It was when I was around the age of 12 when I first started taking proper notice of my own hair. I had been blissfully unaware of its vices and advantages for a large part of my childhood. My mother would mercilessly oil and brush and braid my hair into plaits, whose ends would feel and look as dry as the metal wool used to scrub vessels. I also did not really use any hair products, tamely accepting the new shampoo that my mother would have bought (which would change almost every other month). No conditioner, no leave-ins, no serums, no anything. I didn’t even know what they were. I hated my hair at the time, it used to be extremely dry and get tangled by the time I could sneeze. I just had to leave it open for a millisecond before I would be wailing in pain as my mother would pull the brush hard, down my hair. I was used to the violent life, I still was until very recently, when I realised that I had been approaching my hair the completely wrong way.
As a young child, I wanted hair like the ones in the advertisements for top shampoos. I would look at a Priyanka Chopra or an Aishwarya Rai, throwing their hair around as it fell in beautiful sheets around their form. I grew up watching Sunsilk, Pantene, Loreal Paris, Garnier etc, and as I saw a new one, I would beg my mother to get the new one the next time she would buy shampoo. Of course, conditioner was still something I was partially unaware of, so I wasn’t asking for the conditioner. It was at this time that my mother would tell me two things–one, “if you are not tame yourself, how will your hair be tame?” and two, “no one’s hair ever looks like that in the advertisements, naturally. It is part graphics.” I would have gladly believed that, but I saw friends around me who had silky smooth hair, that they literally did nothing for. Some of them did even less than me, they wouldn’t even apply oil (which my mother sold to me as the miracle ingredient that would make my hair silky smooth) at times.
I had friends whose hair would just flow out of their ponytails while mine couldn’t even be left alone in one, because it would get extremely tangled. My only option to have decent hair was to have it in two plaits or a braid, and even then, the ends which were left free would be a tangled mess. No amount of brushing made it alright (and now I realise that brushing was, in fact, contributing to my hair issues), despite what everyone believed. I was asked if I didn’t comb my hair that day, had I not oiled it, questions and concerns directed at me from all circles. In a school where everyone was dressed conservatively and were very well-kempt in looks, I looked like I had been pulled through a hedge whilst someone banged my head repeatedly on the bushes by the side. While my clothes and attire were always meticulously worn, my hair on the other hand, there have been times when I wished I were bald instead.
I remember the first time I saw a curly-haired classmate, who had beautifully defined curls which weren’t frizzy. That started my desire for nicely curly hair, a desire I still harbour to this day. Every time I wash my hair, I wonder if that is the day when my dream of having gorgeous, defined and frizz-free curls will come true. There are days when I reach close to that dream, days when my hair behaved wonderfully for a couple of days and then, it goes back to square one. I remember that seeing this classmate’s hair was when I properly started wishing for my natural curls instead of the straight hair that a lot of my friends had. I was obsessed with beautiful ringlets and small, tight curls, that were bouncy and shiny. It was around this time that I was able to access the internet with a freedom beyond whatever I had ever experienced until then. I would spend hours online, looking for ways to take care of and maintain curly hair.
My grandparents’ house was my laboratory because it had everything I would ever need. From olive oil to fresh aloe vera gel straight from the plant, I could access multiple ingredients that dominated the world of DIY hair products. I started doing multiple permutations and combinations (this later became a joke amongst my friends, the girl who did P&C for her hair), with very varied and sometimes disappointing results. The problem could have been that despite making those hair masks, I did not have a good hair routine, a good shampoo and conditioner that I would have had to use, plus the freedom to leave my hair without brushing. If I did not brush my hair, it went extremely tangled and I needed to brush it out in order to save my hair was tangling up beyond repair.
This journey is by no means complete, and there are many parts that I simply did not find the space to type out here. Why did I even recollect this journey? I think a part of the reason why is because I grew up listening to people tell me that I should not be caring so much about hair. It is hair, after all, it doesn’t deserve my time and efforts, it never shall. That is quite a toxic idea to preach because it invalidates my insecurities about my own hair and personality, made me believe that in addition to feeling and looking bad and having self-esteem issues, I was, in addition, doing something as menial as worrying about something like hair. It added to my worries, it continues to do so. Even sometimes these days, I catch myself chastising myself for worrying that much about my hair, and then I immediately remind myself of what has been a tough journey, which is still a tough journey (that still suffers from a lack of support from my family). I am still plagued with my mother constantly nagging me to brush my hair and commenting on how ugly it looks, my confidence take a hit on those days, especially if I had just been feeling quite nice about my curls. It is quite a long journey so far, it promises to be an even more tough journey henceforth, I shall be able to progress here, won’t I?
And that’s my memory for the day.
The Memory Of A Storyteller 