The Story of My Greys

Often, I come across people who ask about my grey hair. And I know that I'm not alone here. I've been asked questions so many times and in so many ways that I've lost count. So, once and for all, here is the story of my grey hair.

Apparently, early greying of hair runs on my father's side of the family. Some of my cousins got their first greys fairly young and resorted to dyeing it a trusty shade of black because it's easier that way. Trust me, I'd know.

As for me, my first greys popped up while I was still in school. I had a few of them right in front, and I'd trim them short. My parents helped in the endeavor. Maybe they encouraged it too? It was a bit too long ago, I don't really remember. What I do remember is rushing to a funeral in the family just after my graduation exams were over, hair unwashed and untrimmed for 15 days as per the rituals. The greys hadn't been cut short in a while, they were starting to poke out. And one of my relatives poking fun at me and my greys, saying that I was getting old. I had barely stepped into my twenties, and I had been brought up to be a "good" girl who didn't answer back, so I faked a smile as I blinked away tears. When I came home, my mother encouraged me to apply henna to my hair. The number of my greys had increased, they were no longer a mere few that could be trimmed. The comment by my relative had made me conscious, and for the first time, I succumbed to the pressure. I hid away my greys under a coat of henna and felt that all was better with my world.

But only if it ended there! Henna, my friends, is a tedious process and it must be religiously reapplied almost every other week to prevent the grey roots from showing up. And I did it, not bothering about the time or energy or effort that went into it, I was wholly invested in the process. And it was not just while I lived with my parents, I continued doing it even after I moved to a hostel for further studies. The process often got in the way of my weekend plans, but I felt that was the only way to go, and so I persevered. I completed my Master's, moved back in with my parents, got a job, moved out, and still continued applying the henna like a ritual with unparalleled attention.

But at some point, I began to tire. The process was elaborate and time-consuming and messy, and the fact was, I didn't really like it. I just thought there was no other option. My scalp always felt dry and itchy after applying henna (and yes, before you say, I had tried all the additives that are supposed to combat it, it just didn't work for me!) Moreover, now that I had a demanding job, I wanted to relax on weekends and not obsess over a ritual that left me feeling tired and messy. At some point, I let my hair go for about three-four weeks between henna applications. My co-workers didn't really care about it. I started going longer between reapplying henna on my hair; I wasn't completely secure in my appearance still and would cave to the pressure every time an event came up that made me feel scared of being judged. About six months to a year later, I finally picked up the courage to go before my parents without having dyed my hair. My mother was not happy; greys are not a part of the traditional idea of youthfulness and beauty, she wanted me to go back to dyeing my hair. She even offered to do it for me if I would only sit through it. I refused, I finally told her that it made my scalp feel itchy and I do not care for the extensive messy process or feel satisfied enough by the result to want to struggle through it. I think she huffed, but she couldn't make me do something I didn't want to, anyway.

The first time I went to an event without having dyed my hair was about two years ago. My best friend was getting married. My greys were in this weird space between grey and faded mehendi-orange: the roots were a brilliant white, about halfway through my then shoulder-length hair would become pale orange, gradually darkening to an almost-unfaded orange at the tips. My grey hair grew in a bunch on the frontal part of my head, it was visible if you looked for it and I didn't really make too much effort of hiding it.

At this point, you might be wondering why I didn't simply color my hair. You can blame it on the horror stories I grew up on about people dyeing their hair and never being able to go back to their natural hair without a significant increase in grey and damaged hair. While it started as a fear of ruining my naturally thick and silky hair, I'm now glad I chose to not color my hair even though I understand that my fears were largely unfounded.

So, at this bustling wedding chock-full of desi aunties, no one tried asking me about my hair. It was probably because they were meeting me as just another friend of the bride for the first and last time, but to date, I am thankful for their non-nosiness. It was a huge confidence boost. The other friends of the bride didn't really care too much that I had grey hair, they were more interested in my lack of makeup skills and whether I was open to letting them help me with makeup, which I was only too happy to do, and did I have earrings of such-and-such-such color that they could borrow, or if I was up for a late-night or early morning gossip session.

A very pleasant stay, meeting up with old friends and making new ones (some of whom are still frequently in touch) later, it was possibly the first time I acknowledged to myself that the choice to not color my greys was no longer a matter of convenience, ease, or laziness. It was not a matter of me not liking the process of applying henna or the color that it brought forth. It was not just that I disliked what it did to my scalp. It was that finally, I actually liked my greys. I didn't feel the urge to re-comb my hair to hide my greys or part my hair to the right because I had a patch of grey hair near where I'd part it on the left, which also showed up when I parted my hair in the middle. I stopped bothering that my hair tended to fall just so when I loosened it from the ponytail or braid or bun in which I kept it all day. Instead, I started enjoying oiling my hair and taking care of it. And in another few months, I would have another major realization that grey hair was just that, it was not necessarily damaged. (Why is this important? Social conditioning makes us often believe that grey hair is damaged. But it is just grey, and usually perfectly healthy!)

Eventually, the way people asked me about my greys started changing. One of my favorite people whom I hadn't met in a long time saw a certain WhatsApp DP that has my greys showing and dropped a message asking if I'd always had them, or it was a recent thing. And when I told her that I'd just stopped covering them up, she told me that she thought it actually looked good on me and that she wished she'd seen it before. I couldn't help telling her how refreshing her response was, and we ended up having a conversation about the ordeals of grey-haired women. Friends, colleagues, and acquaintances have told me that the greys add charm to my face. Others say it makes me look wise and that I am to be taken seriously. My husband says that he loves them, he loves how I carry them, and that it makes me look badass? I'm not sure how I feel about it, but hey, it's a good start! Oh, and every salon I've visited in about a year has had at least one person asking me if I've gotten my hair bleached because my greys look like the perfect streaks. One guy even told me that it gave him hair goals!

I didn't bother getting my greys hidden during my wedding. The only opinion apart from my own that I asked for was Surya's, and he has always been vocal about his love for my greys, so this time was no different. In fact, when I sat for my hair and makeup on my wedding day, my only direction to my makeup artist was that I wanted to look like myself. My greys didn't really show up in the photos; maybe if I look really hard, I could find them but then I've not really bothered.

At this point, my greys are a part of me. They don't define who I am but they do make me feel more comfortable in my own skin. I still feel a teensy bit scared when I'm walking into a room full of people I don't know, but it's no longer because I'm afraid of being judged for my greys. I shake my hair free of ponytails and on some days, I part my hair quickly without even looking at a mirror because I've got something else to do. And my greys don't bother me anymore.

Being the co-founder of my own company certainly goes a long way in boosting my confidence and making me comfortable in my own skin. Sometimes, some people who do not understand how long it takes to grow comfortable in their own skin will ask about my greys. I have two versions of this answer. The first is for people who might not know better: it makes me look and feel mature and helps others take me more seriously, something that's invaluable to me as a professional. And the second, for those who have had the time and opportunity to learn and should know better: why does it matter... to you?