My Imperfect
Look
by Sangeetha
Vallat
"What
happened to your hair?"
"I didn't
like people staring at the grey strands and
anyways was bored with my looks."
"But you
could colour your hair instead of cutting such
lengthy hair?"
"I only
di(y)e once!!"
This was a few years ago. Since then, I let my
hair grow back. Strictly followed the coconut oil
regimen, and the boy cut gradually transformed to
shoulder length hair then trickled to the waist.
I realised it was time to revisit the hairstylist.
Researching
the beauty salons nearby, I fixed up an
appointment with one that garnered a high rating
among customers. I always hated visiting the
beauty parlours. The heavily made-up girls at the
parlours with their defined pouts opinionated
about my skin type, hair texture, the shape of my
eyebrows and whatnot. Nothing on me was
satisfactory. They tut-tutted and endeavoured to
beautify me.
I tried a
facial once before my wedding and one other time
when my friend coaxed me into accepting an offer
of a free AQUA treatment, something new in the
market. A goddess of beauty worked on my
imperfect skin for an hour and advised me to stay
away from sun exposure. Like a masked burglar, I
reached home only to see my skin turn pink to red
with itchy blotches. I did not dare to try out a
facial free or paid after the fiasco.
When I am with
the 'womenfolk', I feel lost when they discuss
nail spas, artificial nails, stick on eyelashes,
lip pencils….
Oh, once my
young friend worked on her eyes for a while and
asked me, "Do I look pretty?"
"Errr,
you look like a ghost with white eye shadows."
I blurted.
She stomped
out, calling me names!
So, I was
sitting in the salon waiting for the Russian
model to work on my tresses. This time I wasn't
too adventurous and opted for a layer cut that
retained the lengthy mane. As I was reading
Russian literature and engrossed in Tolstoy and
Dostoevsky, I sprang into conversation while
Nadia snipped my hair. I learnt a lot about her
life in Russia, her son, whom she had to leave
with her mother and how she yearned to meet her
family. At the end of our session, there was
hardly any change in my appearance.
At home, my
mother and my husband exchanged funny looks as I
explained about my imperceptible haircut.
Months passed;
my luxuriant growth had begun to imitate Medusa.
Or more like Mowgli from the Jungle book. The
final straw was when I took my mother to a
hospital where a nurse asked me if we were
sisters! My mother had fewer grey strands
compared to mine.
I selected
another hairstylist - A clean-shaven hulk named
Ralph. His bald head shining, he chopped my long
hair and gave me what I asked—a complete
makeover.
Well, now I
look like a ten-year-old strapped in a 45-year-old
body.
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