16 / Change
The only constant in my life
Change is inevitable. A constant that maintains a certain rhythm is its inconsistency. Every once in a while, I like to change my mask. Sometimes, it’s borne from the desire to feel more desirable. Other times, it’s to feel secure or to turn invisible. Whatever the reason, change drives me, moves me forward and helps me to not linger in the past – wallow in the what-if and the why-didn’t-I.
For as long as I can remember, I have hated my hair. The curls that lovingly kissed my cheeks were brushed away with annoyance, pinned into submission or ironed straight till they lost their originality. Beauty magazines dictated that wavy hair was neither stylish nor desirable. I believed them, unable to look in the mirror without a frown. No one knew the actual texture of my hair. I kept it short to maintain it easily and hide its true, unruly nature. The salon became a refuge and blow-drying my best friend.
After my daughter was born nine years ago, I finally let it grow. It was not from a longing to see what I could look like but more from carelessness and lack of time. I was a new mother, and time for myself did not exist for a while. My needs took a backseat, and my hair grew in wild abandon while tied into various kinds of buns and plaits. One day, I left it open to dry naturally in the sun. The curls unfurled like wildflowers, dancing with abandon. There was joy and lightness as they stroked my face, asking me to embrace them. And I did for seven long years.
I left them free and open. I ironed and styled them. I tried all kinds of haircuts, occasionally adding colour. And most of all, I celebrated what I had denied myself all my life – the freedom to look like me, whatever that may be. I needed it more than I knew. My hair is my armour. It protects me from the world and its opinions, creating a shield I hide behind. I can be whoever I choose to be or whoever you want me to be. When my armour is not taken care of, I retreat into darkness. When I nurture it, I feel unbeatable.
No matter the shape, texture or length, my hair demands change. It cannot stay the same for too long. I give in to its demands every single time. I have never been a huge fan of rhythm and repetition. But motherhood forces you to embrace everything that you despise. I now live for rhythm and my family thrives when there is a sense of surety in the day. No open endings and no surprises.
It can feel comforting at times, but it can also become stifling. When I feel caged, I go to the only place that can help me unwind, the only place that can offer a change in my otherwise monotonous days—the salon. Here, my hair gets a new life, and so do I.
I have come to understand that change allows me to breathe when the world closes in. Whether it is good or not is not entirely important. The fact that I remain open to new possibilities is what helps me keep an open mind.
So, on that note – I decided to cut my hair. Not a trim or a style. A drastic change. Because sometimes it is the only thing I can do to move forward – away from the what-if and the why-didn’t-I.
What you see here is not the natural texture of my hair.
Because that is not how I want to be seen today.
Naqab (Mask) explores the many masks I wear as an Indian woman. It is my attempt to unravel, and discover my deep-seated conditioning, biases, strengths and weaknesses, one portrait at a time.
The project will span a year, with one portrait every week.
Head here for the entire series.
If you liked this project, please consider sharing or recommending my publication. It would immensely help a new writer like me reach a wider audience.
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So powerful Samira. It's interesting how everyone seems to have an opinion and ownership over the one thing that is so personal. How something that is such a mark of individuality sometimes doesn't seem to belong to you at all. I love how you've reclaimed it here. And I love the cut!