Picket Fences

Friday, August 19, 2005

Hairy days


Hair days are hard to comprehend whether good or evil…that mop of hair on your head certainly needs some life...
As long as I remember during my childhood, my mom oiled and braided my long lustrous hair, it was the envy of the entire school … but little did they know how horrid it was to keep that long hair and act coy. ...I was only female by sex not by choice… I hated every thing about my long hair which was almost touching my knee and would dangle in between my legs like a little rope when I wore pants...besides I had to sit for an hour long with my mom while she oiled and gave exact 100 strokes with devotion and care.
To her it was an asset for girls of marriageable age. I despised the Idea of growing that head full of hair just to please some man whom I don’t even know on the night of the wedding...I hated all her Ideas about woman hood… for her every thing about grooming went along with the grand Idea of fetching a prospective well settled groom…hence…I would always have endless debates on my personal choice whenever the need arose…when I look back may be that’s what made me so reckless towards life…. If it’s about hair or about having my own space…

That Hair was gone by the time I reached puberty...I was 16 and in College it gave me power and choice, one fine day I chopped my tresses in handful in front of my mom’s very own eyes…she yelled and cried and almost fainted cursing me…but I was over come with this immense satisfaction about…being who I was. .

The most memorable rifts with mom are the “hair” ones… to me having that long hair was symbolic to slavery…. to pretence and bargain…

If only I knew that the hair I lost would never grow back to the length to what it was in my entire lifetime., and that my mom would never ever again touch my hair..and wouldn't forgive me till today...
I remember a dialogue between lovers in a black and white movie
He proposes...”will u marry me”…and she looks in to his eyes brimming with tears...and replies “ You know that I can never be Happy…” "but I love you"
she throws a helpless look at him and they kiss and bid good bye..

It’s like happiness for her is a decease…it’s the same with me when I had it I was never happy, when I lost it either -at one point…

This brings me back to my current state of hair on the head. Which looks bewildered and has lost directions... with all these years of traveling and change...my hair has gone through vivid circumstances. It has also modified it’s culture and beliefs at times...and more so with trends of favorite heroines… when I felt rebellious my hair went short…cropped and stood there still for many months stubbornly refusing to be feminine...When I thought I had a massive crush on this guy who had a massive bike- my hair went limp with lust…When I saw Sridevi effortless dancing with her long hair, my hair was left loose. Those were Goldie Hawn days and I couldn’t resist her vivacious curls...then my hair went languidly warped…whether I resembled remotely like Goldie was left to anyone's imagination…

And after so many assaults on it’s texture and going through notorious perms, straightening Chinese, African, American, Indian ways...my hair seems to accept the. ..fate of life.
Lately …it looked old, impoverished, needy …and wanting resurrection.
That’s when I besought a sexy European Salon to give me a new look… and ...she asked me “do you like bangs on your forehead?” I said
“O yea anything that could take those years off my face” she went chop…chop …chop
There I was with a new look. Couldn’t be compared to anything on earth…with a weird …bunch of hair drooping on my forehead ...the bottom portion of which was looking like a samurai’s lethal mane…
I stood spell bound…and speechless...

Sunday, August 14, 2005

I am not real

Picket Fences: Life is A bitch

Why do I have these over cooked sentimental un pragmatic emotions which mutate in my brain like stem cellWhy do I have these over cooked sentimental un pragmatic emotions which mutate in my brain like stem cells...I try to ward them off in fury but fail against …their stubborn persistent unperturbed continuous bantering...
Why emotions like love...kindness...empathy…bother… me.... as much as I want to be a rational being with a penchant for soberness... it doesn't seem to happen…. I brood over the eternal past and condemn vociferously all the cruel, harsh judgmental realities…I am an escapist…unreal...a donkey who doesn’t know how to use tact in life.
Rational that I want to be…. but …cursed are my gray cells which store unheard conversations, sounds and sublime ...murmurs.... of the heart which would have come in unhurried installments while stumbling upon …various incidents…
Had I been …real…would I feel better would I be consider wise and matured…would I fit in to the four walls of civilization and be placed on the throne of wisdom?Would I be accepted and cherished and pinned on the cross for my silence and sustenance?
But I am not real…I am like that wind and space where you hold nothing though you can feel…I...am like those black holes which hold the mysteries of life and unpredictable answers in their womb… I am…. neither rational nor wise…but …I can…delve.... into un trodden paths unseen and un heard and yet do not cling to god and his...Certainties. In prayers…I do not dwell in his protection and forgiveness…I …call on him to show me the unwritten verses of …equations...I survive…. I may not be the wannabe, but I exist.

Why do I write?


Picket Fences

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