers give up. My scalp is a task. They work their way to make it look as presentable as they can.
I sport shoulder length hair now with red streaks..yes it looks wonderful somedays( guess my father thinks I am more of a taint now than ever).
But I just feel I have had too many bad hair days to last me for a life time.