The Grey Cover!

The greys have been peeping into my silhouette for quite some time. When they first appeared I use to pluck them off (pacified my heart by saying - all that stress!) soon they started showing on the side burns and temples (I can’t be that old!). it wasn’t long before my stylist, very timidly suggested that I could colour my hair. She went into raptures about how the hair would glow and thicken and become healthy. The first time I brushed away her suggestion. A month of vitamin capsules, regular oiling of the hair with judicious plucking would solve the problem or so I thought!

Soon I was pouring over leaflets and books about how to colour. Which was the best brand? Should I just pick up one off the shelf?  After a lot of Hamletian metaphysical self-questioning I bought one at the super market and secretly coloured my hair. No one was told about it. The hair did glow and it looked lovely. I took all the compliments and gave the credits to the vitamins which I had since stopped consuming!

Months passed and my stylist said I should do “a global” as the hair was looking “patchy “and ‘translucent”. By then I was tired of trying to cover my grey secretly.  Imagine having to wait till no one was in the house for at least two hours and then apply it in the bathroom, clean up the mess etc. it was easier at the parlour! So the job migration took place. Though it was a little heavy on my pocket, it took away a lot of my worry. It was timed with my haircut so my secret remained safe!

Years later when I was comfortable with my age, I allowed this secret to be out in the open. By now it was cool to colour, so I tried all sort of different colours and stopped using dark brown. Graduating to using streaks took some more time and the I went all out with blonde, bronze, brown and red streaks. I remember how excited I was. My poor husband did not know what to say! Knowing that the deed was done he complimented me. In my euphoria I never saw the wince in his eyes. The children were also diplomatic and all was fine in my paradise. Since then I have been informed by the lord and master that I looked like a lioness (due to the frizziness caused by bleaching my hair!)

I have been at home for the last two months- not travelling that is. The greys had started creeping up everywhere, I kept postponing the ritual. At a certain level, I thought, I looked kind of distinguished so I deferred it further. Having religiously treated my hair for so many years I had not realized the extent of my greyness! Suddenly I realized that my mind was still twenty but my hair was…. Well you know. I felt depressed, haggard and vulnerable (don’t ask me about vulnerability!) I peered into the mirror and saw a patchy grey haired middle aged woman with dull and spotty skin!

Enough was enough! I made an appointment with my stylist and sailed there with all my usual confidence. She of course ‘tched’ with all her might and said “Global”.

“Yes of course!”, I concurred

For the next two hours I was pampered. Line by line of my hair was taken and tinted. I was then asked to wait for thirty-five minutes, which I did with further pampering – pedicure and manicure!

While I sipped my coffee, I noticed a grey haired man sit down under the guidance of another stylist. He had pepper and salt hair and looked quite handsome in spite of them. “Around forty”, I guessed as I peeped at him. He looked very uncomfortable. The stylist hovered around him with the usual “Can I get you something?” and “what would you like to do today, sir?”

“Well”, a very long drawn out weeeeell, “Actually I would like to colour my hair” still hot under the collar our gentleman.

The catalogue was brought out, while I mused ‘how unfair that men looked good with grey hair’. I could see he was thoroughly confused with all the choice the young girl was pointing out to him.

“Actually can you make it look like my original colour?”

The girl decided that here was no adventurous man and asked, “Black?”

“Black?”, he said that a little loudly

“Papa! Not black, it looks artificial”

I then noticed a young lady having her pedicure done at the chair. She was definitely in her mid-twenties.

All my theories fell flat! This man couldn’t be forty unless he had her at fifteen!

“You see my daughter’s wedding is in two days and she wants me to do this!”

Look of understanding dawned on the stylists face and she took the catalogue to the daughter to choose. As they discussed over bronze brown or reddish brown, the man looked at his nails and allowed someone to trim his hair, over the daughter’s “Not too short please!”

It was a kind of quaint experience for me. I am so used to seeing mother-daughter duos in the parlour that to see this father- daughter together was refreshing. The world and society is changing for the better. I had a wonderful father who was always upbraided by my grandmother for treating us like his friends. I see my daughters also have a great father who treats them as equals and here I was seeing this cameo.

I came out – a glossy haired, bright faced young woman- rejuvenated both in mind and body.