The Haircut

           It had been 12 years. 12 years since she had had a haircut. She had always prided herself on her hair. After all, it were her long tresses that had got her her husband. Well, that wasn't the only thing. There was her too; a bright, vivacious girl he couldn't have refused. It was an arranged setting. An alliance suggested by her uncle, who knew both the families. Fortunately for everyone, and more so for the girl and the boy, it worked.

         They met at her place. She wore a white salwar kurta with a light gold border. Her hair, thick and lustrous, the color of chestnut, cascaded down to her waist in perfect little curls. It was parted to one side and pinned carefully behind her ears where a dainty Hibiscus flower sat tucked in her pretty ringlets rather inconspicuous. They spoke nervously at first but as the evening wore on; they chatted and laughed like old friends. It was an instant connection and talks of an impending wedding soon filled the busy household.

             Two years hence and much had changed. Twins within a year and a lucrative job offer had ushered in a better lifestyle although it brought with it copious amount of work at the office, longer commutes, shorter evenings and busier weekends. But in spite of their hectic schedules, they made time for each other and lived a happy family life. Their fondness for each other had only deepened and they loved each other just as much if not more.

            While she made every effort to keep the threads of her married life intact, she did, however, neglect herself. She wasn't particularly good looking but it was always her hair that had set her apart. It was her identity and if there was ever a mop of hair that did justice to the words 'crowning glory', it was hers. She couldn't remember how it had grown to this length. Maybe it were the compliments or just her general apathy of the hairdressers. And so it grew and the attention it got made her feel good. She tended to it with utmost care. She would plait it, tie it into a ponytail or just leave it loose. Anyway she wore it, it turned heads. It boosted her confidence and she loved it when people said 'the girl with the beautiful long hair.' It framed her face and gave her character. 'Don't ever cut your hair' her mom would say lovingly while running her fingers through it. She wasn't vain but she indulged in her hair and she knew she would be devastated if anything were to happen to those perfect locks.

             Times change, and people do too but sometimes, disappointingly, out of their own folly. That was two years ago and sadly, it was that very hair she now neglected. Her indifference was deliberate and quite unfounded.

          She remembered that evening like it was yesterday. It was her honeymoon. They were at the beach watching the sun go down. The sea was calm and shimmered in that mellow light. The orange silhouettes of fishermen and their dinghies bobbed in the distance. The waves crashed gently on the shore wetting their toes bringing with them tiny shells and yellow sand before receding into the deep blue waters. A warm breeze, the smell of brine, played softly and teased the strands that had come undone from her tousled bun. The rays light up her hair and the light brown traces shone in that soothing light. He looked at her tenderly and brushed the loose strands back into her thick bun. 'How could I say no to such lovely hair and that Hibiscus laughing mockingly at me!' It was a casual comment made in good humor that she should have taken in the right spirit. But something burned in her and she felt dejected. She smiled at him ruefully, saying nothing. She felt he had married her for the wrong reasons. She knew she was wrong. He had married her for her but try as she might, she couldn't shake off that remark made in pure jest.

            Years passed and she carried on never letting it hurt him, hurt their marriage for that would be foolish. Those words though stayed etched in her mind. There's more to me than my hair she thought indignantly. She knew he loved her but the human mind is such; quite cynical. It latches on to the negative and distorts the truth. She felt loved but she also felt there was something missing, like an important piece of a nearly complete puzzle, all of her own doing.

          And thus began her impassiveness towards her hair. Deliberate at first till it became a habit over the course of time. 'How silly of me!' she would reproach herself but she was beyond reasoning. Her indifference began to show gradually. She stopped coloring her hair or trimming the ends. It started looking unkempt. A carelessly tied scraggly plait with split ends. She soon reached a stage where she almost forgot she had hair. Busy she was, yes, juggling home, work and the kids but if it weren't for that unfortunate comment, she would have still had that beautiful mane. 'Your hair doesn't look as nice now' her friends would say with concern but she was impervious to it all.

            It was on one chaotic morning while combing her hair and running to get her kids ready for school that she reasoned she might as well cut it short than leave it to fall apart. A comforting thought but she couldn't muster the courage to do it. She blamed her busy schedule but the truth was she hadn't gone to a salon for as long as she could remember and the thought paralyzed her.

          Weeks passed but finally one day she made up her mind and made that appointment. So after work, she made her way to the salon bustling with energetic, immaculate women. All eyes turned on her when she walked in and she shrank under their stares. When it was her turn for a haircut, the hairdresser exclaimed 'Oh what long hair!' She cringed. Am I doing the right thing? She was at crossroads. Maybe I can just trim it and nurse it back to health. A stream of thoughts riddled her mind before being rudely interrupted by the hairdresser's terse question, 'What would you like me to do?' A tense pause. She shot the hairdresser a look of despair and confusion. 'I don't know. Could you just trim the ends?'

            'Yes, but your hair is in bad shape. I'll have to take at least 4 inches off if that's ok.'

            An unsure nod and the scissors got down to work. Snip, snip snip. Every movement of the hairdresser's fingers moving swiftly through her hair and the sound of the scissors cutting those neglected curls were a rude reminder of her own stupidity, the neglect and she felt her life crumble with every trimming that fell to the floor.

            The hairdresser’s face wore a contorted look. 'When was the last time you had it cut? It looks so dry and lifeless.'

           'I can't remember. It's been a long time.'

          'If I were you, I’d cut it shoulder length. It will be easier to grow it back well....' she said her voice trailing off.

          All through she wondered what her husband would say. Would he like her any less? The words 'How could I say no to such lovely hair and that Hibiscus laughing mockingly at me!' resonated in her head. The more she thought of it, more vengeful she felt and bolder she got.

             'Yes! Cut it way short.' she ordered.

          Snip, snip and more snips. It took a whole hour to trim it down. She closed her eyes not wanting to think of the comments and looks she was going to get. She visualized her husband mortified. Her children, nothing to play with as they sat on her lap while she read to them. Her mother, a look of absolute disbelief. Well, it’s my hair she concluded and tried to curb the myriad of thoughts crowding her mind.

           When it was all done, she looked about her; a carpet of jet black trimmings. She felt a catch in her throat and looked in the mirror. She couldn't recognize herself. 'Well, it is what it is. Hopefully it grows back soon.' she thought out aloud. The hairdresser smiled reassuringly.

              She got out and started her anxious drive back home.

            When she reached home, she stood at her doorsteps, heart pounding. She wasn't sure whether she had liked the haircut herself and felt naked. She stared vacantly at the door and regretted her attitude. If only she had been mature and sensible. ‘I’m worse off now!’ she thought and let out a sob. She jabbed at the doorbell and waited with a pained and resigned look on her face.

She heard the latch go after what felt like an eternity. The door swung open and he stopped short. A disconcerted look crossed his face. He gasped and stared stupefied. It took him a few seconds to gather himself before saying 'You've got rid of your hair!'

She stood incapacitated and scared, her drooping shoulders very suggestive of a hard battle lost. He pulled her close and hugged her tight, 'I can’t believe what you've done to your hair!’

‘Do you like it?’ she asked shakily. He pulled her away and holding her at arms length gave her a long look, ‘I like it!'

               'Will you love me just the same?'

 His face changed from a puzzled look to one of amusement, 'I will always love you no matter what hon!' She light up like a pin ball machine and smiled. He gave her a searching look and asked 'But whatever made you do that?'

 'You don't want to know.' She said sheepishly feeling a wave of relief.

 She pulled him closer and felt a sense of peace. Resting her head on his chest she closed her eyes and pictured the missing piece slide effortlessly into that empty spot completing her unfinished puzzle. 

Him

When Natascha woke up that frigid Monday morning, she felt an unmistakable sense of urgency tinged with excitement. She looked about her room trying to remember what might have caused this furor. She felt uneasy but even then, it was a welcoming feeling. She couldn't put her finger on it and wondered why she felt the way she did, an undeniable mix of frenzy accompanied by fear and most of all, adventure.

She got up from her bed, mindful of the growing pit in her stomach and walked to the full length mirror by the window and saw a disheveled but a comely figure staring back at her. The eyes were dilated from the inexplicably mysterious feeling and the mellow rays streaming in from the partly drawn lace curtains accentuated her light brown eyes. She stared back at the reflection in a stupor. It didn't feel like her own. And yet, it was her.

She reached for the window and threw the curtains apart and drew in a deep breath of the crisp winter air. The neighborhood was still waking up to the morning. Other than a few hurrying pedestrians, and an occasional school bus, the street wore a deserted look. The deathly silence amplified the rumbling sounds of the subway train grinding on the metal rails in the far distance. She took in every bit of the serene setting, all the while wondering at her rather fragile state of mind.

And then it struck her, like a bolt from the blue. Just as she was walking away from the window, she heard the long, hollow horn of a train traveling through the dense cold air and it all became clear. In a flash, just like that. She stiffened, stopping in her tracks.

Yes, today was the day she decided she would speak, say something, or smile. Even if it’s just a smile. Something.

Suddenly, her life had a new purpose. She dug her toes in the soft carpet, heart pounding. Today, she would pull out her little vanity case of maquillage stashed away in the deep recesses of her closet. She would wear that Christian Dior perfume, gifted by her brother years ago and saved since then to be worn only on exclusive occasions. She would wear the prettiest dress she had with her 3 inch heels even if it meant stumbling and getting a few sores.

She would look her best.

She hurried, with a spring in her step and heightened senses. She listened to the spirited chirping of the tiny warblers, the merry whistle of the wind through the bare branches and oddly enough, even the heavy footsteps of her neighbor upstairs felt like they were dancing to a tune. Nothing perturbed her. 'Oh! How I wish everyday would be like this!' She filled her lungs with the neighbor’s warm saccharine smell of waffles wafting in through the open window and when her toasts popped from the toaster, she spread an extra layer of the herbs and garlic cheese. She wrapped her long fingers around the warm cup of coffee, eyes closed and took in every bit of the warmth.

Oh Joy!

And when it was time to get dressed, she felt giddy with happiness. 'Should I put on my makeup first or the dress or vice-versa?' She couldn't make up her mind. 'Bothers! What difference does it make? I'll be the prettiest girl there has ever been!' she sighed.

Oh Joy!

She wore her reddish brown tweed dress, a subdued yet stylish garment. It had a pretty belt with a big buckle in the center that sat firmly on her tiny waist. After carefully drawing the eye liner over her eyelids, dabbing pink lipstick and patting some foundation and blush, she let out an impromptu happy cry. She did look Vogue worthy – the cover page! Her hair was tied in a high pony tail, revealing her high brows, and cheek bones, her kohl lined eyes and her perfect mouth. She threw on a matching scarf, slipped into her heels and stood in front of the mirror with her Coach bag. She felt a million dollars.

Oh Joy!

When she stepped on the pavement, the cold air cut through her like a sharp knife. She shivered, gathered herself and continued her suddenly-not-so-arduous walk to the train station. The city was limping back to life. Cars whizzing past, a bevy of school girls waiting for their bus, the newspaper boy on his round flinging newspapers onto driveways, yellow taxi cabs dotting the city progressively and the chattering of early morning walkers. She didn't normally look up at passerbys and smile, but today she nodded at at least a dozen.

She could take on the world on a day like today.

'Why am I so excited now? It's only on the ride home that I see him.' But she didn't want to spoil the magic and kept up her buoyant mood. 'It will prepare me for that opportune moment.' 

The train ride to work was uneventful and passed by quickly. She wasn't lulled to sleep by the sound of the wheels on the tracks. She was wide awake, au contraire, and watched the landscape turn from sprawling fields bathed in mellow sunlight to a bustling city with its familiar sights and sounds.

At work, she moved feverishly through her assignments and when it was lunch hour, she slipped out alone for a soup and salad combo. A big change, eating alone! She couldn't ever imagine eating out alone. She felt out of her depth and awkward. She never understood people who sat alone in restaurants and ate without feeling self-conscious. She would rather go hungry than go alone and secretly admired people who were so comfortable in their skin. Today, she was one of them. She got her tray and sat confidently in a booth near the window. She watched people and conjured up stories about their lives between succulent morsels of clam soup and fresh salad. All the while thinking of her ride back home. She dug her toes into the soft cushion of her heels. 'It will be ok. It will be better than ok.' she reassured herself.

When she got back to work, she felt numb with anticipation for the hour was drawing closer. She couldn't concentrate and her mind kept going back to the events that led up to today.

It was about two months back, two months too long. She noticed him standing at the other end of the rail car holding on to the bar. A tall, lithe figure in checked green shirt and blue jeans. He had a denim jacket with him, she remembered. Staring vacantly ahead, her eyes had caught hold of the jacket, which he held lightly in the other hand. It's sleeve had fallen from his grasp and swayed with the movement of the train. It was the sleeve that held her attention. The gentle sway, the light blue color and the metal buttons at the cuffs.

She didn't make anything of it at first but in the days that followed, she noticed him regularly. He would get off one stop before her but she didn't know where he got on. He had a soft look, always smiled, made way for people and would give up his seat to the elderly. There was a look of pathos in his eyes, she felt. He needs someone to make him feel less of a stranger in an unfamiliar city. For she thought he was new to the place. She wanted to be that person. One who'd hold his hand and tell him, 'It's ok.'

He started to grow on her. Everyday, she'd peel her eyes to seek him out. He stood out from the crowd; his refined ways set him apart from the others like no other. He was effortlessly smart and sophisticated. He was always so well put together, his clothes, his mannerisms. An alluring man! Yet there was nothing exaggerated about him. His hair was mostly drawn back neatly but sometimes it wore a ruffled look, maybe from the wind. It suited him though, made him look rakish. She wondered what was going through his mind, who he was and where he lived. All she could do for the moment was try and make up a story - something she would do to pass those dreary hours of her long commute. She would let her imagination run wild but not with him. With him, she was careful. She couldn't make anything of him but watched and admired.

She looked forward to the ride home and never missed the 6 'o' clock train. And there he'd be standing on the platform waiting to get on. He never shoved or pushed, just waited patiently. There was something about him that was so vulnerable and endearing that she wanted to take care of him. It wasn't love. No, it wasn't, it was just her need to be his friend, to protect and nurse him. She wished he would stand next to her but it never happened. She started worrying that he'd just disappear one day and not know her. She had to make him know her. But how? Every time, she thought of going up to him, her mind drew a blank, her knees buckled and her mouth would go dry.

So after two months of watching him, she had made up her mind to go up and say 'Hello'. Would it work? She had no clue. But she felt hopeful. It had to be done. She didn't want to live with that regret.

When it was time to leave, she brushed her hair, neatened her dress and re-applied her lipstick. Suddenly, she didn't feel as cheerful as she did in the morning. She didn't want to come across as too loud and lightly wiped the extra layer of lipstick.

Her stomach was in knots when she got on the train and almost wished he never existed – at least not in her life. When the train screeched to a halt at his station, she looked frantically for him. There he was, standing tall and handsome to one side. She felt nervous and waited with sweaty palms. The train lunged forward and gained momentum, its wheels making those repetitive patterns of predictable sounds. She kept summoning courage, looking for the right moment to go up to to him. Nothing felt right. 'What if I appear desperate and silly?' She agonized over it and at one point, almost gave up. But when she saw him looking placidly out of the window with a bored expression, she thought they might have something in common.

She got up, determined in her resolve. She made her way through the motley crowd of men and women. The train was overcrowded and she got pushed about by the motion of the train and people trying to balance themselves. When she was half way, the train came to a halt and to her horror, she watched him get off.

She pushed through the crowd and jumped out on the platform just as the closing doors sign came on. As she followed him on the platform, she realized it would look out of place to make that first acquaintance on a platform or the road. She knew him from the train rides and the train felt a more appropriate place for their first encounter. Her mind raced, should she give up now? Maybe not. Maybe she could just pretend this is her destination and make it look like she bumped into him. Sly but the best workaround. Comforted, she moved quickly through the milling crowd. She felt happy all of a sudden. There was hope and it had been a good day – maybe a sign of good things to come!

Oh joy!

She quickened her step, made that turn onto the road and saw him enter a cafe. 'Perfect! I could use a warm cup of coffee myself!' She felt. She crossed the street and opened the door to the noisy cafe. 'Oh every thing's shaping up in my favor!' The color rose to her cheeks and she felt a warm glow.

She ordered a cup of coffee and gingerly made her way to his table, hidden behind a small partition. She turned round the red brick wall, coffee in hand and stopped short.


He was pulling her a chair before settling down himself. A warm look in his eyes.

She stared incapacitated for a second or two, a look of despair. 'Yes?' said he, with a light smile. 'Oh nothing. I'm sorry' she managed befuddled and got out. The wind chilled her bones. She took the next train home.

Once home, she kicked off her heels and opened the window for some fresh air. She watched the bright city lights, her heart heavy. She stood there for fifteen minutes until it started drizzling.

She closed the window and saw her shadowy reflection against the big round bokehs from the city lights on the rain splashed window.

She reached for the cup of coffee resting on the sill. Her eyes welled up. She looked away, a tear slowly rolled down her cheek.