Newerways

  “She’s your daughter,” my husband’s acquaintance asked him when I met him for the first time while we waited for our turn at a shop. I giggled at his joke and marveled at his judgment of my age. That was when I was dark-haired. A few years later, my hair started to turn grey.  We often visited a complex together regularly, so regularly that the guard could identify the two of us. The irony struck when my husband had to travel alone. Then the guard asked, “Mummy Ji has not come today.” I laughed at the cruel joke. It is not that I mind going old: I do mind looking old, so aptly said by someone, I thought.   I had the usual concerns as someone in the fourth decade. I was beginning to hide that lock of silver hair so conspicuous on my scalp. It has been a source of pride for all the years spent well. I found myself reminiscing about the hair. I felt great about the comparisons I had. A decade later, I was going ahead with a natural balayage without a penny spent. The lockdown was

  Googling for ideas, my search stopped short at the gates of Pinterest. As a conventional netizen, I dared not venture into downloading new apps. There seemed to be no escape, my conventionality succumbed. Finally, there was a P on the red dot symbolizing Pinterest on my app list. I was on the lookout for ideas from paper maiche, but as my search unfolded, there was fashion, cooking, makeup, writing, home interiors, organization, in fact, every kind of organization, management be it time or money and so much more. I forgot the paper maiche and the artwork momentarily and here I was looking for hairstyles to suit my face type, dresses for my body type, makeup, dressing styles for fifty plus and I began to wonder if all this ever mattered in the past five decades. Never, my conscience answered.  Mocktails had found a new place in my recipe list. Forget about Mojito, I was searching for Pina colada, Dalgona Coffee and many more nonalcoholic drinks. Oh! I could be the next entrepreneur g