I think it is high time that I accepted that I shall never be the perfect dainty feminine woman. I shall never have long, silky, straight shiny hair. Nor will my hair, make-up and lipstick be perfect even two minutes after the long arduous time spent to repair the damage done by genes, weather and neglect.
Don’t think I haven’t tried. I have bought eyeliners that don’t wash away and lipsticks that are supposed to stay on even when kissed. I have bought mousse, gel and vitamin creams to keep my hair in some order. All for nothing. Nothing helps, ever.
Convinced after much delicate and then not-so delicate prodding, I finally agreed to go to a good hair-stylist. But only if my newfound friend P would fix up an appointment. She did. At one of the most expensive saloons in Mumbai. “K my friend will give you a discount because you are my friend,” she said. Someone please explain to the super rich that 15% of infinity is still infinity. Even after the discount, it was still ridiculously expensive.
Anyways, so I got my hair cut yesterday. K, friend of P’s, the hairstylist shook her head in dismay. The first question she asked me was whether I shampoo my hair. “Of course I do” I said mortified. “I meant what shampoo do you use,” she quickly checked herself. The next ten minutes were spent explaining that my hair was a mess (Thank you, I didn’t know that.) and a detailed explanation of what I should use on my hair.
Finally she packed me off to get my hair washed. “Let the conditioner stay in her hair for at least 5 minutes.” K said to her assistant. (How many times! How many times would she tell me? How many times and in how many ways would she tell me that my hair is in an awful state?)
Post the shampoo and intensive conditioning K finally began chopping my hair. “Have you always worn you hair this long?” she asked me. (I should give her credit for her tact. What she really meant to say was that I should have cut my hair at least 6 months back, at least to trim the grossly overgrown bits.) I mumbled some reply. I don’t think she really wanted an answer.
Finally, she stepped back and smiled. “Done. You have natural curls” (Yes thank you! You don’t have to remind me that God, along with other things, forgot to bestow me with lovely straight hair.) “I’ll teach you how to scrunch up your hair. Use so and so and so products.” (She named every expensive product available in the market. If her fees didn’t bankrupt me, the long list of hair products certainly would.)
My hair was duly dried and scrunched. Voila! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! My hair framed my face in a halo half a meter in diameter. I turned to where she stood, smiling, waiting for me to thank her ardently for giving me a completely new look. “It’s a bit spread out,” I managed. “Can’t it be a nicer curly look? Something like yours.” “Oh darling, that’s because you have such lovely thick hair.” (Jesus Christ! Of all good things I was gifted with, it had to be nice curly THICK hair.)
I thanked her and left the shop with an empty wallet and looking like a twenty-first century golliwog.
Sigh. I shall never I shall never be the perfect dainty feminine woman.
P.S. The account of my hair cut though true (I am not one for falsities) is slightly exaggerated. I thank P and K for trying to do the impossible. They are darlings.
Don’t think I haven’t tried. I have bought eyeliners that don’t wash away and lipsticks that are supposed to stay on even when kissed. I have bought mousse, gel and vitamin creams to keep my hair in some order. All for nothing. Nothing helps, ever.
Convinced after much delicate and then not-so delicate prodding, I finally agreed to go to a good hair-stylist. But only if my newfound friend P would fix up an appointment. She did. At one of the most expensive saloons in Mumbai. “K my friend will give you a discount because you are my friend,” she said. Someone please explain to the super rich that 15% of infinity is still infinity. Even after the discount, it was still ridiculously expensive.
Anyways, so I got my hair cut yesterday. K, friend of P’s, the hairstylist shook her head in dismay. The first question she asked me was whether I shampoo my hair. “Of course I do” I said mortified. “I meant what shampoo do you use,” she quickly checked herself. The next ten minutes were spent explaining that my hair was a mess (Thank you, I didn’t know that.) and a detailed explanation of what I should use on my hair.
Finally she packed me off to get my hair washed. “Let the conditioner stay in her hair for at least 5 minutes.” K said to her assistant. (How many times! How many times would she tell me? How many times and in how many ways would she tell me that my hair is in an awful state?)
Post the shampoo and intensive conditioning K finally began chopping my hair. “Have you always worn you hair this long?” she asked me. (I should give her credit for her tact. What she really meant to say was that I should have cut my hair at least 6 months back, at least to trim the grossly overgrown bits.) I mumbled some reply. I don’t think she really wanted an answer.
Finally, she stepped back and smiled. “Done. You have natural curls” (Yes thank you! You don’t have to remind me that God, along with other things, forgot to bestow me with lovely straight hair.) “I’ll teach you how to scrunch up your hair. Use so and so and so products.” (She named every expensive product available in the market. If her fees didn’t bankrupt me, the long list of hair products certainly would.)
My hair was duly dried and scrunched. Voila! Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! My hair framed my face in a halo half a meter in diameter. I turned to where she stood, smiling, waiting for me to thank her ardently for giving me a completely new look. “It’s a bit spread out,” I managed. “Can’t it be a nicer curly look? Something like yours.” “Oh darling, that’s because you have such lovely thick hair.” (Jesus Christ! Of all good things I was gifted with, it had to be nice curly THICK hair.)
I thanked her and left the shop with an empty wallet and looking like a twenty-first century golliwog.
Sigh. I shall never I shall never be the perfect dainty feminine woman.
P.S. The account of my hair cut though true (I am not one for falsities) is slightly exaggerated. I thank P and K for trying to do the impossible. They are darlings.
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