I was thrilled when I
noticed my first silver hair a few years ago. Note that I said silver, not
grey. Silver has a good ring to it while grey sounds gloomy. Now many more
silver hairs have appeared but still the inky black is predominant. I love the
way that the silver glints when the light hits it.
Many people colour their
hair to cover the grey. But I don’t think I would ever want to cover up my
precious silver. They are a sign that I am growing old, that I am entering a
different season of life.
Silver hair, like laugh
lines and wrinkles, add character and depth to a person’s face. They tell a
silent story of that person’s life journey. They are souvenirs and badges of
honour – to be worn proudly.
Whenever I notice an
increase in my treasury of silver, I jokingly tell my children that they have
probably contributed to it with the pressures they put on me as the mother of
two lovely but rambunctious kids.
My kids hate silver hair.
They are afraid that the silver-haired person is on the road to death. I gently
remind them that everyone who is born has to die one day. They just don’t want
that reminder of mortality staring them in their face, I suppose.
There is a lady whose hair
is absolutely snow white – not a single black hair to mar the pristine
whiteness. It is a snowy cap crowning her head. She said that her hair turned
totally white following chemotherapy. It looks gorgeous on her.
My maternal grandmother had
mostly silver hair interspersed with a little black. She looked very elegant
and regal with that silvery crown.
When we were children, my
dad used to pay us two paise for every silver hair we plucked. It was fun,
searching for the elusive silver hair and plucking it out by the root. We also
earned some pocket money in the bargain. But as the relentless silvery march
started, my dad gracefully accepted that it was a losing battle and flaunted
his salt and pepper hair.
My father-in-law had thick,
curly black hair. When I was newly married, I complimented him on his having a
full head of black hair well past his retirement. He just gave me an enigmatic
smile. It was only months later that the mystery was solved when I saw him
painstakingly applying hair dye. When I caught his eye, he gave me a mischievous
smile. No wonder he hadn’t commented on my compliment! But I couldn’t help
smiling back.
I have nothing against
those who choose to dye. It is a personal choice. I respect the pains they take
to look young. But despite the high profile brand ambassadors touting various
hair colour products, I am not tempted to mask my silver. I will wear my silver
with pride. In this case, silver is not the second prize. It is the real deal.
It is the icing on the cake, nature’s way of marking the seasons of life. It is
the season of silver – of maturity and wisdom that comes with experience. Viva
la silver!
(This was published in Deccan Herald's 'Right in the Middle' on May 2, 2015.)
