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Of Hair, Here and There

It was a particularly dark night – courtesy a major electricity failure that racked the whole town. I remember getting up to splash my face with water. I also remember jumping straight back to bed. The full-length dressing mirror was eerily lit up. A form, faintly familiar, looked out at me.

Of Hair here and there.

Minutes later, I sat by the window, massaging my nerves. “I have never seen someone so scared of a torch!” my roommate sounded flustered. “I have to leave early you see! When will I get the time to be presentable?” The dear woman I shared an apartment with was pointing at the “huge tufts of hair” on her arms – the ones that screamed ‘I need a razor!’. I squinted, I stared. But I couldn’t locate a single. As the overhead fan resumed with a whirr, I figured I could use some sleep.

While my roommate may lose exceptional amounts of sleep worrying over hairy arms and legs, few of us can claim total indifference. The sociologist in us, dormant though may be, claims it is all a social-setup fault. Why, after all, should women need to depilate when it is okay and even fashionable for men to sport moustaches and beards? Ah, while the idea of one hassle-free month after another sounds spectacular, I doubt how many of us are willing to go the Old-Stone-Age way. Chuck social niceties, what about perceived neatness? What about the irritation that comes with coarse skin, or untended bodily hair? Well, till society does a topsy-turvy turn and grooming acquires a new definition, hair in the wrong places is a major cause of concern for womankind.

It is like the frizz that sticks to hair on a bad morning, when absolutely no amount of styling seems to get it right. In fact, it is worse. Imagine a spot of hair right next to the elaborate sleeve of your new dress. Irrespective of what you do to cover up, that will be the one thing on your mind all day long. Wish as you may, you just cannot wish it away. Akin, in many ways, to the hairy-monster nightmare I recall having as a kid. I would always wake up feeling squeamish.

Lifestyles today are fuller than ever. We might have intelligent kitchens, cooperative partners and smart phones, but sadly, there is lesser time than ever to spend with the woman within. In the constant rush for newer avenues, Grandma’s wonderful coconut and turmeric recipes are ardently missed. So are, for a lot of us, elaborate parlour sessions spent chitchatting with the girls who flutter about with waxing bottles and strips. Yes, we end up missing out on some of the local gossip – whose daughter is going around with the son of the new businessman, for instance. But we manage to avoid the hassle that goes with booking and arriving for a waxing session.

Come to think of it, is our day – insanely demanding as is – worth being spent in waiting? Heat wax, wait. Apply cream, wait. Recheck for neatness, wait. Considering we don’t have the time to stand and smell the roses, as the good people of a simpler, erstwhile world would claim, wouldn’t it be wonderful to save a couple of hours? Given the mad rush of responsibilities in today’s space, that sure sounds like a glorious idea. At such a juncture, there is a very well-placed need for a fine razor that does a neat job of discarding that unwanted hair, and softly at that.

The intellectuals of the world have categorized women with spices, flowers and snakes. While I am not sure where exactly we fit in, I am tempted to believe there is more to the rosy blush that most of us are prone to. Say, when we are caught with mismatched footwear, a broken button or, a tuft of hair growing merrily where we desire it not. Cosmetic though it may seem, I daresay the hairy bit isn’t here to stay. Thankfully, we live in a post-razor world.

Stories delight me and I tell them often. I like looking for hidden tales and then setting them going. When not doing that, I am reading and reviewing books, travelling and studying media. I am Deboshree! 

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