Being a Woman
(To all my family and friends who are rolling around laughing at the image of me as a Madonna, I admit that it is the mother of all exaggerations when that word is applied to me. My only defence is that I didn’t get anything else to rhyme with Medusa 🙂 And the Glass Bangle is ready to wind itself round my neck and strangle me for not giving it any fresh fodder. I have been neglecting this poor blog for some time and now it’s time to redress that grievance.)
My hair has been the target of much experimentation on my part and it has behaved admirably for one that has been subjected to all kinds of torture. In fact I remember the time in college when my closest friend offered to cut it short for me and I happily agreed, in spite of said friend not having cut anything in her life. I directed her to trim an inch of hair and I had visions of my hair swinging across my shoulders like a smooth silken waterfall. However she went slightly overboard in her enthusiasm, and as a result I ended up looking like a cross between a newly shorn lamb and an escaped convict.
That’s a memory which still has me waking up in a cold sweat ! So coming to the latest adventure with my tresses, the only good part is, this time I was not at fault. I have been remarkably restrained in any venture involving my hair and as a result the poor thing was lulled into a state of complacency. I have been noticing silver strands weaving through the black, and there was even one particularly annoying one which sprouted right in the middle of my head. The offending strand had a strange tendency to stand straight up as if it was an energetic Can-Can dancer, bobbing up and down for good measure. I ignored it at first, but one fine day I realized that there was practically a whole team of them prancing around. And to add to my distress, once when I happened to look in a mirror, I saw an elderly lady looking at me. I smiled politely for a moment before realizing that it was my reflection ! I had to eat a dozen chocolates to recover from this shock.
So I decided to begin Operation HairColour. Tons of friends were already engaged in this activity and I took encouragement from how beautiful their tresses looked. Without much delay I trotted off to a beauty salon and set about explaining how it was my first time and hence my reason for coming to that parlour. I was quaking slightly thinking of the cost which was considerable more than the other places around. But I consoled myself thinking of the beautiful-me waiting to emerge from behind all the silver strands.
I was whisked away by two efficient looking youngsters and placed on a chair, where they proceeded to truss up my hair in aluminium foil. After some time they completed the process and trundled off telling me to relax. I sank back into the chair weaving wonderful dreams of sashaying into my house with the afore-mentioned silky waterfall for company. I must have dozed off because I was gently shaken awake and after various operations involving hair, water and blow dryers my hair was declared coloured. It indeed looked lovely and I must say that a lot of sashaying and preening in front of any available mirrored surface happened that day.
Two days later, I washed my hair at home. It was ok in the beginning, but as my hair started drying, it seemed to take on a life of its own. I was reminded of levitating sadhus due to the tendency shown by the strands to slowly rise. Since I was reading an extremely interesting book, I didn’t pay too much attention. After some time I got up to get myself a cup of coffee and as had become my habit glanced expectantly at the mirror. But this time I froze in shock and my heart almost levitated out of my mouth. It looked like I had stuck my fingers into an extremely high-voltage electric socket ! My beautiful silky waterfall had transformed into Medusa’s snakes. To call them frizzy would be an understatement. The texture too had changed to that of an extremely coarse coir mat. I walked around like a shell-shocked victim for the next couple of days. I kept my hair tied up at all times until I started getting a headache. I tried all sorts of remedies but I was destined to carry on Medusa’s legacy for some more time.
It has been nearly 6 months after that fiasco, and after a shower I still look like Medusa. But I have learnt to ruthlessly discipline my tresses with copious amounts of serum and oil and anything else I can lay my hands on. It is a continuous battle between us and the winning ratio is evenly balanced as of now. I live in the hope that my hair will grow back to its earlier state and I shall once more sashay.