Abhinaya's Haircut

“Mark my words, you are sure to suffer the consequences of your idiocy,” her mother had told her once.

“Mark my words, you are sure to suffer the consequences of your idiocy,” her mother-in-law was saying the same words now. 

Two ladies, two different time zones, in two different places, the one not knowing the other had said it even, yet the same words uttered in reaction to Abhinaya’s statement.

Abhinaya always had thick, long, lustrous hair. Even as a schoolgirl. Abhinaya recalled with fondness how her grandmother used to sit her down in the evenings after she returned from school and comb her hair. The memory of her grandmother walking, with a slight limp, to the small, cheap desk near the mirror (there was only one mirror that the entire family used), to pick up the small, blue bottle of coconut oil (which, again, was shared by the entire family) and the purple and white colored plastic comb that was meant only for her dear granddaughter, and go sit cross-legged on the thinnai was still fresh in her mind.

“Abhi kutty,” she would call. Abhinaya would reply, “Coming, paati,” and skip along, wobbling her head from side to side so that her two long braids oscillated in rhythm. She would step up on to the thinnai and sit in front of Paati, cross-legged. (Sitting cross-legged was so easy those days, in fact, you couldn’t think of sitting in any other way except cross-legged.) 

Paati would first undo the ribbons that kept Abhinaya’s plaits in place and tuck them into her saree at the hips so that they wouldn’t drift off. Next she would un-braid the tresses and run her fingers along the entire length of Abhinaya’s hair to let some air in. Then, taking a small quantity of the coconut oil, Paati would rub her palms together and spread the oil on to her granddaughter’s hair. The next procedure was attacking the knots with the fingers, with Paati carefully twirling the loose strands around her fingers. She would secure the cluster between her big toe and second toe so that they wouldn’t fly away. This done, Paati would use the comb to brush Abinaya’s hair, giving it several strokes again and again till it got a sheen. Finally, Paati would part all the hair into two portions, one on each side of her head, neatly braid them into tight plaits and secure each braid using the ribbons. 

The whole process would take about an hour during which Paati and granddaughter would have interesting conversations. Sometimes, Abhinaya would relate to her Paati all the events that happened at school and Paati would give her expert comments to Abhinaya’s narration. At other times, the conversation would go around Abhinaya’s hair.

“Why do you spend so much time over my hair, Paati?”

“Your hair is kept plaited all the time. By taking so much time over it, we are giving it time to breathe.”

“Why do you comb my hair in the evening?”

“So that it will be easy for your mother to plait it in the morning when you are rushing to school.”

“Paati, if I don’t have hair like you, then there will be no trouble of all this combing.”

Paati was a widow. She had a shaven head.

“Tsk...tsk… you mustn’t say such things. It’s inauspicious.”

“Then, can’t I cut my hair short? Some girls in my class have short hair.”

Paati would go on a tirade about how some people seem to be lacking decorum, and then would add, “My granddaughter will not have short hair. Only long hair. Like Rapunzel. When her prince handsome comes to ask for marriage, he should fall for the long hair.”

“Paati,” Abhinaya would wail, “I don’t want to get married!”

“No… no, all girls have to get married.”

This would make Abhinaya sulk. And keep her quiet. But only for a few minutes.

“Paati, Rapunzel? Do you know the story of Rapunzel?” Her Paati being an old-timer, Abhinaya had always assumed she didn’t know any of the English stories she learnt at school. 

“Kutti ponne, little girl, you thought just because Paati is old and wears this madisaaru, I won’t know your parry tales?”

“Ha...ha...haaa….Paati, it’s not parry tales, it’s fairy tales, fe...fe…”

“Enough, you impetuous thing, just like your mother!”

Then Paati would go on to relate an incident when once she had to take Abhinaya to school.

“You were in your kindergarten. Your appa and amma had to go somewhere, so I took you to school. I held your little hand and carried your little bag and you came alongside, skipping and chatting. As we reached the school gates, you told me to stay there. Watch for me, you said. When I get to my classroom, I will turn around and wave at you. Then you can go. And I said, I will come inside with you, but you will not let me. Then you went in and waved, and your teacher asked you who I was. And your teacher sent an ayahamma to call me inside. You were ashamed that I was wearing this madisar, that’s why you didn’t want me to come in, your ungrateful girl.” 

Abhinaya knew that even though her Paati called her ungrateful, she was immensely fond of her. Abhinaya had only a vague remembrance of this incident but it embarrassed her. So, she tried to change the topic.

“Paati, why did grandfather die?”

“Because he was not well.”

“Ohh! I thought he died because you did not grow your hair. I thought he didn’t like it that you didn’t have any hair and died because he was upset.”

“What a girl this is! Wonder from where you get your ideas! Stupid girl, don’t ever say I didn’t have hair. My hair was longer and thicker than yours.”

“Then where has all your long and thick hair gone?”

“I can’t grow my hair because my husband is dead now.”

“I don’t want a husband who will die. Then I too will have to cut off all my hair. I looovveeee my hair,” and Abhinaya would hug her hair.

This hair combing ritual went on till Abhinaya passed out of her SSLC. After that, she found it too childish an activity, so she took over the upkeep of her hair. A few months later, her Paati died and Abhinaya sorely missed those lovely times with her grandmother. 

Especially when she reached college. Because she hardly found much time to manage her hair. How she wished her Paati had been around!

One day she approached her mother.

“Amma, it’s so difficult, combing my hair and making the plates. And you don’t help me with it! Can I cut my hair short, please?”

“What!!!??? No way. Remember, you are a girl. How will you get married if you cut your hair?”

“But Amma, who is going to get married now? I am still studying! Why must I suffer for something that is going to happen many years later?”

“Many years later? In another two years, you will complete your graduation. After that appa and I will get you married.”

“But that’s two years!!! I am talking of NOW!”

“NO! Means NO!!!”

This infuriated Abhinaya. 

“What if I just go from college with my friend and get my hair cut? Without telling you? Without asking for your permission? What can you do then?”

“Mark my words, Abhi, if you do that, you are sure to suffer the consequences of your idiocy! The world will laugh at you. They will say you are a wayward girl.”

Abhinaya glared at her mother. “Who cares what the world thinks of me? Is it the world that is helping me with my hair? I just can’t understand the stupid conventions of this so-called world!”

Despite this fiery speech, Abhinaya didn’t have the guts to carry out her threat. 

Two years later, she got married. Just as her grandmother had wished, her husband, Pranav, fell for her hair. Whenever she let her hair loose to brush it, Pranav would run his hands over her tresses and play with it. Abhinaya loved it when he did that. She started taking extra care for her hair because of her husband’s fascination.

But once the early years of marriage was past, all the fascination and extra care took a back seat. With two kids and career and aging parents, Abhinaya started finding her hair maintenance a bit of a chore. And Pranav hardly noticed when she opened out her hair. It was then that Abhinaya brought up the topic of having short hair. Pranav was aghast. 

“How can you cut your beautiful hair?”

“Beautiful? You don’t have time for anything these days, where I am concerned. And you are worried about beautiful!” Abhinaya sniggered, with a drawled out emphasis on the word ‘beautiful’.

“It’s not like that, sweetheart. It’s only these past few days it’s been like this. From today it’s going to be alright. I love you, and I love your hair also,” said Pranav, taking Abhinaya’s hair in his hands and keeping it to his cheek.

“Uff! Love! Your ‘Love’ will ignite only when I raise my voice. And don’t you touch my hair,” she exclaimed, her disgust evident in her voice and in her action as she snatched her single long braid from out of her husband’s hand. (Single, yes, married women don’t wear their hair in two plaits.)

“Just you wait and see, one of these days you’ll find me come home with my hair cut,” she added a parting threat.

A few more years went by. The verbal threats kept making its appearances every now and then with no action to support. Every time, it would be the look of wistfulness on her husband’s face or the talk of what will people say. 

Till, one day, over one of the petty quarrels that were no longer a rarity between the two of them, Abhinaya vented out her bitterness at the unfairness of the treatment she was receiving, especially from Pranav’s parents. 

“Unfair, because I am a woman. Both you and I go to work, yet you can wake up late while I must wake up early and cook. You can go out whenever you want, but if I want to go out with my friends, I must get permission and decide for the kids. You can go out wearing your shorts but if I don’t wear a dupatta, I am questioned.”

And as Abhinaya turned to go out of the room in a huff, her long braided tresses came flying over her shoulder and settled down over her front. Abhinaya stopped in her tracks, turned around to face a crestfallen Pranav and said, holding out her hair, “Even this! I don’t have the liberty to do what I please even with this. I have had enough. Just see what I am going to do.”

She changed her clothes, took her handbag and stormed out of the room. 

Pranav ran behind her. 

“Wait, Abhi, where are you going? To the salon? Wait, I’ll drop you. I am sorry about how you are feeling. It was never my intention to take you for granted. Please do what you want with your hair. I’ll come with you. Let’s tell amma and go.”

Pranav looked pathetic. Moreover, the change in his statement softened Abhinaya. Usually Pranav would say that his mother would disapprove. So Abhinaya halted and waited for her husband to change and grab his car keys. 

Together, they went down the stairs, not speaking a word to each other. Pranav and Abhinaya occupied the upper storey of the house for which, many a time, Abhinaya had been thankful. It gave the couple space to have their disagreements without hurting Pranav’s parents’ sentiments.

When they came downstairs, they found Pranav’s mother sitting on the sofa watching TV. (There was no more sitting on the floor, cross-legged.) Pranav said to her, “Amma, I am taking Abhinaya to the salon. She wants to cut her hair.”

“You mean, trim her hair/”

“No, amma, cut, as in half the length at least.”

“Half the length? You mean, till her shoulders only? People will laugh.”

“Then let them laugh,” joined Abhinaya in the conversation. “Do they cry with me when I am struggling with my hair? They don’t, right? So why must I bother if they laugh?”

“Mark my words, Abhinaya, you are sure to suffer the consequences of your idiocy,” warned her mother-in-law.

“It’s OK, I’ll suffer. At least the suffering will not be that exhausting as having to untangle the knots out of my hair every day.”

And Abhinaya walked out. Pranav stayed back a couple of minutes to make peace with his mother, then joined his wife.

Husband and wife drove to the salon in silence. When they reached, Pranav told Abhinaya, “You go get your hair cut. I have some work nearby. I’ll finish it and come for you in half an hour. Don’t rush through. If you haven’t finished by then, I will wait.”

Abhinaya went in and took her place at the chair in front of one of the several mirrors in the salon.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. How are you?” asked the hairdresser.

“I am fine. I was wondering what style I can get my hair cut.”

The hairdresser opened out Abhinaya’s tresses and began stating some options of haircuts for her kind of hair. 

“You see, ma’am, your hair is thick so if we give it a layered cut, it might fly all over the place. If we cut it a bit here, and a bit here…”

Abhinaya didn’t hear beyond this. She could see the hairdresser gesticulating but some sort of silence had befallen upon Abhinaya. A second later, she saw, not the hairdresser, but her grandmother. She was not in the salon, but in the house of her childhood, sitting, not in the salon chair with her legs down, but on the thinnai, in front of her grandmother, cross-legged. And in that moment, she heard not the voice of her grandmother saying that she must have long hair because she was a girl, but the voice of her heart saying, “I looovveeee my hair!”

“Ma’am, excuse me, ma’am, so shall I give you that cut?”

It was the hairdresser. Abhinaya was brought to the present. She didn’t know what cut the hairdresser meant. She didn’t want to know either.

“No, I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to cut my hair. Just give it a trim, one inch will do, for the split ends.”

When Pranav returned half an hour later, he was visibly surprised. He knew better than to ask his wife anything while at the salon. But once in the car, he couldn’t contain his curiosity. 

Abhinaya said, “Don’t think I didn’t cut my hair for your sake or your mother’s or my mother’s sake. It wasn’t that I was bothered about ‘people’ laughing. I didn’t cut my hair because I love my hair. All those times when i threatened to cut my hair but eventually didn’t was not because I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s sentiments but because I loved my hair. I sat with Paati all those evenings allowing her to comb my hair is not because Paati forced me but because I loved my hair and I wanted it to be taken care of well. My hair is me. I love myself, every part of myself. Not because it serves someone else but because it serves to please me.”

Pranav smiled and drove on.