Hair alert

My obsession with bangs goes a long way back. Since I started writing my As and Bs actually. That makes me, what, a kindergartner? Well, anyway, I had this cute teacher who had this really gorgeous hair. Straight and glossy, it would hang to just below her shoulders. Since I had hair that was a slightly longer version of a boy-cut, I used to gaze at my teacher’s hair longingly, wishing a fairy would one day notice what a sweet girl I am and grant me my one wish. When the strands would get in her eyes, my teacher used to flip it back. It’s impossible to explain why, but I loved that gesture. And so began my fascination with layers and a fringe. Years passed with me accompanying my mom to the beauty parlour every few months to have my hair cut mercilessly, my mom asking the stylist to “make sure it doesn’t reach past her ears.” I cried and whimpered — all to no avail. My whines fell on deaf ears. Once I hit the age of 10, though, my mom abruptly changed her stance. She gave me the go-ahead signal to keep it long. I was ecstatic. My childhood dream was finally coming true! My joy was short-lived. When I asked my mom to take me to the parlour so I could have my now-past-the-shoulders hair trimmed into layers, she stared at me balefully. “It has to be longer, till the waist.” Yes, the typical Rapunzel length. I threw a huge fuss, wailed and yelled, but my mom was as strict as ever. She had been dealing with my hair-tantrums forever. And, like always, she remained resolute. All through my early teens, I had to endure the stress of having long hair. Trust me when I say this, it is one tough job to manage that much hair. On top of it, my hair wasn’t exactly the silky type. It curled at the ends and was so thick that it took me almost half an hour to brush. Braiding it was my mom’s duty — something she enjoyed doing immensely. But nothing lasts forever. At 15, I put my foot down. I was adamant to get a hair-cut, and this time, I didn’t back down from my decision. Taking inspiration from the novels I read, I stopped paying attention to the very important trio of studies, food and manners. In those few days, I didn’t study, do the dishes or talk to anyone. I spent my days locked up in my room, loud music pumping to block out the pleas of my parents and brothers. I made a fabulous grump. Of course my mom had to budge. That day was one of the best days of my life. I still remember how I was utterly riveted by my reflection in the hairdresser’s mirror. I couldn’t take my eyes off my newly-styled hair. And it honestly looked great. For weeks afterwards, I couldn’t resist giving my head a toss every time I chanced to pass a mirror. Or thrust my hand in my bangs to shove them away from my eyes — the way I had seen girls in movies do whenever they were worried. But, oh God! One day I actually found myself hissing in frustration as my hair tumbled down for the third time from the hairclip I had put on in order to hold it back. I paused for a second, assessing my feelings. Was I irritated that the bangs wouldn’t stay put? The answer was a vehement YES and it left me speechless. I couldn’t believe it. My obsession had worn off! In fact, I now found fringes impractical and annoying. I felt it was too much hassle to pin them up time and time again, especially when my exams were close and I had to sit hunched over my books. It would get in my eyes, my mouth, my nose — it was everywhere. And no matter how firmly I tied it, somehow a few strands always managed to come loose. It’s human nature, I suppose. When you don’t have something, you just have to have it. Once you do and you’re done exploring it, you get tired of it and yearn to replace it with something new. I don’t regret having it cut, though. When I did, I thoroughly wanted it and I loved my look. I’ve moved on. I guess I’ll have to be patient and wait for it to grow long again since a short boy-cut style is just not an option anymore…. Sigh.