CHENNAI : To know me is to know that I like being no more than four feet away from a lipstick at any given point, and that I live in near-constant fear of going bald. Growing up in a Catholic school meant that my childhood was a fun remix of; Luke 12:7: “He knows exactly how many hairs are on your head” and the English Standard Version of: “Fear not; you are of more value than many sparrows.”
Perhaps this awes some children into piety, but for a second grader who had an annoying habit of questioning everything, it just didn’t make sense. “That’s impossible,” I said, clearly proud of my use of a big word. “I’ve got way too much hair!” In my mind, God would have to put in some real over-time in the hair-omniscience department to figure that one out. Religious affiliations with hair aside, mine was never really voluminous enough to make a plastic comb tremble. What followed were a series of botched-up, stationery scissors inspired pre-teen experiments, which really got me thinking about baldness and the fragility of life.
Anyway, this rather pointless, long-winded quip really serves no other purpose than to tell you this: I made a questionable impulsive decision and got bangs a few days back. The exact second my poor, sweet, slightly frazzled hair-girl made the big snip, I involuntarily let out a small, slightly shrill gurgling noise — as if my inner self was crying out, “Ye Gods! What have I done?” Now that the dust has settled, I’m feeling less Salman Khan from Tere Naam and having a more mysterious-French-girl, Brigitte Bardot moment north of my eyebrows. So if I ignore the wispy pieces that sometimes stab me in the eyeballs, I love how it makes me more wide-eyed and less chubby faced.
Here’s the bad news: good bangs don’t come without a little (read as: a lot) upkeep. While using a proper hairbrush is half the story (boar bristled brush instead of the nylon kind which have too many gaps) the other half involves making sure you break up any annoying cowlicks as soon as they are damp. Also, I’ve come to that bangs dry quicker than the rest of my hair, and have a natural tendency to mould themselves into whatever gross wavy shape they happen to air-dry in. Time is of the essence to blow-dry your bangs immediately!
I’m a self-professed hand lotion addict, which means that my oiled-up piglet hands are the natural enemy of light, soft and fluffy bangs. So keep hands (both yours and mine) off and nobody gets hurt.
As you can probably tell, I’ve spent more than a normal amount of time thinking how to get my bangs to behave. Can you imagine where I’d be if I applied myself to schoolwork the same way? I’d have surely solved some very serious world problems by now — like how to get cats to file taxes or launch the next guy who catcalls you straight into outer space.