Pain(t) me Red?

Saturday, September 10, 2011

2:28 am and the best I can conjure myself to do in last 36 hours is to untie my bun and clean the messy forehead. Each time, I look in the mirror, I don’t see myself. I see a Russian Escort with Unicorn tail hair. It has a back story, which makes me very, very emotional, sadly.

Some posts back, I mentioned the idea of getting my hair turquoise blue. I didn’t know, it’d materialize, soon enough, to do something with my hair.

Now, there are two things in life that I’ll probably regret for the rest of the life to come. First, losing a button badge from McDonalds, my aunt passed it on to me instead of her twin-daughters. She’s some big honcho there and the badge was a thumb up, Ronald McDonald’s hand. I don’t know why, but I was very enthusiastic those days, about school, about life, in general. To elucidate the last sentence, I used to wear broaches to school during winters. On my blue blazer the thumb would very proudly prance across V-C, our class, closest to the Vice Principal’s Office. I was very attached to that little piece of metal, for what reason, I don’t know.

As the story would proceed, you’d know that I’d lose the badge and then a whole lot of crying and questioning of, “Why on Earth did I wear it to school in the first place?” For me, the loss was no less than loss of a person close to you. You’d probably have no idea the amount I’d searched for it all around school, everywhere. Just about every place you can dream of in and around school.

This process of losing belongings close to my heart continued in school for a very long time. I had not learnt from my mistake but one thing had changed. I didn’t lose my mind over anything as much as that badge. Not even on my crushes. It’s pretty big a thing to say that I was obsessed with hunting it down. I don’t know why, childhood guilt but till date, the badge incident brings tears to my eyes. Guess, it’s after this particular day school never seemed interesting.

Second here is, getting the hair coloured (presumably). I’ll tell you why. I don’t regret the idea of getting those coloured. I regret, my fucking luck or the colour that refused to stay on my head. I, however, don’t blame the guy at the Salon who did my hair. Not his fault or anyone else’s. I don’t know who to blame this on.

I’d called the Salon and checked if they had Turquoise blue and the man at the receiving end told me a yes. I went there with mother, only to find out that the “sea-green” is the “blue” they heard. Fail. I don’t know why but I said yes to magenta. Coloured only on 2 inches tips of the hair. Yaye. Perfect this would be. Probably, I forgot that things could go wrong. In my case, I risked my long, brown hair that I never cared of. It’s like that relationship with one person, you take for granted and that person’s actually your best well-wisher. Only, like King Lear, you realise it later and lose the opportunity to reclaim your love. That’s the story of me and the hair.

I could go into detail of colour coming wrong, inspite of the hair dresser using the same fucking magenta colour each time (the process was repeated twice). During this, my sister was locked outside our home, since mother was with me and grandfather was on his way back from work and father’s in China, so yeah. She went back from her tuition classes only to find out the doors jammed and there’s no which way we can open it.

On one side, those reminded me of fucking annoying paedophile, Punjabi aunty having Henna on head hair colour and the constant idea that fuck, when they’ll fade away, I’ll be blonde.

Now, come in expert advice that the people in the world should be hanged about for giving. People really need to know how and when to shut up. Maybe, one day they’ll make the knowledge of this compulsory like attendance at Delhi University.

You know, it’s quite a shocker when you look in the mirror and you see half of your really long pretty hair gone red, ugly and dry. I wanted to wail at the Salon. God knows, how I controlled myself and came home. As it is, I’m having a really hard time managing classes and rehearsals, for some reason, Mother, too, is totally losing it on me. Or rather, we’re both losing on each other. I have no patience to argue and continue the debates at home.

You know, how my head feels when I get home? I feel STRANGE. I want to do a Million things as soon as I step in back from college and rehearsals. I want to do my homework. I want to be there when my friend is planning to bake a cake for other friend’s birthday. I also wish to write and read. I want to go home and find an incentive for playing bass rather than the pleas for reducing the volume. I want to go for walk without forcing myself to strictly sit at home and write an assignment. I want to study Wittgenstein. I want to get the production of The Clouds started. I want to live.

All this topped with fucking rash. It’s insane. There are times, when I feel like crying. Most times, I use the occasion and cry. I do. It’s just the phase when I don’t get enough emotional support from people I love, I break up. It’s like living a break up. Any pleasant memory from past reminds you of how happy you were. Mine’s anything and everything excluding rash. Also, with the amount of work that’s loaded in terms of academics, SOP’s, placements and the idea of pursuing dreams, it can make anyone go mad. My schedule pretty much is carry bass and amp back and forth from home to green room to rehearse. During classes, I’ve no patience to deal with any sort of nonsense or statement. It’s very sensitive. If anyone broaches a topic close to something that can make me hurt, I end up crying about it at home, in the evening. I don’t know why, would I do this I have no idea where and how days are progressing. I’m out of the space-time concept and floating all across through the day trying to live and work in harmony. Somehow, it doesn’t work out. It just doesn’t. One hair colour has fucked my happiness so badly. It’s easier for morons to say get it chopped (my mother too said the same thing after she saw my hair) but it’s not gonna be easy detaching with half of my hair like this. It’s very fucked up how I’m defending my hair but it’s just come to an extent where it’s gonna pour out and the lava will burn everyone. I’m sick and tired of people bullying me, trying to tell me each minute that what I do is wrong. It’s another phase of getting close to self but I’ve really given up on things I loved. I instead, wear a romper, go out to parties where Bisexuals are making out and I look at my hair and probably flirt with a guy or too. It’s so fucking annoying.

As far as rehearsal goes, even I don’t know how the sudden change of events but I’m playing my first professional gig on 13, a day after my birthday. Really. The best time to have everything including your father out on another trip around your birthday and gig is bad. I fucking want to quit this. That is, playing on deadlines. I was happy playing a few lines for myself here and there and not playing for someone else’s convenience. It sucks when you’ve to look forward to go and meet people during rehearsals you’re fond of on a day when it’s your birthday.

Birthday too, is going to suck. I haven’t bought myself a single thing. Let alone, not even an outfit to wear. I think, I’ll buy myself a pack of Dunhill and a cupcake to “cheer-me-up”. I don’t know what I want to do and who I want to call. I want time. I want patience and I also want peace. I’ve no strength to go through any books. What I really, want is time and a whole lot of space around me to live freely without anyone telling/asking me things. It’s no quite a birthday like feeling, this time. I feel dejected and depressed. Rash and hair colour topped with a very sulky person. It’s not fair, how I get urticaria and most of these morally wrong people get to have normal rash free lives.

I want to get out of the category of “fake hair colour looks totally cool”. Also, I want to really sit and see where is time going. God, how much I miss getting back home and not being worried about anything else in the world. Very major depressive rant but it’s fucking all time low mood swings. A lot of things to keep me busy with rehearsals and it seems like I’ve never sat down for a minute in last three years without having to worry about the work.

The hair colour makes me sick, blonde and fake. I really hate the idea of blonde and frankly I can’t compare but I really want to go home and sleep and not worry about the hair colour, right?

Fucking it started from something as basic as getting the hair colour. I’m so fucking attached to my hair now (I used to despise them). I have no idea how much and how badly the colour has seeped in but all I know is I want my long, original muddy brown shade of teddy bear. Nothing fake. The moment I saw myself, I knew this isn’t going to be good. My father saw it over skype and totally despised it. Yeah.

So, this and a lot of tears later, I thought of sharing this with couple of people. I don’t know why, it never comes out to any person. It never does so, because no one knows what it feels like to have a swollen hand or lip. I tried sharing this with someone but, words didn’t come out. Later, that person sighed a breath of relief by cross checking if I’d vent out anytime soon in future.

This whole hair shit reminds of a time from school. A friend of mine in 1o grade walked in to class after a week of disappearance. Upon asking her whereabouts, she cornered me outside the washroom, during Biology Practical to update me. She had tears in her eyes and all she said was, “Never; I repeat, never ask out a guy.” All these years, we’re not in touch or anything but I can never forget the look in her eyes. The intensity of sadness that reflected in her voice and the disappointment with life in general, I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.. I don’t know why or what happened but I was told that she asked out this guy she really liked and he humiliated her in public. For a 15 year old, this was a horrible, horrible thing to have gone through. I think, I retracted my claws a bit that day. Today, to whoever is reading this post, I have one piece of advice and ie, don’t be retarded and get your hair coloured. Please.

You have to imagine me with the Russian whore hair and the sadness in my eyes to know what I mean.

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