Did you notice that two eyes on the same face never look exactly the same? For that matter, no two ears, hands, legs, boo.. [ok, you get it right..] on one person look the same. I accepted that long time back, almost about the time I started spending a few hours in front of the dressing mirror preening myself with my sister looking sternly saying ‘don’t squint’ from beside. [I swear, I wasn’t, at least most times when I wasn’t trying to imitate Manthara in Ramanand Sagar’s Ramayan, to see if I would fit the role; don’t ask me why but I was fascinated by her ‘look’] But what I am still not able to grow out of is the wonder/shock/marvel/amazement/incredulity or whatever you call the expression when one stares at ones hair every morning and wishes for the 26th time in the new year that it look at least like it did yesterday, if not the day before. No, for the record, yesterday [or the day before] was not the day I blew that indecent amount to the restless and bored hairdresser, furiously filing her nails away. Neither did I use the Hawaiian Awapuhi Chamomile Ginger Aloe Vera Herbal shampoo [stop taking notes, I swear it ain’t no exotic recipe for chamomile ginger chicken, I am yet to invent that, in my next blog] for the hair yesterday. In fact, it was a very uneventful day where the hair is concerned.
So, you must be utterly bewildered by now [humor me, play along, ok?], trying to really comprehend why I wish my hair today look like hair yesterday. I don’t wish to suffocate my audience to death; by making them hold their breath for too long. Let me tell you what ails me. My hair is so very notoriously unpredictable. People have told me that my moods are like Chicago weather. People are telling me that my hairstyle is like Chicago weather. Makes me almost believe that I AM Chicago weather and I am very close to figuring out my purpose in life – blowing hot and cold.
Now that you are totally hooked onto the story, let me tell why I started hallucinating that I am Chicago weather.
Day 1[just some starting point for our reference]:
Chicago Temperature: 30 deg
Humidity: 70% Process: I put a dollop of shampoo, wash hair vigorously, blot it out with linen towel, run fingers through hair.
End Result: Tiny little curls [ala Shoban Babu for all ye gult log] adorn forehead
Day 3: [yes, I wash it only every other day, stop wrinkling your noses, ye everyday-hair-washers [aka losers]!!]
Chicago Temperature: 50 deg
Humidity: 30%
Process: I put a dollop of shampoo, wash hair vigorously, blot it out with linen towel, run fingers through hair. [Don’t compare with above process, its exactly the same, I just copy-pasted it here.]
End Result: ripples along the hair [like the Vizag coast at low tide]
Day 5: [No, I don’t maintain hair diaries. Not yet]
Chicago Temperature: 9 deg
Humidity: 10%
Process: I put a dollop of shampoo, wash hair vigorously, blot it out with linen towel, run fingers through hair. [Don’t compare with above process, its exactly the same, I just copy-pasted it here.]
End Result: Fresh out of shower look. [Except looks like a very sloppy shower]. Hair refuses to dry. I fear I might turn into icicle.
Day 7: [it started getting exciting, right? I told you so]
Chicago Temperature: 30 deg
Humidity: 1%
Process: I put a dollop of shampoo, wash hair vigorously, blot it out with linen towel, run fingers through hair. [Don’t compare with above process, its exactly the same, I just copy-pasted it here.]
End Result: Pin straight hair. I could pass for a Chinese.
Day 9:
Chicago Temperature: Heavy rains [sorry, weather man got stuck in rain, no temp] Humidity: 100%
Process: I put a dollop of shampoo, wash hair vigorously, blot it out with linen towel, run fingers through hair. [Don’t compare with above process, its exactly the same, I just copy-pasted it here.]
End Result: Afro style tight curls. Definitely need those hair extensions to make them visible.
Day 11: Ok Ok, I will let your gray cells figure out the rest!! [I am tempted to go on and I can feel it that most of you want me to, so why don’t ya subscribe to my Hairy Putter stories and I will send you an email every other day with the brutal details. I will throw in the weather report as a freebie. Now that’s what I call a deal.]
A dozen people have stopped me in the corridors at work in the last few weeks to tell me that they haven’t [almost] recognized me. A third of them I don’t even know. Hah!! Its time my secret admirers and timid followers stepped out of that stuffy closet. Ok! Let me dwell in my dreamland for a bit, alright? Delusional, you mutter? Stop mumbling I say!!
Although I am flattered by all the attention [though sometimes cannot escape the ‘poor-thing-you-have-hair-image-issues’ from a woman or two], it is getting to be a little tiring. “You look different [again]” [followed by a roll of eyes] doesn’t sound like a compliment anymore; I even sense a little irritation in the voices when they say it. I have a feeling folks started wagering bets on the hair-do, the silence when I enter the room, followed by dollar bills changing hands.
However weird it may sound, I have to confess, I have to say it out and hear myself- my hair has a free-spirited mind of its own. And oft times it is stronger than my own and more oft than that, the minds butt heads [that is too much of anatomy there!!]. Some days the fight is ugly, some days it is a cold war, but the minds are strong and never give up. [Does this remind y’all of the irksome lady from “My Big Fat Greek Wedding” with the birdlike face, who keeps talking about this other human being growing on her neck? Ewww.. I am grossed/freaked. Hope you are not.]
