Okay, readers let me narrate this anecdote that we witnessed at our home in Dehradun. Well…the cast of this act was my handsome old fauji father in his late sixties, then, 65 to be precise, and whose partially bald head, with scant hair on the sides of his head were grey and were to be coloured jet black much to his dismay, refusal, and annoyance. The other important actors were my sister, my mother and of course, me too.
It was a dull cloudy cold winter morning of December in Dehradun where we decided to colour dad’s grey hair. Dad’s no-no tactics and logic were overruled by my otherwise submissive mom. Dad’s logical thinking made a sincere endeavour to make us understand that he was much too ancient for his residual hair to be dyed. But he was made to understand by his three girls that he would look far more handsome and younger. He had to humbly surrender to our wishes.
The process of hair colouring commenced. I was to play the lead role of applying colour to his head. My sister was holding the bowl containing the black magic paste. And my mother assigned herself the duty of holding a blower (heater) which would give hot air to combat the cold on dad’s frail body.
Just before I started work, my mother told dad to remove the brand new embroidered Lucknowi white kurta which he was wearing. He obeyed after a little resistance and was seen in his vest. And the blower heater held by mom managed dad’s thermostat. Dad refused to change the white brand new pyjamas that he wore. He put a thick towel atop his lap and said confidently that he would ensure that there would be no stains on the pyjamas.
I began applying the black paste on dad’s head. And after a few minutes, he started becoming restless. Moreover, mom too became even more restless saying that her hand could not hold such a heavy blower for long. I worried and hurried. In a panic, my sister who was holding the bowl of dye accidentally hit my working elbow with a result that the black coloured hair dye toppled on dad’s head and within the split, seconds was on his face, all over, and he yelled at us.
And to imagine what my mother’s priority was……She screamed in panic too and ordered dad to remove his impeccably white brand-new pyjamas. My father gave a murderous look to mom and screamed back at her in equal measure asking her if he should stand naked just to save the damn new pyjamas.
I was hugely upset and scared too because the black dye was all over my new quilt and the light coloured wall-to-wall carpet. I was scared as to what my husband would tell me because he had already warned me on several earlier occasions not to use the bedroom for these types of services. And I had done exactly that what he had told me not to!
I was cleaning the carpet and quilt. Mom’s only concern was her new investment—the pyjamas! And I had also employed my sister for assisting in the cleaning operations. And the poor dad of mine—all alone in the washroom—trying to clean himself and muttering all the while as to how irresponsible and obstinate the three of us were!
And in the backdrop of the shower running in the washroom, the three naughty girls—the mother and her two daughters laughed the most in the quietest possible manner.
And oh yes, my handsome dad later emerged after the wash and concluded in his sharp and strong baritone that he had taken retirement from the magical black dye therapy forever and ever.
Preeti Pathak
Author’s bio:
Being an army officer’s wife, Preeti Pathak has got the best of travelling experiences and has seen the myriad beautiful cultures of the country. She has done MA B.Ed. plus several years of teaching experience in various schools.
She loves music, reading, composing poems, and short stories.
