"Your hair is becoming absolutely WILD!" my father would comment every single day. But that was the way I liked it. Everything about me has always been uncontrollable.
I have never liked being bound together by rules. I managed to escape the barber's scissors for a couple of months, but of course, one can run but one can never hide.
And so it happened, on the fateful day of January the 3rd,'05, my mother managed to drag me to the parlour. As I sat on the chair, all sorts of nightmarish images of me with a preposterous haircut, being ridiculed by others, passed through my mind.
Why? Why do I have to suffer such cruelty, such torture? What sin had I committed? I shut my eyes and joined my hands to pray to God.' Please God, may this torture be short!' I begged. The barber approached me with scissors and hair clips in hand.
It was like time had stopped, which was worse. I felt like a trapped animal, like in those horror movies where the victim is crouched in one corner, and the murderous, half dead creature is advancing towards you, knife/gun/sword etc in hand. And then he began chopping my hair!
Bits of my hair fell everywhere. My mother sat somewhere behind me, giving continuous encouragement, saying that I was looking really nice. I decided not to take her word for it.
Then, suddenly I noticed the absence of snipping sounds. I looked up to see that the barber was approaching me with a mirror. I braced myself for the result of the haircut.
And…Wow! Hey! I wasn't looking that horrible after all! All traces of the earlier consternation gone, I turned to look at my mother, who was smiling at me. Later, as I walked out the parlour (hopping and skipping) I felt very enthusiastic. Maybe being a little in control wasn't that bad after all!
Trisha, Springdales school, New Delhi