Julie & Kishore Read Free

myself in the mirror on rainy, muggy or humid days
when my hair was all over the place like a mop, seemingly having a mind of its
own. It frizzed with the humidity making it bushy and boofy and depression,
like a mantle fell over me. On these days I would avoid the mirror as much as
possible, hurriedly brush it and tie it up in a ponytail with a bundle of
hairclips, firmly pinning each strand onto my head. I hoped no loose curls
would escape to stick out and wave in the wind, triumphantly exclaiming, ‘Ha,
ha we are free!’

 
 
    My
despondent mood grew worse as I foolishly compared myself to the singer Crystal
Gayle. As I watched her sing ‘ don’t it
make my brown eyes blue’ I was more captivated with her hair than her sultry
voice. Boy! did she have alot of hair! Straight, shiny, glossy and exceptionally long! As a
girl who wished for hair just like hers, I recklessly put my hand on my heart
and hastily vowed I would never cut my hair again. But in reality I knew my hair
would never be blonde like Lorraine Downes and as it seemed to grow out not
down, I would never have hair as long as Crystal Gayle ’ s.
    I
was slim, at least that was a good thing and of average height - petite,
simple, ordinary features that once again added up to me being a ‘Plain Jane,'
there was nothing about me to stand out in a crowd. I got called all of the
usual things at school: carrot top, ginger nut, freckle face and
oh yes , once I was even called a pixie. No man on the
planet would ever fall in love with a plain, boring, freckle faced, red headed , pixie!
    Being
the youngest, my siblings, Andrew and Sarah had already paved the way for me.
Over the past few years I had watched quietly on the side-lines as they had
travelled through adolescence. They had waded through all manner of trials
and tribulations that are part of a normal teenager’s existence. Quietly, I had
observed as, one by one, Andrew then Sarah had left home.  
    I
was four years younger than my sister, Mum had not planned on having any more
children after her, then unexpectedly, four years later along came a surprise -
me! My brother and sister had brown hair and brown eyes, the complete opposite
to me, they looked like siblings, they looked like
our parents. When I was born Mum was astounded as she caught sight of my tuff
of red tresses. At family gatherings as I was the only person with hair the
colour of fire, the discussion invariably ended up being
about my possible heritage. Jokes were made about the milkman being a red head
and just what else had he been doing when he brought the milk? Someone else
suggested maybe my colouring was a throw-back from some Scottish ancestor but
really, no one knew.

 
    During
my childhood my family occasionally attended our local Anglian church. We would
all arrive on a Sunday morning adorned in our best clothes. Sarah and I would
wriggle and complain as Mum had dressed us in the exact
same itchy frock. White, with lace and frills and a baby blue ribbon tied at
the waist, these special clothes were not allowed to be worn on any other day
of the week - they were clothes kept for Sunday best. After the main church
service, all of the children were ushered off to a separate part of the church
hall to attend Sunday school. Church was firstly a place to worship but it was
also a place to gather and meet with the residents of the neighbourhood, to
gossip, organise baking stalls and market days.

 
    As
I matured I didn’t technically follow any religion seriously , though I did find solace in praying at night before
sleeping. Lying in bed with the covers pulled up, I would quietly place my
palms together and softly whisper. I believed in being positive so I prayed for
peace on earth and the end of famine and poverty. But most of all I fervently
prayed to meet a man: someone who was kind, sincere, loyal and honest.
    Was
there anyone out there who would take me
on?

 
 
    CHAPTER FOUR

 
    The Hindi word for life is jeevan.