Just The Way You Are

I've always hated my hair. Hated it for its nature, colour, texture, for it being it. By nature, obstinate and impudent. Colour, a curious hybrid of black and brown . Textured dry enough to entice the bovine. I've chided it for starting so high up my forehead. Why couldn't it have started lower and given me a graceful hairline instead of a forehead !? They say a high forehead is a sign of keen intelligence. I say, I could live with the sign if only I had the stuff (sigh).



Time and again have I tried to tame this beast. My first experiment was when I was a naive teenager at the hands of a smart talking hair dresser. She convinced me she could rid me forever of my forehead shame and cut me a FRINGE. Well, cut she did, blow dried it and hurriedly showed me the door. Barely ten metres out of the salon, ten minutes later, I could feel the damn thing curling upwards. I had to live with those horrible bangs for years. Years when they earned epithets such as 'Devi's Grapes' (and less tasteful ones) as I squirmed inside.



When pay cheques became a regular feature in my life and I realised that as a corporate being, I needed to update my looks (read hair), I went on the hunt again. This time there was plenty to choose from. I could straighten it, poker straighten it or smoothen it....whatnot. I displayed my naivete again by sitting myself down for a HAIR STRAIGHTENING session. It was a torturous three-hour session which left me with a considerably light wallet and a neck ache that lasted for days. I got immediate reactions ranging from " what's wrong with your face" "there's something wrong with you, yar" to ' did you get your hair licked by a cow ?". Not quite the reactions I'd hoped /paid for. Besides these comments which I came to dread each time I came across someone I knew from my pre-hair straightening days, there was the problem of clogged drains at home. Each time I washed my hair or even just brushed, it would leave my scalp in terrifying clumps clogging drains, it would form into disgusting little balls and float all over the place. The husband was evidently not happy.The maid threatened to quit.



Time passed as it is wont to do. My original curly, frizzy friends were back before I knew it. There was a horrible phase when half my hair, from crown downwards, was curly and the other half poker straight. It was a hair style fit for a Martian, only half the country's women were sporting it, all having had an experiment with hair straightening. With more passage of time, the original hair chased out the salon-bought ones and I once again found myself with unmanageable hair and bad hair days. That was when Jawed Habeeb opened shop just next to my house. The most famous hairstyle salon in India, just outside my front door and offering a 25% discount for all hair treatment. It was destiny. I walked in and told a nice looking hair dresser that I do not want to straighten my hair, but I want to do something to my hair. She suggested HAIR SMOOTHENING. Wha, I asked. " Youva hay will not be poker isstraight. It whill honly be issmooth" she told me in Bengali, err.. English. More hours at the salon, more hours persuading family, more money exchanged and presto, I had new hair. Again.



Only it again fell in clumps and I was waking up in cold sweat from nightmares where I lost all my hair in clumps. The salon people suggested I use a particular brand's shampoo ( Rs. 275 for 225ml) and conditioner ( Rs. 450 for a similarly small quantity) and come regularly for hair spa ( each session not less than Rs. 700 plus tax). High maintenance, but at least I finally got the hair I wanted, I thought as I caressed it. That was when I saw her.



Or at least I thought it was her. Aunty R. A very elegant, polished and well turned -out lady who was my mother-in-law's classmate at Stella Maries. I was always impressed by her bearing and attire and wished to be like her in my fifties. But on that day she looked nothing like her old self. In place of her usual starched cotton saree was a salwar -kameez suit a size too big for her. But what truly frightened me was her hair. Usually combed down and not a strand out of place, she had let it loose and it was a shade of orange. She walked up to me and warmly asked after my family. About my work and my one year old daughter. I managed to answer all her questions, but just could not fathom her transformation. It was revealed a minute later when she told me that a year back she was detected with breast cancer and was undergoing chemo. She had lost all her hair and was sporting a wig. A horrible one with a strange color. She didn't linger on the topic and we bade good bye soon after. But I stood still minutes after she left trying to come to terms with her new image.



I was still thinking about her when the driver asked me to roll down the windows as the AC was not working. As the car gathered speed, the wind whipped my hair over my face. As I slowly pulled it away and felt it between my fingers, I realised there were tears in my eyes. No more experiments with the dears, I love my hair just the way it is.

Pareto in times of Recession

A close friend of many years was on the phone this morning, almost in tears. Her husband had been behaving strangely of late . He who was meticulous in his attire ( and shaved twice a day) was going out dressed sloppily with an unkempt stubble. He who broke into a rash at the mere suspicion of a cobweb didn't bat an eyelid when a cockroach walked past him. While none of this escaped her notice, she didn't quiz him hoping this phase would have its run and fizzle out. When it didn't show any signs of going away, she broached the subject with him. Her husband admitted to being depressed and the reason for his depression was, hold your breath, the global economic meltdown. Are you going to lose your job, she asked. Not before half the company does, he replied. Will they cut your salary, she asked . No pay hike but no cuts, he replied. Is there a transfer threat, she persisted. Of course not, he tittered. Then why is your chin forever southwards, she demanded to know.

What actually bothered this man was the thought of not creating records at work. You see, up until the global meltdown took India in its stranglehold, he was a star performer, a record creator, a record breaker. But now he was just another executive. The very thought made him a wreck. His wife tried to cheer him up - said look, as Indians go, we are blessed. We have our own house, two healthy, lovely children, good lifestyle and sufficient savings for the future. Even if the recession were to eat us out of home and hearth, we would still have each other and our kids. If nothing else, we'll start tapioca farming in Kerala, she joked. Her husband didn't crack a smile nor did he respond.

She cried over the phone that he cannot see or count his blessings. His happiness, his life's breath is his job. He is happy when his daughter brings home a merit certificate, but happier still when his team lands that huge contract. He smiles when he sees his infant son flip over on his tummy, but he beams when his supplier thumps him on the shoulder. His family does bring him joy, but his happiness comes from his job. And now that very job was letting him down. He actually felt there wasn't much to go on for.

Years back I was told a true story of this hugely successful entrepreneur who was asked to come for a meeting with a bank to finalise a Rs. 20Cr deal . Those days in India there were only two companies providing that particular service, of which his company was deemed the better. The contract was almost his. But he asked for a change of date. The Chairman of the bank demanded the reason. He answered truthfully that the day set for the meeting was his son's birthday and he had promised to be there. The Chairman and his troops went ballistic. Had he asked for a change of date owing to a sudden business trip across the globe or even across the road, they would have understood. But this they didn't. Without further ado, the contract went to the alternate service provider. A loss of Rs. 20Crores. Not a joke. Yet he chose his son's birthday over the crucial meeting. He probably felt that his promise to his son was worth far more than a few crores of rupees. His life was not all about winning contracts, it was also about finding happiness in the happiness of his dear ones.

Of all the theories that make the world tick, there's one that I particularly like - Pareto's Optimality. Pareto's 80/20 Optimality originally stated that 80% of Italy's wealth was with 20% of its population. One could substitute Italy with any other country , county or family and the theory would still hold good. Look at the man in the first story who spent 80% of his time and energy at work while in truth , in reality, that only ever gave him 20% of real happiness. Differently put, his family which could actually complete him, his sense of self, which could contribute to 80% of his happiness was actually receiving only 20% of his attention. In terms of time, the man in the second story also probably spent only 20% on his family, but that 20% was non-negotiable. It was quality time with family which he was unwilling to trade for anything in the world. The 20% which multiplied and returned to him as 80% .

It is a very simple law. Straight forward and in your face. If only you could see it...

Post Script::

Story 1 : Between the time it took me to write this blog and post it, my friend's husband was offered a very generous amount of money by his company in return for his promise to not leave them for four years. The company didn't want to lose one as smart and sincere as him. He came home from the meeting, asked for a second helping of his favourite dessert and demanded to kn0w what the hell that cobweb was doing over that corner. My friend dropped all that she was doing , ran and hugged him and said "Welcome Back".

Story 2: The next year, the bank was back. They realised after a year's trial with the other service provider that our hero's work was the best after all. He bagged the next year's contract, surely without missing his son's birthday!