I don't look like 'Mommy'...Hmmm...

I finally got my hair cut after months of trying to grow it out and not losing it all in the process. There was a minor hiccup at the salon. The woman who normally does my hair is no longer with the salon so I settled for a fellow who'd styled my unruly tresses for the company gala last month.

Problem is, my knowledge of spoken Kannada - the language spoken in Bangalore, where we live - is elementary. And the stylist spoke nothing else. Anyway, with some basic phrases and some gesticulating, I managed to convey that I wanted my hair cut in steps. The word 'layers' cropped up in his half of the conversation and I supposed that it meant the same thing. Towards the end, he said he was blowdrying it straight and that it wouldn't look nice if he curled it. I was game for that. At least my hair would look nice and different for a couple of days.

When he was done, my hair looked....well...hip, actually. I've never had a hip hairstyle in all my thirty-and-loose-change years! Not bad, I thought. It is feathered and of medium length. A wonderful change from insipid version of the same cut I've had since middle-school. Kind of like Posh Spice (cringe, cringe) in the front but not at the back.

DH liked it too. (I did not ask for an opinion. I've been married for almost ten years so I know better than to ASK for an opinion!) And then he asked the offspring: "Isn't Mamma's new haircut nice?"

The offspring lolled on the couch for a bit, observing silently. "Your hair looks very nice," he finally said, but the sentence was loaded. There was more to come. "But you don't look like Mamma."

Huh? Wait a minute, what does that mean? DH shrugged. I raised an eyebrow and the little rascal grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You hair is nice. But you look very fashionable." That's the exact word he used: 'fashionable.' My son knows words like 'fashionable.' He's six and he knows words like fashionable. Gulp.

"So is that good or bad?" I asked him.

"It's good for you. You'll look nice in the office. But you don't look like my Mamma." Direct, point-blank, no beating about the bush. A brave man, don't you think? Even if it was his mother and not his girlfriend he was talking to.

"Do you want me to change it?"I volunteered

"No. You look nice, Mamma. But not like my Mamma," he repeated.

Ah, I see. I was looking non-Mommy-ish. Not bad, I thought. I haven't looked like that since much before he was born. But then, mommy-guilt surfaced. And how. I was ready to find hairpins, hide the fashion and stick to the severe, 'able' look. Before the guilt could overwhelm me, the little tyke scooted over and gave me a hug. "I still love you," he announced.

Thanks, Munchkin. I needed that. :-)

Paradigm shift in personal fashion

I wore trousers to the office today! Black with pinstripes and teamed with a tunic and scarf. From all the compliments I got, I believe I accessorized correctly. (Ahem, ahem...patting myself on the back, there...and no, I didn't wear red stilletos...the pic just looked yummy enough to post!)

So why is this a big deal, you wonder? Well, because it's the first time I've ever worn trousers in a looooo-ooong time. And boy, was I nervous! But it seems to have gone down well. Phew!

When I was growing up, my father thought trousers were unfeminine and unbecoming for women. (Don't comment on that...it's a long story.) Besides, I was (and still am) fat, so I thought I looked better in skirts and that safe harbor of Indian fashion: salwar-kameez suits.

I had two pairs of trousers when I was around 4-5 years old. Then Mum got me a tailored denim jean-and-jacket set for my sixth birthday and after that, I had a pair of slacks as part of my winter school uniform in the fifth grade. (They changed the uniform the following year.) That was it, until 1999. I'd been married a year or so around then and it got really cold (we were in New Delhi then). I needed something like thick jeans for the night shifts I did, and even then, I teamed it up with a knee-length woollen sweater.

I outgrew those jeans after having my son and put on some (okay, a lot) more weight after that. So it's been just salwar-kameez and skirts, mostly long ones. No sarees, even. Mum says I look 10 years older in that outfit so it's a strict no-no. This is especially important because my mother is very pretty, not fat, and looks 10 years younger than she actually is. Oh yes, and she has a great sense of style. :)

Anyway, so here I am, this morning, wearing formal trousers to work. Feeling terribly conscious but what the heck...if I don't start to try to look younger at 34, I might as well call for sackcloth and ashes and begin to mourn my lost youth. Darned if I do that. So here's wishing I find more trousers in my size (and get used to wearing them).

ps: one advantage of wearing trousers is that I walk around with my gut sucked in...maybe my paunch (of course I have one) will shrink that way?

pps: here's what my son had to say after looking me up and down: "Hmm....you're not thin but this makes you look thinner than you are." Why, thank you, my boy. Just don't say that to your girlfriend when you finally get one. :-P

Image from Freerangestock