Of hair, head and heart

A lot of those who don’t know me very well have no idea that I am a victim to my hair. I love my hair with all my heart and obsess about it to an unhealthy and unnatural degree. And I thought that since it seems to form such an important part of my personality and is the only thing I spend such a lot of time on, I might as well talk about it.

When I talk about my hair, I need to take you back into history for a while (at 31, 13 seems like history). I was 13 and my sister was 17 and in hostel.

I grew up

It's been 31 years. 30 to 31 has been so packed that it makes 4-5 years all by itself. Funny how some years seem to pack in a lot more into them than others. This has been one rollercoaster ride.

Began at midnight on September 18, 2005. Flat No 302. My first midnight birthday celebration. I am of the generation when middle class people did not think it manners to wake up people at midnight to wish them for their birthday. My friends are of the generation where the day begins at midnight. Hence, the midnight party at Flat No 302.

The adventure of the missing apple cutter

Here I was, at the breakfast table, standing in front of a basket of fruit. Beside me were two knives, a pile of paper plates and napkins. The apple cutter was missing. A young man of about 21, about 6 feet tall and built like a boxer stands looking like a little boy lost.

First young man: Where's the apple cutter?

Me: Haven't seen it around.

First young man: Oh! (There was that little boy lost expression again)

I resumed cutting myself apples with the knife. Another young man about as high as the first one came along.

Second young man: "What happened?" he asked his friend.

First young man: "There's no apple cutter. I want an apple."

Second young man: "No problem. I'll cut it with the knife."

First young man: "Thanks." The little boy lost gave a grateful look.

For a woman who was raised on Robinson Crusoe and Swiss Family Robinson and other tales of brave men marooned on paradise islands with a penknife and a few barrels of gunpowder, I found this distressed little boy behavior nauseating. Sorry if I am being judgmental, but there was once a brave world when apple cutters did not exist.

Dear boy, for your sake I wish that you are marooned for a week in a bachelor flat with no implements except knives and uncut vegetables, and all the hotels are closed, and all your helpful friends are lost into the 4th dimension for three weeks. You will either learn to use a knife and cut your own food for yourself, or you will die, in which case I will nominate you for the Darwin awards. God bless you, child.

FYI: In the spirit of Charles Darwin, the Darwin Awards commemorate the remains of individuals who contribute to the improvement of our gene pool by removing themselves from it in really stupid ways.