The Hair Oil Negotiation

There are few battles more pointless, more repetitive, and more emotionally exhausting than the battle between an Indian mother and her teenager’s hair. Not homework. Not screen time. Not the state of their bedroom or their overflowing closet…well not always. But…H–A-I-R!

Specifically, thick, wavy, unruly teenage hair that appears to have signed a secret pact with humidity, gravity and Satan. My child has good, thick hair. Which, if he expects to keep, will need consistent care; comprising of a comb, water, shampoo, conditioner and OIL!!!

I have soft and capable hands which can and do massage the heck out of scalps and tensed body parts and make the aforementioned tension disappear for a good while. Ergo, hands and head should come together in a beautiful symphony rather than resemble bilateral talks which have failed leading to parties preparing for an imminent war!

Now teenagers, as we all know, carry the weight of the world on their shoulders. A new zit, a wayward lock or someone breathing wrong in their direction can cause a spiral of epic proportions and upset their delicate sensibilities. Restoring peace can take longer than it took to restore The Last Supper to all its glory. Add wearing headphones to the equation and you’re stuck with equivalents of hair that looks like has speed breakers installed intermittently.

It’s NOT a good look. And not good for a parent who wants to be sure whether she’s raising an Old English Sheepdog or someone whose hair seems to mimic a nuclear explosion.

Trust me when I say there are times when my child’s hair has been akin to a Scotchbrite scrub pad and any attempt to turn it into a human being’s head and not something that belong’s on Chucky’s, has been met with opposition, stonewalling and disdain which have been detrimental on my gnashing teeth.

As we all know, Indian mothers have a solution for everything! You have a fever- take turmeric! Now you have a cold? Steam the heck out of your sinuses! Hair that feels like Scotch-Brite? O-I-L and lots of it. Regularly and preferably followed by a proper scalp massage.

And I have explained this concept more times than I wish to remember but apparently the 897th time is the charm because when I pressed my luck this time around, I got a rather unenthused “Kay” for my troubles minus the rolling eyeball and disdain.

But Carpe Diem I did! And oiled and massaged the heck out that bushy head. And realized my mistake a few minutes into my gloat-filled head massaging.

Here’s how it went:

“That’s nice.” Said in a slightly unconvinced note.

Five minutes later: “Can you do it there?” Tone is mellower.

“There?” “Yes. A little to the left.” Mellower..

I move. “No, slightly back.” Terse again.

I move. “Yeah. There.” Yeaaaah…that’s the ticket!” Mellowwwwwwwww

And suddenly we are no longer mother and child…we are client and (unpaid) spa professional.

And suddenly the child who couldn’t spare five minutes for this activity has absolutely no intention of getting up.

“Done?”

“No!”

“Okay, five more minutes.”

Five minutes later: “Done now?”

“NO”

“How long?”

“Just keep going.”

JUST KEEP GOING.

Ah.

So NOW you like it.

Now, suddenly, the scalp massage is an essential component of your mental wellbeing.

Now you understand the healing power of ancestral Indian hair care.

Now you don’t want to give up your comfort.

Interesting.

But now, the mother is trapped!

Because if I stop, I get: “Why did you stop?” Keep going…that feels really good.

“Can you do the back? and around the ears? Don’t use your nails, just use your fingertips…

At this point, I begin wondering whether I accidentally gave birth to a dictator who has discovered the joys of spa services. And because I am a mother, I continue.

Because underneath all the nagging about frizz, dryness and hair texture is the simple truth that there is something ridiculously comforting about massaging your child’s scalp.

Even when that child is now approximately 80% limbs, attitude and sarcasm.

For those few minutes, they’re still. No phone. No argument. No eye rolling. No ‘Seriously?” or ‘What the!!!”

Just quiet.

And the occasional:

“Can you press a little harder?”

Of course my little oil-covered despot. Of course I can,