As I learned to walk and my little curious hair began to grow, my mother and various other women like her,in parts of my country, hid their hair in Ghunghats.
My mother tells me how I had once locked the door when she went to fetch water from the bore. I couldn't open it and kept crying. Okay , I also pissed in fear.
The door had to be broken.My mother tells me how my dad used to skip his evening tea to save money for me and my Lactogen.
My mother tells me how I used to keep knocking our neighbour,Suthar Uncles door all day, and irritate the already irritated couple. She tells me I only ate 'Ghee,Gud,Roti' at Marathi aunty's place everyday
She tells me I didn't like the Rotis she made because they were thick.
In a parallel universe to mine, more than 1000 died in Ayodhya for place of two different Gods,who didn't even seem to care about it.
We always had photo sessions in winters. My parents planned out to save those Rs. 250 they'd.need by October end to buy me a school sweater
Every year, the notice paper before 2 days of photo session was the same Hereby all the parents are informed that their wards are expected to wear their full uniform, ironed and clean. They have to clean and oil their hair properly. Boys are supposed to cut their hair and girls have to make pony or plaits. White ribbon/white hair-band is compulsory. School sweater is must. Parent's Sign
When I was in class 6th, we had our first digital camera photo session.We were all curious to see how beautiful we looked in our digital photo but it turned out to be a disaster. I never show my class 6th photo to anyone. Not even you. The only good thing about the picture was we had our names written right below our photos. Digital, you see! I used to run around my flat with photo to make sure each and every member of flat saw it! Meanwhile, there was an earthquake, Godhra riots, Tsunami, etc. I liked them because we got indefinite holiday in schools and our exams were cancelled. (Now I don't!) Every morning Michael uncle used to come with his 'Basanti' to take us to school. His auto had a Amitabh Bacchan and Sridevi photo on the back side of the hood. Yes, there was rickshaw politics too. We made wacky plans to make sure we got the 'khidki' seat or 'ladko wali' seat, which was sitting right next to Michael uncle. Plans included even pretending nausea! He bought us butterscotch ice-cream in summer. It was this man who took over the responsibility to get all of us back home safely from school during riots. We had to pass through what they call 'Mini Pakistan' (Juhapura) in Ahmedabad. Today, I find people over their lovely. Back then, they called it a danger zone for Hindus to go from especially during any Hindu Muslim disturbance. He packed all of us in the auto and curtained windows with a cloth. He drove in full speed and stopped only when we reached our flat. I felt it was a joyride. He lost his daughter during the Godhra riots.
Hindus killed Muslims.Muslims killed Hindus. I was indifferent. Colonies were destroyed and families were crushed to death.Shaktiman awed me, whereas my mother asked me to worship Ma Durga.
He beautifully taught us lessons of love and helping. And also how to apologize when you are wrong. Ram and Rahim failed to,during riots. Their's was religion, mine was faith.
My braids have always been with me.
Be it during science exhibition where we were made to stand on suggestion box by seniors or Elocution by Rotary club, my braids had to be on my head.
Meanwhile, there was a Bombay Blast
No matter how ugly I looked in two thin braids, I felt beautiful as I was never introduced to Ugliness.It was in class 9th when I joined International board school and our uniform had a blazer. It was a proud thing to walk out of my house in blazer as my mother told all our neighborhood aunties, "Bohot unche school mein admission karaya he apni beti ka. Humara toh beta bhi yahi he aur beti bhi." I still made 2 chotis and Jackson Sir called me Pagal. He encouraged me to write my first poem, 'Journey to zoo'.
There were events of falling in love and blossoming friendships. Also of a few broken friendships.
I don't exactly remember what shampoo I used back then. Every Sunday Mummy used to wash my hair with 'Amla, aritha and shikakai' paste 1 hour after a Parachute Coconut Oil massage by Papa. I have had memories with my braids. Good and Bad. Mummy says, plaiting hair also helps stop hair damage as hair doesn't tangle easily. Also it saved her time when I was kid because braided hair don't even mess and remain on place for whole day.
I was completely unaware of concept of split ends, but my hair at ends hurt my cheeks like broom!
Nomad-like roaming, flying kites in scorching sun, playing in dust and those cycle-race in polluted Daxini society and so much more. It had all taken a toll on my hair and I never knew what this thin hair plaits are indicating.
Thanks to my half-baked knowledge I figured out what causes split-ends and not how to treat them, I started avoiding outings, drenched my hair in oil, etc. but in vain.
Just like my country suffered poor policies by semi-literate politicians and self-proclaimed leaders.
On how much We need a Dove.
Back with my Happy Braids :)
Today, I roam around the city ceaselessly. Braids are hence, the best and the easiest thing to do. And they stay on place for whole day without tangling my hair. Thanks to Dove Split-end rescue shampoo and conditioner, I can now carry my thick healthy braids without any split-ends. The ends don't hurt like broom anymore!My country needs a Dove too. I wish to braid my country.I wish it doesn't tangle anymore. I wish it stays in place,without damaging anyone.
And yes, only a Dove can help me in this Split-End Rescue Mission too :)
This post is written as a part of 'Beautiful ends to your beautiful braids' for Dove Split-End Rescue system.
