“Why don’t you take the taxi?”
“You know I won’t, I hate traffic jams.”
“But I think you should now that …” he broke off, as he
felt a lump in his throat.
“I know”, she smiled, “don’t worry, I will be fine and
anyway you will pick me up when it gets over.”
Damayanti walked out of her house, she knew the people
on the road were staring at her and those who ‘knew’ avoided looking at her. Soon,
she reached the subway station and rushed through the crowd like she did normally.
Then the train arrived and again with other women she rushed towards the ‘Ladies’
seats.
She settled down and she tried not to pay any
attention to the school girl who looked at her as if she were some display in
the zoo. The other passengers stared at her and began they began to concoct various
theories about her appearance.
“Please stop
doing that to your hair,” said her mother.
“Maa, it
feels so good to feel my hair after I wash it, ahhh… smells so nice...” said
Damayanti as she moved her fourteen year old fingers through her tresses.
She woke up just in time. She had reached her
destination station.
Soon she was
making her way past the sanitised interiors of a building which was
conveniently located near that station. “He is waiting for you”, said the girl
in a uniform.
Damayanti opened the door to Dr Sen’s chamber. He
looked at her shaven head, “It was not necessary to do it at such an early
stage, Damayanti. Anyway you can try this wigmaker a lot of my patients prefer him,
I can tell him to go to your place.”
She smiled and waved her hand airily, “They say hair
today gone tomorrow. Don’t worry doctor; I am only scared about the chemo. So
tell me does it hurt? ”
Damayanti felt her husband’s
gentle hand on her head and she said, “Stop doing that I just combed.”
“Come on who
is going to see you at this hour? Mmmmm…I love the smell of your hair.”
“Madam, it looks just like your hair. You can take it
with your eyes closed”, said the salesman, who was silently calculating what to
charge for the wig after having a look at Damayanti’s plush flat.
Damayanti asked, “Whose hair it is do you know?” She
felt stupid after those words escaped her mouth. The chemo had made her a
bit dizzy these days.
“Oh! If you are uncomfortable, you can try the synthetic
ones, they are cheaper, but won’t last long. But I think you will need something
that lasts.”
She smiled.
She smiled.
That night she put on her wig and waited for her
husband to come back. She heard the door
opening and waited with bated breath as his foot-steps were approaching. He
entered the room, kept his bag and gave her a questioning look. Without saying
a word, he came towards her and gently ruffled the mane of hair.
“Stop doing that …just combed…my h-a-… ”, she stopped
and tightly held back her tears.
“I love the smell of your hair” he said softly and pushed
off the wig.
