Blue Streak

Experiments are exciting, eerie, and unnerving at times. I mustered the courage to step out with a dream. Let the World not judge me by my identity but by the sensitivity of my heart. My temple was just a few miles apart. I stepped in, took a shallow breath as I met my Guru “Monu”

Monu: What would you prefer?

Me(nervous and excited): Blue with a tinge of green.

Monu: Interesting choice. Do you have time?

Me(lost in the calculation): Few hours

So it begins, my utopian dream to transform my image.

Everything about identity begins with this silky, rough, soft, hard, and attractive part of human: Hair

I won my bet and now it was time to turn blue.

The start was slow, serene, and stupid, with magical “monu” flirting magnanimously with my ever delicate hair already turned half brown, half grey, and half unrecognizable due to stress or scenarios such as “now”.

Monu was an able artist, carefully picking up every strand of my hazy hair, applying a paste of color on a shiny paper, and wrapping it around my saucy strands, minute by minute.

An hour into this intense art and craft project, I could barely speak or understand.

Meanwhile, Monu like every other sociopath was playing poker with my blacks and browns in an unemotional manner.

As we reached 90, he offered me a cup of tea when I had almost lost my sanity. I reluctantly took one to relieve myself from misery. To color your hair in the most elegant form, you need to suffer.

Oh Destiny, My Destiny!!

I glanced through my mobile and completed half typed message to get the necessary dopamine. Monu was back with a Spaceship-styled machine. This beast was supposed to dry or fry my hair. My mind-boggling head was kept inside this capsule. Switch on and I was on “HEAT” mode. At these times in my life, I realize how making decisions based on instinct, can almost drown you in such a steamy affair. The affair lasted for another half an hour when I lost my patience and asked my Guru to make it fast.

Me(losing last ounces of perceptible patience): Can this be done in 3 hours?

Monu{Cunningly): This will take at least take 4 as we need to wash your hair with a special shampoo before we apply blistering blue.

Me{defeatist tone): But you promised 3, anyways do it as soon as possible.

Monu offered me a Sandwich which I vehemently denied in a fit of rage or regret or both.

Monu, as every artist does, went about painting my hair with his special palette-shaped hand and even took help from her seemingly lost receptionist. She held my hair on one side as Monu weaved magic on the other. The battle was nearing its climax. I chanted “Divine” mantras to see myself through this ordeal.

Then came the final act. The Act of washing my head in the beagle basin. Monu, just as any sociopath would do, Lowered my head in the beagle basin with the slightest regard to pain in my neck.

I survived the Titanic and now my Guru was ready to unleash the final splash on my innocent strands.

Finally!!!!! It took 4 hours of artistic, uncertain, thrilling, and painful phases to complete the marvelously painful masterpiece.

I was ready to be crowned the blue streak of this town.

As Dickens said, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times”.

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