Bald But Bold
Bald But Bold5 mins 184 5 mins 184
“It had been 200 days. 200 days of not running my fingers through my hair. However, on a plus point, I had learnt to put on a wig to cover my bald scalp. Earlier, I was never too obsessed with dressing up nor did I spare any time trying to look pretty.
But then life has silly ways of coming back at you. The ignorance I showed earlier in my beauty regime had a grave consequence. I had to fight with some deadly oncogenes in my body to know how much I loved my hair. In an obvious manner like every true love, I chose to let go of long shiny hair just to see whether it would come back or not. But let me tell you, it was a long wait.
Putting up a different look is fun to try. Or at least the idea of it. Until the very moment when someone compliments your look (read hair) and you- somehow dare to not remember having any hair( even if fake) at all. Seeing you like this, people might get confused and give you a blank look. Apart from this trouble, it is well and good.
It was pretty much the same with me too. It would make me sweat a lot though. I kept reminding myself how carrying on a different persona was never meant to be easy even for the celebrities.
My bob cut looks fared(read faked!) well among my peers. Also, the fact that it didn't grow on its own every other day gave me relief from that summer. I had to balance this comfort of not going to the parlour with the fear of having nightmares every other day.
I will tell you why.
I have always shrugged away from the idea of actively participating in any kind of events that had me running just to get a medal. The idea of running after my wig in a stormy or a windy day didn't seem to be thrilling either. The scenario of losing my wig while boarding the overcrowded local train petrified me even more.
There is even more. My imaginations ran wild. I felt no less than an undercover agent. In my case, my mission was to keep my "hair- care" secret safe. My most difficult times used to be at a lady's washroom. We, women, tend to minutely notice anything that pleases our eyes. If anyone would have noticed deeply, she would be looking at a black cloth stitching instead of my original scalp at the parting of my hair. Now this mere thought of being responsible for a minuscule heart attack of my scrutinizer, ran a shiver down my spine always. I was terrified of being caught red-handed at the classroom, ladies compartment and washroom.
Until one day.
I decided I have had enough of dealing with this fear. I was in a usual hurry packing my books for college that morning. My sister in her regular tone said, "Didi, you have forgotten your wig !! Hurry! You will miss your train!”
Something in me said, “Not today.”
“Didi, what about your friends then? Your original look is so different from the one you usually carry! It is so short and curly.”
I had made up my mind.
I stepped out of my house. Without my wig, for the first time in the last 6 months.
No matter how I looked, I was finally in my skin. I felt free. I took a deep breath. I was ready to take on the world.
That day it rained. My short boy's cut hair could finally feel the wind. This was my moment to rejoice, having broken free from all the chains tied to me.
Everyone I knew on my daily commute and my friends in college was surprised. They loved my curly new hair and my “bold” look which they took to be very cool. I realize some of them had even imagined me going to a parlour and curling up my bob hair on purpose. Only if it was that easy.
One of my buddies in college also approached me in the recess.
“Purva, this is cool. You rock this look! I wish I had curly short hair like yours. I am thinking shall I opt for this now?
“Not surely in the way I had to do this, buddy :)”
“What do you mean?”
“Never mind. Go on. You will surely look good!”
This day remains special to me. The journey back home holds even a dear memory. Sitting by the window in that usual local train felt quite unusual that day. The way the wind played with my hair made me ecstatic.
Suddenly, my phone beeped with a message from an unknown number.
“You looked cute today :)”.
I smiled to myself half-hoping for it to be true. It probably had been a wrong number. Or so, I thought then.
But destiny had other plans. The train had already started taking up its speed.
In life, farewells are rarely happy. This one was. That night, I kissed my “bob cut” hairdo one final goodbye. It was also the last time I saw it.'