Why I Love My Bad Hair Days!
|   Aug 08, 2016
Why I Love My Bad Hair Days!

There's something about these tresses....black or golden brown, curly locks or silky, smooth braids; our hair simply dress us up! I was born with lucky "hair genes". Thick, long and black. Caressed and loved, nurtured with the most delicate Indian oils I would adorn them with beautiful accessories. With time, I challenged myself to experiment with my hair. There were a variety of hairdo's that found their way into my life. Those long waves gave way to a little shorter layers followed by a rounded bob cut and then messy curls. I would hardly ever allow my hair to look a little less than their ever best. If it wasn't a good hair day, well, it just had to be fixed somehow....maybe in a bun or a pony tail!!!

Wait, wait, wait. Do I hear echoes of " that's my story too...."?

Well, it isn't mine anymore.

It was about a year and a half ago or a little more that my husband spotted a bald patch in the middle of my hair. He immediately rang the alarm bell. Aware of his usual habit of playing pranks and targeting me each time,  I admonished him and brushed aside his observation. And thus I allowed two months to be knocked down before a hair dresser pointed out what she thought was a "serious" patch and advised me to find my way to a skin specialist. I wonder sometimes what makes us trust our husbands a little less! Yet,  I wasn't really perturbed as the spot was hard to be marked being on the back side of my head and well out of my sight, covered still by a thick bunch of black, glossy hair. None the less I did go to get it checked. The medical terminology for this inexplicable loss was news to me. I had no idea of any kind of auto immune system that eats up some healthy cells and all the stuff I had left way back in school. While the doctor put me on medication, I did try to reason out things with google by my side, only to make it all seem worse.

It wasn't an easy ride at first. With my panic self trying to lay hands on every teeny bit of information, I spoke to innumerable people about "being sick". What I got in return is easy to guess. Hoards of different ideas, suggestions- some practical enough and others only sympathetic blow horns. The doctors themselves seemed confused. And as if the different medical practices were always on a warpath. They just didn't agree over one treatment. So, after a deliberation of over three months I finally chose my doctors and treatment.

A good hair care regime was strictly adhered to and all "desi videsi" diet charts prepared. I watched grievously as I thinned my hair to allow the spots that had increased rapidly to be covered with liquid medicine. It was disheartening to see my hair turn dull, frizzy and thin. It's been a long while now. I've had a change of treatment, a change of doctor. I've managed to change my hair style yet again!

I haven't yet seen the patches on my head. I'm told they'll never grow hair again and again I'm told that they will surely see hair growth. I'm told at times that they are inactive as of now and then I'm told that they are active once again.

At the end of two years it doesn't matter. I've begun to love the little frizzy strands on my head. They are spiky and my son wonders how I can manage to keep them that cool! I no longer yearn for what I don't have. It doesn't matter what this particular thing is called or whether it really has a way out or not. My husband and I are a coterie looking for chic hair accessories to hippie it out in Goa the day my every three hour ordeal with medicines ends. Even as everyone back home peers into my head to tell me that they can see a wee bit of hair coming back, I no longer brood over my tresses. Neither do I worry over why it so happened and nor do I google it anymore. 

For I believe that life is also about loving your bad hair days!

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