“SHUT UP! YOU CAN’T CUT YOUR HAIR”
The school had a rule: long hair meant pig-tails and short hair meant pony-tails. And pig-tails it was for you. There was no other option, right? Sikhs did not cut their hair. “Shut up, you can’t cut your hair,” was often heard in Sikh homes, especially when the school bus was at the door and the hair was not plaited yet and the kids looked pleadingly at their mothers.
You didn’t plead. Why waste time over what couldn’t be changed? And it was not all bad, too. You were always the neatest looking (well-groomed hair makes a big difference to looks is what you learned at that young age when you were, what, six?) and so you were selected to present the bouquet of flowers to the Inspector of schools who was there, on an Inspection.
That was the time when your Mother made your hair till you came of age when you reached the fifth standard. Ha, ha, ha, coming of age meant nothing more than combing your own hair. How you hated to do that. Especially when your hair ended in thin whiskers, almost like rat’s tails, and you had to go on plaiting them or else they would come out of their binding and then you would have a bunch of fibrous root- type hairs above both your ears and then your hands were grazed with their roughness when they brushed against them when you raised your hand to answer the questions in class. You were more irritated because you needed one metre of ribbon for each side, plaiting, plaiting, plaiting while there was Neelam Ghosh and Roshni Thapar who had this short hair with the perfect knife edge and they just needed one-quarter metre of ribbon. The pain and the labour made combing hair such a chore.
You knew scissors on hair were taboo and when the beautician advised to cut off the split ends, you balked. Burn off the hair ends, bite them off, she advised, she must have been a lawyer in last birth, trying to find loopholes in this diktat of no cutting hair.
You did not care. But she turned a bunch of hair around her finger and all the split ends sprung up as if they had a fire lit beneath them. Two headed three headed, these split ends were like hydra. Oh! Let me break them you said and you separated them and they broke off. No!No! her voice alarmed you, you will weaken the hair, her words worried you. Who ever wanted to go bald, even though that could be a fashion statement of sorts.
Not that you ever believed that not being able to cut one’s hair can stunt anyone’s potential. But to have smooth hair, split-end-less is a pleasure, which you will not deny yourself. Dove Split Ends Rescue System has come to your rescue and you are having fun, leaving your long hair open, not much of rat-tail-ends.
Go, Dove Split Ends Rescue System. You Rock.