hair (story)
The first time I hated my long hair was from the heat of Sanal sir’s cane. The hair should be braided and tied with a ribbon, those with long hair should be braided back and tied. He studied law in school till 7th standard. After receiving that beating, I became a skirt girl who took a shower every morning, braided my water-tight hair, tied it back and tied it with a ribbon and put a butterfly on my head. But the hair was also protesting through the not-so-pleasant smell of untying that tie after school. So that was the first time I cut my long hair. Since my hair was growing longer than mine, Annatar was not too shaken. Everyone happily accepted the little boy with some hair. Afterward I forgave all the cruelties and neglects that followed, and only showed my allegiance to him, and it again grew larger than before. So I also started liking hair which became my identity in school. I tried every possible style and flew it for 6-7 years without even bothering to cut the stem. 3 years ago, the peace and new look of short hair came to my mind, so I forgot about the fans of long hair and cut off more than half of it. My mother put her hand on her chest because of the loss of her head. On the way, I heard my sister who accompanied me to the beauty parlor and all my relatives, including my mother, fighting. Naturally I posted pictures of the new head on every social media platform.
In the inbox that is overflowing only for rituals like Happy Newer, Happy Onam etc., even those who have not sent even that till date lined up for my hair. Questions about why I cut it and comments that I am nothing with my hair are competing. I was happy with just a few messages of well done. Then he left the country before the natives had time to pay more. Not long after that, another hair-cutting frenzy broke out in the hostel, but then the curiosity had faded. Dora and I ended up with the same head. When I looked in the mirror, I felt both shock and joy. Behind me, in my head, one by one, the faces that command authority over me rolled their eyes in my mind. Anyway, I was relieved that I would not be able to go home soon, but I had to go home within a week with a hairless head. In the morning I went to sleep before everyone else, and I covered my head until noon. Finally mom took my head out from under the blanket. At the end of a short preface, with a very clever lie, I presented the haircut as involuntary manslaughter, but strongly condemned my mother. “It would have been enough to stay in the country, I wouldn’t have left to study there,” as if I had killed someone. But even then I was afraid of the neighbors who cut my hair. So with a big cloth wrapped around my head, I appeared outside the house only looking after my bath.
But one day my neighbor sister caught me red-handed with a photo that was somehow leaked through my Instagram account, which did not even bring the locals close to Ejayalam. So my Dora Tala became a song in the country too. As if I had lost something I had been entrusted to keep, questions arose, searches for love boiled down to a single question, “Where’s your hair?”, and I became a constant victim of humorous taunts from relatives. So, I finally started asking, what’s your problem if it’s not my hair? Even today, I know people who have to get a lot of permission to cut their hair, and have to give more answers after the cut.. And those who are tired of being attacked with comments. I have never felt it so easy to carry the wishes of those around me on my own head. There is sometimes a fine line between freedom of speech and questioning the interests of others. We often cross the line. Hair may be beauty, but hair is freedom. Freedom based solely on the person who owns it beyond description. Be it to grow, to cut, to do anything else.
Content Summary: Malayalam Story ‘ Mudi ‘ written by Sreeshma Sukumaran