Grey Monstrosity

As the sun shone upon the 14th of November, the people of India woke up to yet another day, not quite similar to the previous, but special in more ways than one. It was Children’s Day AKA Chacha Nehru AKA Pandit Jawaharlal Nehru’s birth anniversary. The day is famously celebrated in India in fond remembrance of his love for children and active involvement in protecting the rights of children, especially in the domain of education.

For as long as I can remember, the day has only ever been associated with one thing alone — wearing casual clothes or as we Indians fondly term it “colour dress” to school. It is a day dedicated to children. A day that most children are excited to go to school on, dressed in their finest, ready to show off to one another; boys with the freedom to slather on as much gel as their hair could take to remain “spiky” and girls with their hair let down with clips and bows and whatever else that would make the boys take notice.

As a boisterous young child, I have memories of my friends and I leading the rest of the class into ebullient chants of “FREE PERIOD! FREE PERIOD! FREE PERIOD!” followed by whinnying chants of “PLEEEEEAAAASE MAAAAAAAAM”. Needless to say, we succeeded. Most of the times, anyway. The rest of the day would involve celebrations with the teachers putting together a cultural programme for the entire student population and games throughout the day.

Now for as long as I can remember, I have always looked forward to this day. And I have only found my enthusiasm for it being curbed with every passing year, every degree, every double digit birthday and EVERY NEW STRAND OF GREY HAIR MY HEAD PRODUCES.

Nothing says, “Hey. Wake up. Stop acting like you’re a “colour dress” toting school kid” like a strand of grey hair. It started a couple of years back; back when I would still wake up excited on the 14th of November, only to be gently reminded by my friend that there is nothing for “us adults” to celebrate. One of those mornings, I was brushing my hair back to tie it up when I noticed the little monster rearing its silvery self, cunningly trying to camouflage itself amidst all the black, foolish enough to believe that it could. I grabbed on to it, ran to my friend and shouted, “This is it. There’s no going back. I’m doomed.”, miserable as miserable can get. To this, she only parted her hair to show me her own silvery companions with an added, “Welcome to the club”.

I have always known that the day my hair would turn against me wasn’t too far. My mother is testimony and going by the genes handed down to me, it was only a matter of time, really. I’ve always “jokingly” warned my mother that should my hair turn grey before the acceptable age of 40, I would sue her in family court for passing on to me what I didn’t ask for. So I did what I could with my limited resources. I yanked it out. And felt appeased.

Don’t get me wrong, I could get into nursing the ‘salt and pepper’ look just as much as the next person, but the child in me believes that it is more than a few years away before I have to consider doing it. So imagine my discomfort and empathise a little. But don’t judge me.

I’m a true believer of the adage, “Age is but a number”. Yes, I am aware of the hypocrisy of the two viewpoints I hold. But waking up to grey hair is like waking up to your first shaking tooth — overwhelming with a strong sense of losing something that you find hard to believe has “outgrown its usefulness”. What was wrong with it, to begin with? Why did it have to go and pave way for something else? Something that on it’s way, mars your appearance? But to be fair, I learnt to grow fond of the missing gap at the front of my mouth where my teeth used to be. I embraced the funny look it rendered me.

I will perhaps grow fond of the grey hair. But right now, it seems like it is pushing me to a point I’m not willing to explore yet. Having said that, I find I’m no less of a child today than I was 15–20 years ago. I still find an inane sense of joy in things adults scoff at, grey hair and all.

Today, I walk past the hair dyes at the store without a second thought. Tomorrow, I might pause for a glance. Who knows? But for now, I dislike the grey and what it is a reminder of. But it helps knowing nothing has changed inside of me, and I guess that’s what matters most right?

By the way, the grey monstrosity is now plural.

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