The Mane Point
That's enough random for today!
I wanted this post to be something - anything apart from the one the Cognitive Ambivert wanted to read. (That is going to be a cringefest. I truly pity you, dear reader).
So, here's a random post about hair and stuff.
Me and the Cognitive Ambivert - (who's down with a cold, hope she gets better soon. She defines severe penance, the girl refuses to take a tablet to atleast sleep in peace. I admire it though. If I were in her place, I would have cried and cried, and my folks would have babied me and I would have had my most satisfying week of the year. Oh well) - were talking about our hair woes (I am writing a lot about the girly aspect of our lives aren't I? I should probably switch back to fantasy!)
I think hair woes are universal. No matter which part of this world you are from (or whichever part of the habitable universe), if you are a girl, you are definitely not happy with your hair. Some of you might say - nahhh I love my hair. Well, you are lying to yourself. And if you genuinely do have hair that even Rapunzel would envy, then please for the love of all that is holy, do tell.
The story is so familiar, that if you were hearing it from a mystic, you would think they could predict the future. It goes like this:
"My hair was so amazing - you know, when I was a kid, I had like the most amazing hair ever! And then I grew up, and my hair was like this thick and now just a quarter of my former glory remains! Puberty ruined me! Adulthood is a scam! My HAIR!!!"
And so on. You get the idea.
My story is even weirder. I had poker straight hair till I was around 10 years old. And then around 11, instead of getting a letter from Hogwarts, my hair started frizzing the hell out. I walked around like a zombie with a broom on her scalp. It was a nightmare. Thankfully my classmates at school were spared the horror as we had strict policies to tie up out hair in whichever way possible. In fact, I actually used to tie up my bob in a double plait. Then around 16 or so, they started curling up in the most horrendous way possible. Now don't get me wrong, I love curly hair, but I like them when they are curly. On me, they are just a mass of half straight half dead twists, and they are a nightmare to comb, nightmare to keep them curled - basically they look bad no matter what I do to them.
Oh and whatever I said before.
Do you remember fondly those golden days when your mom combed your hair?
I don't. Mostly because she never combed it. No, my mom would go to war with it. She would catch them roughly, pull them up, and yank the comb through whatever black mass she saw. I am pretty sure the reason I have a large ugly forehead is because my mom increased the size of it with all the yanking. I would be half-dead, clutching my scalp, this close to screaming murder. When I was old enough, I learnt to comb my own hair. If I ever make the mistake of asking my mom to comb my hair, or oil it, I only have to feel her fingers in my hair and the first yank to escape those clutches of sweet sweet love.
Oh! and the wonderful home "remedies" that I would get suggested! I have used every imaginable spice on my mane "for better results". Trust me, all I could see was more hair falling off. I have also used pretty much all of the ingredients used to season south indian dishes on my hair. I put my foot down finally, when my dad came with some salt to complete the seasoning.
I think this seems to be a TamBrahm thing, because P was also talking about something like this. Maybe I should write about all those weird quirks our kind seem to have!
Until next time,