Dyeing dilemma

“To dye or not to dye, that is the question” (with apologies to Shakespeare!) was my thought when I saw my first grey hair. I was then in class VI and, truth be said, quite crestfallen to see that solitary strand of grey. The matter was resolved soon after, when a friend of mine plucked out the “lone ranger” exclaiming, “Eureka!”

I was ready to blow a fuse. The pain that ensued was hardly the sort to bestow upon me any amount of joy, equanimity or equilibrium. Yes, this was the beginning of the end – that utterly incomparable moment, which launched me into the land of no return, where the anthem of “dye we must” prevailed.

Initially, I bore with it all stoically. The number of grey hair were few and far between, and my mother merely took to using henna to mask the “salt and pepper” look. And it wasn’t too bad at all, but with the passage of time, as I found the whole process tiresome, I began to rebel. To top it all were the jibes that had to be borne with – “ajji” (old lady) or “amma” (mother). It just didn’t help that I was the only one with this “affliction” while in school.

Still, there were some comical moments, like when one of my father’s good friends turned up at our house, and seeing me with all my grey hair wished me, “Good morning, ma’am. Is sir there? Could I speak to him?’’ To say that I was affronted is really an understatement. But I put up with it as best as I could. By then, I did manage to have a reasonably thick skin!

However, matters were only complicated with the passage of time as my mother decided that strands of my grey were way too many to mask with henna. Yes, it was high time for that dreaded “D” word – hair dye. I fought tooth and nail, initially – after all, I was but a teenager. But my mother’s coaxing and cajoling won me over.

And that really was the beginning of the beginning. Yes, I did look young thanks to the dye, but as I reached my happy forties, I have to admit, I momentarily got quite frustrated. Couldn’t I dye my hair blue or blonde? My mother put her foot down at this preposterous suggestion. “You should have tried all that when you were young, dear. Now it’s high time you grew up.’’

But finally, I gave up entirely on all these notions one day when I looked into the mirror and saw within it my best friend – myself! True, there were those tell-tale wrinkles, those laughter lines, but I looked quite comfortable in my skin, and, yes, my very grey hair!

It occurred to me then that I need not try so hard to rebel against what was an unavoidable situation. Let me “go with the flow” and live in the present. What had begun as an obvious rebellion had now morphed into a calm placidity. Dye or not, deep down I was the same person. Suddenly, I felt at peace with myself. In the words of Ralph Waldo Emerson, “Nothing can bring you peace but yourself.” Yes, I had learnt my lesson, and I promised to move on a wiser and happier person.