The first of things…

In the nook of our minds, we have a box. This box holds our first- time memories. It has two compartments. In to one goes all the happy, affirmative memories and the other holds those memories….I won’t call them sad…but those which make us wise!

There is something about the first of things. The first time you rode the bicycle on your own, the first teacher who was partial to you, your first crush, your first branded and over-priced jeans, your first kiss, first job, first promotion, first love, the first diamond…

Then there are the other kind of first times…the first bruise, the first time you felt foolish, the first rejection, the first time you were made to feel ‘not good enough’, first time someone who broke your heart …

Once you grow wise…you will empty the second compartment into the first one. There is no such thing as bad experience. But until you get wise…

Anyways, the first of things…you can never let go of them. It as if they have left their timestamp on your psyche forever. They always remain special and many a times they define who you are or what you are going to be.

But when you see the first strand of white hair on your head….it means nothing! You are so freaked out that you just take a pair of scissors and cut the cursed thing out before you allow yourself to feel anything. Then, that day you obsess in secrecy…wondering whether your life is over. Then you jump right into the middle of denial. It was that damned shampoo! Or may be that person who said that you have nice hair cast an evil eye on you. For a week, you apply oil regularly, eat your vitamins and check that spot on your scalp just to make sure that your enemy was a lone soldier.

After a week or so…you are convinced that you dreamed it all up and it never happened. Just when you think you are safe, six more turn up as if they came for the first one’s funeral. You head for the scissors again or try covering it up with eyeliner.

It might be a week…a month or some years later-but the attack will come again. And this time it’s an all out army. You realize that you can’t cut them out this time…unless of course you are willing to shave your head!

Standing in you pajamas…in front of your sink…you learn acceptance. Wisdom is painful but acceptance can be depressing!

At the age of 25, I am in middle of such an attack. Every day…I take a few minutes to obsess about those 4 strands of white hair. My mom got her first white hair when she was 39 or 40 .If I continue like this, in fifteen years I will look like my mom’s elder sister! I try telling myself that most women my age nowadays have white hair. Doesn’t help at all!

I used to apply oil everyday. Till I came to US, I never used shampoo. I took castor oil-shikakai bath twice a week. I would get up at five in the morning to take my olive oil bath on weekdays. Every 15 days I would get a massage. “Look how well Krupa takes care of her hair!” was a very common reprimand for my cousins. That entire circus to what end?!?

People might say its just vanity…but what’s outside of your head is as much a part of you as the inside of your head. But I do know that it’s not an earth shattering event. People are starving; icebergs are melting. Compared to that, having a few silver strands is nothing. It’s just an indicator of the passing of things. One more list added to your “can’t be taken for granted” list.

And then I wonder…maybe the white hair is to brace you for the first wrinkle. The wrinkle- a preparation for the first arthritic ache. Its not growing old which is a problem…its saying goodbye to the picture of yourself you have in your mind! It reminds you that you are growing up.

When you can be as immature as an eighteen year old …why can’t you look like one?

In time I will learn to let go, smile and say “L’Oreal! Because I am worth it.”

As for now, I am heading back to the sink to stare at them.