Women! What could you say? Who made 'em? God must have been a fuckin' genius. The hair... they say the hair is everything, you know. Have you ever buried your nose in a mountain of curls... just wanted to go to sleep forever?
Al Pacino immortalised these words in the 1992 movie "Scent of a Woman" & also broke my heart when as a jaded 18 year old I watched this movie & realised that no man would ever get to bury his nose in my non-existent "mountain of curls", because,let's face it: those prickly and scant bristles that grew out of my scalp could not really accommodate the nose of a man.
My mother tells me I was a completely bald & slightly overweight baby. I can proudly claim that these things about me did not change for the next 25 years!
Al Pacino immortalised these words in the 1992 movie "Scent of a Woman" & also broke my heart when as a jaded 18 year old I watched this movie & realised that no man would ever get to bury his nose in my non-existent "mountain of curls", because,let's face it: those prickly and scant bristles that grew out of my scalp could not really accommodate the nose of a man.
My mother tells me I was a completely bald & slightly overweight baby. I can proudly claim that these things about me did not change for the next 25 years!
Having grown up watching Bollywood movies of the 80s & 90s, my eyes would remain transfixed on the luxurious,glossy manes of the leading ladies as they were wooed by the macho heroes in gardens & around trees with flowers & bees for company.
Then there were my girl friends in school, all of whom seemed to have an abundance of hair that required just a single twist of the hair-band to hold them in place. And I would trundle around, bob-cut in place, without the option of haughtily tossing my hair around like other girls as they flirted with the boys.
By the time I turned 16 however, I decided to grow my hair out, so what if they were as scanty as the greenery in my neighbourhood, as wispy as the tufts of Old Man's Beard that often floated into my balcony.
That was just the beginning of my hair problems. How else would one define the dilemma I would often find myself in when stuck with a mop of hair that would lie long, limp & lifeless. Undeterred, I soldiered on, growing my hair inch by inch - only to tie them up in a messy knot every time I stepped out. After all, you flaunt it only if you have (enough of) it, right?
I was 18, I was in college, I met the love of my life -in other words- I met the man who magnified my hair troubles by passionately declaring a couple of weeks into our romance that he absolutely loved long tresses on women. His words & the Al Pacino's dialogue haunted me every time I brushed my hair & grimaced at the the sheer volume of the strands left behind in the brush.
"Oliver Herford couldn't have said it better - A hair in the head is worth two in the brush", I would mock myself mercilessly.
As our romance flourished, the volume of my hair diminished. No, there was no relation whatsoever between the two phenomena :|
I turned 22 & wiser and realised that if I couldn't as much as control my hair, how would I ever go about controlling my life! They say that life is a maze full of struggles & impasses until you find a hairstylist who'd smooth away all your tangles as would a straightening iron.
And that is what happened with me. Through twists & turns in my life, which I can only term as fortuitous, I landed up at a saloon and met him. All I remember is gliding over to him as if in a dream & being guided into a chair more ergonomic than any I've encountered in all the office spaces I've been in. I spelled out my hair-woes to him. He listened, as would a priest in a confessional. And he pronounced his judgement: Length was something my hair could just not carry off; did I trust him enough to get bold with my hair. "I do", I whispered. He took over from there. My shoulders relaxed, I felt the tension ease out from them, down my fingers. I felt my worries float down along with my wispy hair that he, so deftly chopped away. His voice was gentle, the staccato notes of the scissors re-assuring.I closed my eyes & let myself go.
A year before I was born, Vogue quoted Givenchy thus - Hair style is the final tip-off to whether or not a woman really knows herself.
When I opened my eyes to look at the woman who stared right back at me, I knew I had found myself; and that was the end of my hair problems!
This is my entry for a contest by Dove & Indiblogger : ‘My Beautiful Hair Story’. You can vote for it, if you like it :)
And girls who want to become more "hair-aware", check out the Dove Hair-Aware App to know better!
By the time I turned 16 however, I decided to grow my hair out, so what if they were as scanty as the greenery in my neighbourhood, as wispy as the tufts of Old Man's Beard that often floated into my balcony.
That was just the beginning of my hair problems. How else would one define the dilemma I would often find myself in when stuck with a mop of hair that would lie long, limp & lifeless. Undeterred, I soldiered on, growing my hair inch by inch - only to tie them up in a messy knot every time I stepped out. After all, you flaunt it only if you have (enough of) it, right?
I was 18, I was in college, I met the love of my life -in other words- I met the man who magnified my hair troubles by passionately declaring a couple of weeks into our romance that he absolutely loved long tresses on women. His words & the Al Pacino's dialogue haunted me every time I brushed my hair & grimaced at the the sheer volume of the strands left behind in the brush.
"Oliver Herford couldn't have said it better - A hair in the head is worth two in the brush", I would mock myself mercilessly.
As our romance flourished, the volume of my hair diminished. No, there was no relation whatsoever between the two phenomena :|
I turned 22 & wiser and realised that if I couldn't as much as control my hair, how would I ever go about controlling my life! They say that life is a maze full of struggles & impasses until you find a hairstylist who'd smooth away all your tangles as would a straightening iron.
And that is what happened with me. Through twists & turns in my life, which I can only term as fortuitous, I landed up at a saloon and met him. All I remember is gliding over to him as if in a dream & being guided into a chair more ergonomic than any I've encountered in all the office spaces I've been in. I spelled out my hair-woes to him. He listened, as would a priest in a confessional. And he pronounced his judgement: Length was something my hair could just not carry off; did I trust him enough to get bold with my hair. "I do", I whispered. He took over from there. My shoulders relaxed, I felt the tension ease out from them, down my fingers. I felt my worries float down along with my wispy hair that he, so deftly chopped away. His voice was gentle, the staccato notes of the scissors re-assuring.I closed my eyes & let myself go.
A year before I was born, Vogue quoted Givenchy thus - Hair style is the final tip-off to whether or not a woman really knows herself.
When I opened my eyes to look at the woman who stared right back at me, I knew I had found myself; and that was the end of my hair problems!
This is my entry for a contest by Dove & Indiblogger : ‘My Beautiful Hair Story’. You can vote for it, if you like it :)
And girls who want to become more "hair-aware", check out the Dove Hair-Aware App to know better!
