“I want short hair.Yes! I so want to cut this tedious tangled hair. May be getting rid of all these tangled hair will solve my problems. Hopefully I will feel better. NO! I will definitely feel better. I know!” – this is what my head thinks whenever my depression gets out of control. Next thing I know I ring my girl friend (if no one is available I fly solo) and I magically find myself sitting in the black leather chair of parlor. The hairdresser sprays cold water round my hair, the water droplets fall on my eyelashes like morning dewdrops. That gives me sense of freshness and makes me stand to the decision of getting rid of my lush curls. “Snap” the sharp blades of her steel scissors pierce the dense brown hair and slices it. Underneath the apron, I keep my fingers crossed (I don’t know why I do that, may be I am hoping I wont have to regret the stupid decision).

I peek through the curtain of hair covering my face, I glance down and see heaves of hair lying dead down the floor. Shit!!! I cover my eyes again. After the hairdresser is done drying up my newly harvested hair; I glance at the mirror, actually two mirrors – you know what I mean, right ladies?

Wow! I look cool. This is the new me. In fact the BRAND new ME (like Alicia Keys song), I so so love how I look. I reach home, try making a pony tail, make messy bun and play around. I pretend to be satisfied with my short hair, well! Pretending comes only after few days when you see old picture of your long curls. And then you go…@#$# my hair!!!