Was love a two way street?

Love has, in history been born between a prince and a maid, in the midst of a haunted Castile, at times of disaster and also for a purpose. In all cases, the lad has been attracted to the beauty of the young girl, the gleaming eyes that would emanate sparks of love, the tightly closed lips that feared uttering anything unwanted and the dimple on the cheeks surfacing out of shyness. But never till a few days ago, did one get attracted to those and only those long curls, freely flowing in the air, yet highly ordered and attracting, bundled together in the most innovative way. Yes, hair does matter.

The revelation dawned upon me a few days ago when a close acquaintance of mine banged the door of my house at midnight to inform me about his new love. When asked for details, he replied that he knew nothing except that her hair was silky, long, wonderful and attracting. I dismissed that love at that point of time but now I fear that I might have to accept that love to the hair. It unearthed those hidden memories of my life.

The love for hair is not just confined to the female gender. The males also do care a lot for their hair and the females for the hair of their beloved lovers and husbands. Why would a man not wish to have at least a few centimetres of hair over his head instead of being bald?

Here is the biography of my hair that made me accept the fact that those wonderful curls can be the reason for igniting love between two people. Download the biography below and watch the video on the same. If you would not like to go through all that stuff, read the biography right here below.

And right below is a movie (created for this contest)  in action....

The incomplete biography….

Every time I look into the mirror these days, my focus shifts to the acre of land on my forehead that in the future may become a playground for my grandchildren, who would then  engage in car racing, on that little land owned by me and carried by me everywhere I go.

I remember having seen those photographs of black and white of my hair when I was a small child, which over the years has been subjected to the fury of nature. I remember those inches long and dense hair on my head which my mother would nourish daily with coconut oil for about an hour so that not a single hair follicle gets starved.

I was in those days, at the age of three, the most influential person in my little locality, thanks to my hair. I was welcomed into every house that I would pass by and a greater part of my childhood was spent in my neighbour’s house rather than mine. I would be served with all sorts of delicacies lest I move away from their house. Those were the wonderful days of my life and my hair too which would assume a new style very day, all because of my mother.

I wonder why my parents haven’t sent me to act in a commercial. Some brand would have definitely found the path to fortune if any of their marketing heads would have noticed me.

Days passed by and it was time for me to carry a weight on my back and get ready to inject worthless nonsense into my grey cells. That wasn’t too big a problem compared to the humiliation my hair had to face in the hands of the barber. It was curbed the freedom to flow freely and play to the tune of the melodious winds. It was hacked in the best possible way to make it no longer than 3.24 cm which was the maximum allowed size of the keratinous material, according to the guidelines laid down by the school in which I was to join.

The size might have got reduced but the care was still the same. I used to be forced to wake up at six in the morning and a full one hour had to be devoted to my hair for the love my mother had on my hair. But, at the same time, the love shown by my neighbours got reduced drastically, just like the hair on my head. Big fat chocolates gave way to small and thin ones which would hardly take any time to melt in my mouth. Even then, I loved my hair for no one could ever defeat me in the fashion competition held for us, the tiny tots. I am sure that the judges were more impressed by my hair than my costumes and the heavy makeup.

Time passed by and so did my hair. The increasing stress had a profound impact on my hair. The negative impact on my hair increased even further as I entered into an engineering college. I became a prey to those modern styles and naturally, did my hair. I who till then hadn’t relied on anything more than herbal shampoo and coconut oil had now bought an entire range of hair care products that filled a greater part of my room. Every day, my hair would become victim to one of those hundreds of shampoos and hair conditioners purchased by me so that I could decide the shampoo I should use. But the trial never ended. Every day a bundle of new ones did hit the stores extending the experiment by weeks, months and years. My hair used to be bathed in shades of brown and yellow, turning it into a cartoon character and then it would be styled with gel to create all odd styles. Never in those four years of college and experimenting did I realise how futile my attempts were until one day when I discovered that my hair was falling at a rapid rate.

Fears arose in me that I would turn bald soon and so had consulted a doctor. His response was as expected. It was the result of my ignorance and the unnecessary attempts to make my hair look stylish. He gave up saying that there exists no other solution that to go for surgical treatment. I, who would mind even fear a syringe pricking my delicate body has said a big no and came out. My hair did ultimately take the revenge on me.

My head turned bald in a year and the most important concern then was my marriage. Why would some beautiful lady wish to be the partner of a man with a bald head? A search for a wife for me by my parents began and ended too in vain.

It was at that time when one beautiful Cinderella (Or was it Rapunzell? )entered my life. Yes, she a Cinderella owing to her beautiful hair. I was too attracted not just to her physical beauty but also to her real inner beauty. We were to work jointly on a project for the firm we were working for. Every day spent with her made me closer to her. I wished that she be a part of my life for ever till I die. But the thought of that barren land over my head made unknown fears arise in me. And that fear in me, has bought me to this condition wherein the past seven months have been spent gathering courage to put forward my proposal…….

A two way street?

Now arises the question. Was love a two way street in my story? There was an ocean of love for me by my hair in the beginning. I was always proud of it. But never did I bother to care for it or love it back. But later on, I did love my hair a lot but it never bothered to even show its face to me. Love here was definitely a two way street but those streets aren’t parallel to one another. One starts at that point where the other ends to ultimately end as a one way street.

An advice

Concluding, here is a small advice to those reading this. Love your hair at the time it loves you or regret later…..

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