I recently met an old acquaintance, a planned but not scheduled meeting. You know, the meetings when you know that you might come across someone but don’t know when? Yep, that. I dread such meetings – more often than not, you say something that you instantly regret. It’s your uncertainty, your nervousness that takes over and makes a fool out of you.
Well, this time it wasn’t my turn to be the nervous guy though.
The moment I came face to face with the said fellow, the first thing (after the cursory smile and nod of the head) that he said was, “Hey, I didn’t recognise you with that new hairstyle of yours”.
It caught me off-guard for a moment. Do you blame me? Calling modern art the slight hair shapes on my head “style” is a hyperbole. I style my hair just as much as some gardener landscapes a roadside bush. It grows, takes shape and falls in spaces it finds vacant, something that’s not a huge task in itself.
After a stage, you don’t style your hair. They style themselves. You just let them. Look at them and smile that they still occupy the space of importance.