The Color of Truth

The color of truth is gray. – Andre Gide, 1869-1951, French writer, humanist and moralist; recipient of 1947 Nobel Prize for Literature.

There are many reasons I chose to go gray after several years of tinting my locks.

1. Truth: I have a large (and rather difficult to hide) teenage son, so my age is no big secret.

2. Laziness/time constraints: Who has got the patience to sit a in a beauty salon for half a day every fortnight?

3. Respect and less unwelcome male attention (hurrah!)

But let me recount the last straw… I rarely cook (I have my hubby to to thank for that luxury since he loves to) and even more rarely shop. It was one of those latter occasions that found me at the greengrocer around the corner early one morning, emergency shopping for vegetables my husband had forgotten to buy.

I was standing behind several high wooden racks that displayed a variety of veggies when I felt a hand groping my head – yes, my head. It proceeded to clutch the hair at the top of my head and give a hard tug backwards. I let out a yowl loud enough to best all the tom cats in the neighborhood, managed to break free, and turned – to face a neighbor standing on the other side of the shelf. I gaped at him while his face turned the color of the beets in my basket. I don’t know who was more shocked. He was the first to recover and quickly apologized.. I stood staring after him, still open mouthed, as he clattered down the steps in a tearing hurry.

Why had he done that? My mouth closed with a snap as my glance fell on the rack beside me and realization dawned. Clearly a case of mistaken identity, my dear Watson! For neatly arranged on the shelf at eye level were coconuts of every size possible, in every shade conceivable – from dark straw to hazel, auburn to burgundy. Was my hennaed head so indistinguishable from a ruddy coconut?

It was now my turn to hurry home to face the mirror. Only then did I realize I hadn’t combed my hair before rushing to the store. The hair on the sides and back of my head had been flattened against the pillow the previous night, leaving an unruly tuft on top. Yes, I looked like the fruit of Cocos nucifera or, at best, a walking, talking version of “Wilson” from Cast Away (a fine movie and a fine actor by the way).

So I can’t really blame the poor man for picking what looked like the biggest coconut of the lot (and a particularly fine specimen, may I add). But of course, he scoots off in the opposite direction every time he spots me now.

So now you know what literally “pulled” me into the gray- headed league the year I turned 40.

© Sosha Srinivasan