I could tell my life story through hair. My Sikh mother found God just before having me, and decided that her fourth and final child should be raised in the orthodox way. Subsequently, my uncut hair, which at one point went down to my knees, set me apart not only at school but also within my own family, where my father and brother did not have topknots. The tresses that took three hours to wash and dry every weekend became a symbol of my closeness to my mother, my religiosity and my difference. Conversely, cutting off my hair during adolescence — the long, disembodied plait plunging to the floor at the barber’s like a dead cat — was simultaneously an act of sacrilege, rebellion, assimilation

Source: The Times January 04, 2025 00:11 UTC