August 24, 2024
I vividly recall a moment from my childhood, when I was around ten years old, watching my mother stand in front of the mirror, lamenting the few strands of grey hair that had appeared. Decades ago, grey hair was disparaged as a sign of aging, viewed with sadness. Contrastingly, today, many people openly embrace the presence of grey hair on their heads, considering it a distinguished "salt and pepper" look. Nevertheless, irrespective of changing perceptions, in India, grey hair still holds symbolic significance as the initial mark of stepping into the revered stage of seniority.
My mom regularly used black hair dye every few months, much to my dad's disapproval. Since I was close to my dad, I also scolded my mom for using the dye. Dad talked about how it could harm her health. Even though we didn't have Google or smartphones back then, the warnings Dad heard from others and a few news channels were enough to worry him. He also tried convincing her by saying that grey hair was a natural process and technically no one could avoid it and there was always beauty in being authentic. I sometimes not even knowing, the context, continued siding my dad, who ironically even in his 40’s had no spec or slightest of white hair in his dense black hair.
The argument about hair dye has been ongoing in my household, and it persists even today. Initially, my mom, who was a working professional, argued that it was a bit embarrassing to have grey hair and felt it was necessary to dye her hair to look presentable. As time passed, she simply stated that she had gotten used to it and preferred her hair jet black. She experimented with henna and other home remedies, but nothing seemed to satisfy her like black hair dye did. As I progressed through college, my opposition to my mom's use of dye grew stronger. I constantly encouraged her to embrace her grey hair, but seeing her refusal, I began researching chemical-free hair dyes to share with her, while also making a vow to myself that I would never use hair dye.
Years passed, and I completed my education, started working, and entered married life. Time flew by, and before I knew it, I was in my thirties. Everything seemed fine, and I kept convincing myself that I was still young (which I am). Then, one day, while I was in the restroom at my office, admiring my reflection, I noticed a few strands of grey hair on the right side of my head. It caught me off guard and made me realize that I wasn't prepared for this change. I had anticipated feeling tired and having achy knees in my thirties, but I wasn't ready for grey hair just yet.
A feeling of sadness washed over me as I remembered all the times I had lectured my mom about embracing her grey hair and accepting reality. Then, a wave of panic hit me as I realized that people already thought I looked older than my husband, and the appearance of grey hair felt like adding insult to injury. I couldn't help but worry about my future. I still wanted to have children, and I had so many things I wanted to accomplish, yet here I was, already feeling like I was getting old. Lost in these thoughts, I impulsively plucked those few grey strands and tossed them in the trash. As I looked at myself in the mirror, I took a deep breath and tried to calm down.
The panic didn't subside; it only intensified. Every day, I found myself scrutinizing my reflection in the mirror. My husband noticed the change and was a bit surprised. He knew I had never been so preoccupied with my appearance before, which puzzled him. When I finally confessed the reason behind my behaviour, he not only chuckled but also felt relieved, as he had been dealing with grey hair for quite some time. This routine continued for a year. Every day, I diligently plucked out any hint of grey and tried to conceal the sneaky strands with henna and various home remedies. The idea of using hair dye hadn't crossed my mind yet.
After a few months, I found myself preparing to attend my cousin's wedding. As I fretted over what to wear and which shoes to choose, my attention suddenly shifted to my hair. Anxious to ensure there were no visible greys, I carefully parted my hair to inspect it in the mirror. To my dismay, I was met with a shock - strands of white were scattered throughout. Though they were few, they stood out prominently. I knew that options like henna or plucking wouldn't suffice.
After much deliberation and thorough research, I made the decision to colour my hair. With a blend of courage and a touch of reassurance, I convinced myself that this was simply enhancing my hair colour rather than concealing any greys. I opted for the finest burgundy hair colour available, determined to embrace this change with confidence. Preparing myself mentally to address any inquiries, I resolved to explain to others that this was merely an exploration of style rather than an attempt to hide my greys.
The hair dye finally arrived, but amidst the whirlwind of work and other obligations, I found myself unable to find the time to apply it. Consequently, I packed it along for my trip back to my hometown, where I handed it over to my mother, trusting her to take care of colouring my hair.
The next day, as she brushed on the dye, a sardonic smile played across her lips, and she began to question why I felt the need to alter my appearance. "Why do you insist on hiding your greys?" she needled, her words hitting me like barbs. Disappointingly, my father remained silent, offering no solace or support.
With a subtle glint of satisfaction in her eyes, that she had finally given me back, my mother persisted with the task of taunting me and applying the colour to my head , while my father sat passively by, a mere spectator to the unfolding scenario. Meanwhile, my husband observed the scene, seemingly amused by the scene unfolding before him. It was evident that my mother was subtly implying that we all eventually succumb to the desire to cover our greys, a desire each one of us have, to look and present young.
Yes, it's been a few months now, and very often I still find myself reaching for the hair dye. I'm still on the journey of fully accepting my greys wholeheartedly; it's a process that may take months or even years, the timeline uncertain. However, one thing has become unmistakably evident: the ongoing saga of concealing grey hair persists, just as my mom always predicted it would. Once again, Mom's wisdom prevails, and she has finally exacted her sweet revenge.
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