Very few women in Ahmedabad, I realize, wear their hair very short. This must be true of other Tier II cities where modernity is still panting behind urbanisation. Of course, there is nothing to suggest that modernity is equal to short hair but modernity is equal to freedom of choice and is simultaneous with a public sphere that allows you an expression of that choice or opinion.
What happened when a (relatively) young woman like me, ( with no disease, touchwood) got her hair cut extremely short? Bijou, the husband went in to shock (that was predictable) and took two weeks to recover and get used to the spectacle of a short haired wife. People in the streets now knew that one is not born and brought up Ahmedabad. Male friends gasped and wondered why the Medusa surrendered her ill fated weapon. At church, the priest briefly hesitated and wondered if it was really me. Women cast longing yet pitying looks. Some discussed prospective haircuts, and others groaned at the sight that was me. Some were nonchalant; they've seen women without (much) hair before.
Surprising, I say, because for a number of years before marriage I've kept my hair short and been surrounded by adult married women who liked their hair short as well. My mother wore her hair short for ages, partly, I suspect, out of convenience, and partly because women from Kerala were expected to have long hair. Young children, in general, get their locks lopped off for fear of lice and of course, for the sake of the hassled mother who will have to figure out an extra ten minutes to comb and plait rebellious hair.
This kind of reaction was expected but still, surprising.
What is it about women and hair? Why do men dislike men with long hair? Why is hair synonymous with femininity? (No wonder, Alexander Pope fused the image of a sexual assault and a clip of a lock of his heroine's hair in his Rape of the Lock.) Why, I wondered, as a child, do women cover their heads and men don't, at church? I asked my father this question once. I remember the answer because I never understood the response then but I do now- the mischievously masculine chauvinist perspective- ' because men at prayer do not want to be distracted by lustrous hair'. So true. Which is why, at a mosque, at a synagogue, at many temples, women are exiled from the visible space of worship. Their presence distracts and forbids 'prayerful' thoughts. Even the gods may be distracted.
But to come back to my hair-cut. As a child, I hated getting my hair short. Growing up, I had absorbed and understood the social requirement of long hair on women. Eager to outrun adulthood, this little girl wanted to be feminine and beautiful, with long hair. So every trip to the hair-dresser was a traumatic event accompanied by the brutal, ruthless mother and a consoling chocolate promising father. As a college going girl, a disaster at the hair-dresser's forced me into very short hair which I later kept out of convenience, even though, I hated it. I was nervous, and self conscious, and worried that I looked odd.
This time, I loved it. It set me free. I accepted curious and surprised glances in my direction with amusement. I could handle criticism, scorn and even, admiration. This time, I wanted this look and I found I could carry it off, never mind who approves. I refused to let my husband's reaction unsettle me which, I must admit, is very unusual.
It has taken me 29 years to be confident.
P.S: To adapt what the Red Queen says in Through the Looking Glass- "Off with your hair!"
