JOIN USSome may express it. Some may not. Some may accept it. Some may not. Some may dare it. Some may not. What I am talking about is converting one’s traditional behenji-type choti to a glamorous bob cut.
I’m sure every woman dreams of cutting her hair and bobbing it, as she firmly believes that all that stands between her and stunning looks is only a bob cut. But family values will not permit her to apply scissors to her hair. But once she is out of the restrictions of her family in every way, she would always try to realise her long-cherished dream. She may or may not retain the bob forever; but try once in her lifetime, she must.
I was no exception to this.
My orthodox upbringing did not let me visit a beauty parlour. My hair that never had been profuse ended in a taper in the middle of my back. So, one day, I held it in my left fist above my head and chopped off four inches of it with my tailoring scissors. Later, I asked my family members to trim it by cutting off any irregular lengths that showed up when the hair was let down. Once I made the mistake of asking my husband to do it. I ended up almost in a boy cut as he found many odd ones, one after another.
Well, the next stage was setting the hair. Again it had to be a DIY affair at home, as parlours would charge a ransom. I got a set of black, plastic curlers. I was told that stale beer was ideal for setting. So, salvaging the dregs from every bottle whenever my husband held a beer session for his friends, I built up my stock of ‘hair setter’.
Next, I shampooed my shorn hair, applied the sour-smelling beer to it and tied it up in a dozen curlers by rolling my hair around each one. By evening, I managed to get a bouncy mass of curls, just like in one of the latest ads.
But this sort of hair-setting was not long-lasting, as I learnt to my great shame in one of the parties.
Air Force offers plenty of social life by way of parties, and I used to love attending them. We stayed a few kilometres away from the unit. When my husband suggested that we go to the mess for a party on our two wheeler, I was ecstatic.
Attending this party was even more special as I would be doing so in a mop of lovely bouncy curls that I matched with a pair of long, dangling pearl ear jewellery. As the evening approached, wearing a glamorous silk saree, I perched myself behind my husband, clasping his waist tightly and lovingly, and we set off.
As we left the city area and entered the countryside, cold breeze started blowing, making the ride a truly romantic one. But, what I did not bargain for was the moisture in the air that was acting on the beer in my hair and straightening every curl I had painstakingly created. So much so, by the time I reached the mess, my hair resembled more of a backward-pointing broomstick, somewhat like the tail of a comet. Moreover, the strong breeze had unhooked one of my dangling pearl lolak and carried it off!
With not even a comb to manage my hair, I tied it up with a piece of rag I located with difficulty. Removing the other earpiece and putting it in my purse, I walked into the party, if not like a golliwog, but no one better than a behenji.