I stood in front of the mirror after my morning bath for my daily dose of sindhoor and kajal. There, suddenly I spotted it. That silver strand amid my black hair. At that time, I was in my late thirties. As per hereditary laws, the greying of hair was bound to start sooner or later as my father was grey-haired when I was in school and my mother when she was in her early forties. Still, I never expected this silver guest would visit me so soon!
I then made it a point to subject my crowning glory to severe scrutiny. Here and there, a few silver strands peeped out to let me know of their existence. “Well, only a few,” I thought. Grandmother's blessings, they call it.
As days passed, everyday I started counting my grandmother's blessings. She seemed to have been magnanimous in showering them on me! Soon the silver strands entered double digits. “Oh God! Am I getting old?” I had entered my forties.
Initially, I started pulling out the unwanted guests one by one. Soon I knew it was a time-consuming (wasting) and painful process. Also, I couldn't see how many culprits were hiding at the back of my head, beyond my vision.
My daughters were getting ready for marriage. The silver hairs on my head were becoming conspicuous. With greying hair, I could not imagine myself playing hostess during my daughters' wedding.
I started taking note of people around me, some people, even in their sixties and seventies, with total black hair. A few were victims of premature greying, but many senior citizens, some even in their seventies, were particular about black hair. The skin wrinkling and teeth falling were beyond their control but not so grey hairs, as I could see. I did envy their jet black hair and spoke to my daughters about it. That did it! It sparked a serious debate on what action I should take to compact grey hairs. They (three of them) came up with the panacea. “Amma, why don't you dye your hair? You better dye before the salt overtakes the pepper.” They continued in the same vein. “Do you think the black colour on the heads of all these people is natural, haven't you heard of dyeing?” Yes, of course, I retorted. I have heard about Bombay Dyeing. The joke was lost on them.
Godrej, Garnier and other ads flashed in my mind. I asked myself the million-dollar question. “To dye or not to dye.” Images of damsels with shiny black hair billowing all over their face like black silky clouds floated in front of me.
I finally took the plunge, or should I say the brush, and camouflaged my grandmother's blessings. I stood in front of the mirror and did feel younger. Not bad, I thought. The reflection would make a few heads turn! How long should I continue the dye works? Maybe I'll stop when I become a grandma.
Now I've hit the half-century mark and have become a grandma and I thought of the phrase, “Ageing with grace.” But then, I don't feel old. I feel pretty young. I've deferred my decision to stop dyeing. If colouring my hair (it sounds less harsh than dyeing) makes me feel younger, why not go on for some time? I told myself. “Vanity thy name is woman.”
(The writer's email ID is shobs_unni@yahoo.com)
