14 October, 2021
Image Credit: Author’s own
Yes, there were 101 pins in my hair bun when I became a bride. Neither my husband liked the idea nor me, for obvious reasons. Neither it was a ritual in the family, nor we were suggested by the priest to use these pins for a happy married life. It was not a superstition. In fact, superstitions are good. The story behind it is a little more twisted, as I explain in this article.
I got engaged in January 2013 and married in January 2014. We decided to take a year because I was in the third year of my PhD and wanted to complete thesis writing before the wedding. Basically, one thing at a time was the plan! It was a strange year. I was working very hard, but I was also loaded with advice for pre-wedding preparations. Apart from buying things, I was suggested homemade face packs, hair removal creams, hair regrowth oils and even a special toothpaste to look perfect on my 'big' day. One of the main issues was hair. Here is why.
I have always had short hair - quite short like Princess Diana (no, I am not that pretty), Kiran Bedi (no comments) and Falguni Pathak (yes, I know, very funny). When I was 10 years old, my mother took me to a barber at a male saloon for a 10 rupees haircut, and the guy accidentally cut my hair too short. Since then, I have had almost the same hairstyle. My parents told me that it looked good and I was an obedient child. Eventually, it became a habit. I hate changes and the anxiousness they bring along. So I stuck! But what is the big deal? What happens when a girl cuts her hair short in India?
I was always known as the boy-cut girl in my school and college. From the watchmen to the teachers, everyone recognised me. My hair became my identity. I felt I looked funny in ethnic wear and so, I mostly wore jeans or trousers with shirts. In social gatherings, people would ask my mother if I was a boy or a girl. It was amusing for them; I hated it enormously. To add to it, the Bollywood of the 1990s was horrendous. I was extremely disappointed at not being able to find any leading female actor with short hair. Even the male actors like Sanjay Dutt and Salman Khan had hair longer than me. Gul Panag and Mandira Bedi came at a later stage. Many people have told me that I look like Mandira Bedi. I don't; it's just the hair. To date, professionally as well as personally, many people recognise me for my hairstyle.
To top it all, all through my teenage and adulthood, I was asked one question quite often. How will you dress up as a bride? An Indian bride is supposed to have long hair tied into a bun to cover it with a dupatta (a piece of cloth) for the perfect look. It was a grave issue in my teenage life, more important than my bridegroom or career choice. After all, Kuchh Kuchh Hota Hai tormented our generation by establishing that love happens only once and marriage at the most can happen twice! So, the wedding was supposed to be the most critical event in one's life, and my Punjabi background added fuel to the fire.
In one full year leading to my wedding, I constantly received advice for my hair. My friends suggested growing them long. I tried for four months and gave it up because I could not bear the change. So, back to square one! Then began the search for a talented hairstylist in the small town of Roorkee who could create the perfect bun with extremely short hair. It was challenging, but we managed to find one. More importantly, she managed to create a bun that sustained my dupatta over a long waiting time and an overnight wedding ceremony.
I made it, thanks to 101 pins and artificial hair! A laugh riot followed. After the wedding, we spent almost two hours dismantling the bun and collecting the pins and fake hair enough to support the whole cast of any North Indian Ramleela. This is funny, but funnier is the fact that I did not look like myself at my wedding. Instead, I chose to look perfect. My husband asked me, "Why did you do it?" I could not answer. Eventually, I found my answer.
If I get married again, with my same super cute husband, of course, I will choose to look myself. It took me almost 30 years to gain the confidence I have today, accepting and embracing myself the way I am. This is why I love my 30s. This is why I said superstition is good, at least not hypocritical. There are much more severe issues like peer pressure and stereotyping that run deep in our culture. They are mostly invisible to the naked eyes. I have earned the vision to see these issues through a journey of vulnerability and self-doubt. My strength is my most precious ornament, and I intend to pass it on to our daughter instead of my sone ke haar (gold jewellery).
To hell with buns, pins and prejudices because to each, her own!
It was first published on Mompresso on October 13, 2021.
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