My hair has become something of an icebreaker. I have dark brown, ridiculously curly hair and in a country where the majority of women have gorgeous, jet black, straight hair, I often get comments or pointed at. Like today on the train, two women were pointing at me and whispering amongst themselves.
One pipes up a little louder, "Is your hair natural?"
Suddenly they're asking me what I am doing in Mumbai, where I live, where I am from, and we're exchange names.
In another instance my hair played the role of bargaining chip. The kids, my students, were pleading with me, "Didi, please let me touch your hair."
"No, focus on your homework."
"After my homework can I touch your hair?"
"Uhh...sure." (You adorable weirdo)
And pens started blazing across pages.
"It's like magi," says one.
At the time, I had no idea what that meant, but after being called magi at college, and by a child while I was volunteering in the slum, I learned that magi is a dish of curly noodles.
I've heard it's pretty cheap and not very good, so hopefully the curls are all that we have in common.
One pipes up a little louder, "Is your hair natural?"
Suddenly they're asking me what I am doing in Mumbai, where I live, where I am from, and we're exchange names.
In another instance my hair played the role of bargaining chip. The kids, my students, were pleading with me, "Didi, please let me touch your hair."
"No, focus on your homework."
"After my homework can I touch your hair?"
"Uhh...sure." (You adorable weirdo)
And pens started blazing across pages.
"It's like magi," says one.
At the time, I had no idea what that meant, but after being called magi at college, and by a child while I was volunteering in the slum, I learned that magi is a dish of curly noodles.
I've heard it's pretty cheap and not very good, so hopefully the curls are all that we have in common.
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