The Hair Raising Story - Part Un

So, the only-sister-of-the-groom wanted to get her air blow-dried. That should have been enough for the whole of the town to come running to me with their services, no? No. What follows is my rather hair raising story of how I got my hair “set”.

I, naively thinking, that hairdryers are as common in middle-class Indian households as pressure cookers are, decided not to take mine. In my defense, I had asked my mom about it before I left. “Do you have a hairdryer?” I had asker her, not mincing words. “I don’t want to bring mine.” My hairdryer takes up 1700 watts of energy and is mammoth. It’s huge and has a huger spiky wheel at its end to “add volume” to my wafer thin hair. Okay, I know wafer thin and hair don’t go well together. I know. But you get the idea, no? So, no. I was not lugging that contraption in my suitcases that seemed to be stuffed more than what I am after a hearty, eat-all-you-can buffet. Not to mention the transformer issues given its wattage and what not. “Yes, I have a hairdryer.” My mother repeated, again. And again.

Surely she must have picked up a decent one, I imagined. She lives all over the world and has terrible hair. I am sure it is a crime in some countries to go out with hair like that without at least blow-drying it. I should know. I have inherited that same hair. “No, don’t bring your hairdryer. It’s so huge.” She told me. Okay. I thought. I could borrow my sister-in-law’s travel hairdryer as a backup. Just in case. That hairdryer sort of just generates a lot of air and noise without any direction, but it’s workable. (Apparently, as I later discovered, it’s hard to buy a full-size, enough wattage to light up a small town, spiky-wheel-at-the-end hairdryer in India without wearing your chappals thin.)

Before I started to pack for my trip, I had pulled the 10 gallon wicker tote from under the bathroom sink. Now, this tote contains every hair product ever sold in this country. Mammoth dryer that looks like a mean weapon on Star Trek, teflon lined straightening iron, hot rollers for curl, velcro rollers for volume, half inch barrel curling iron, two inch barrel curling iron, metal hairdresser butterfly clips, hair color, developer, leave-in conditioner, straightening balm, curl defining mousse, volume enhancing medium hold styling gel, firm hold styling gel that does not enhance volume, anti-frizz hair serum that positively makes your hair flat, medium hold hairspray that retains bounce, firm hold hairspray that glues your hair tight. It is one well armed tote.

Hair dryer, the mother had. Straightening iron? Very useful, considering my bob. Bob + Humidity = Disaster. But Poona, where my parents live and the wedding was, is hardly humid. Also, straightening iron is high wattage. It might just burn. Not worth it. And in the end, I can always go and get my hair “set”. I hate getting my hair styled in unknown towns. For some reason they always know you are an out-of-towner and give you a shoddy blow-dry. It’s never worth the money. I much prefer to do my own hair thankyouverymuch.

So, I arrive at my parents' house. Armed with many bags. And my trusty Velcro rollers. Whoever invented them, I want to tell you, I worship you every morning. But I digress. So, yes. Rollers, volume enhancing medium hold styling gel, hairdresser metal clips, sarees, jewellery, evening shoes but no hair dryer and no straightening iron. After lunch, I say to my mother, “Show me the hair-dryer.” “Wait a minute. Let me remember where I put it.” She replies, running away because someone calls her. This does not look good. A few minutes later she returns and tells me she has found it and it is on the bed in my brother’s room. I walk inside and find no hair dryer. “Aie.” I call out like a petulant 3-yr old. “Where is the hairdryer? I can’t find it. All I see on the bed is what looks like a small personal heater.” My mother comes rushing in. “It’s a hair-dryer, alright” What? What?? “Well it’s a travel hair-dryer. It’s actually a hair-dryer-cum-heater-cum-iron-cum-water-heater.” WHAT? Surely she is making this up. I call out to my brother. “What is this thing?” I demand of him. “Oh.. that’s the travel thing. It has the iron and water heater. I have actually used the iron.” I am hyperventilating. This could not have been happening to me. My brother plugs it in and turns the neck of the contraption at an angle to turn it into a hair-dryer. It whirrs. “See? It works!” My mother says and flies into the kitchen before my speechless self can even begin to gather my thoughts.

For the next two days, I try blow-drying my hair with the hair-dryer-cum-heater-cum-iron-cum-water-heater. It’s not so bad, really. But takes a really, really long time. “Where do you go to get your haircuts and eyebrows done? Will that woman do my hair?” I ask my mother one evening, rubbing my sore arm from the blow-drying. “Dottie”, my mother shakes her head “that woman will take 2 hours to ‘set’ you hair.” “Two hours? I just want it blowdried. My hair is chin length. You can’t even do an updo. Why will it take two hours?” “They are very slow. They take two hours.” My exasperated mom tries to explain. So be it. I’ll just do my own hair, I think to myself and the sight of my Velcro rollers cheers me up a bit.

to be continued...