Everyone else coloured their hair and stayed fine... I don't know why only mine broke.

It was just another day of monotonous life. Waking up at 4, cooking two meals for work, meditating a little, getting dressed, and leaving for work—this lifestyle is so ingrained in me that even in my unconsciousness, I know exactly what to do and where to go.

So, just like any other day, I draped my saree, drenched in sweat, and walked toward the metro station to catch my early morning train. The best part about the metro is how much it has simplified our lives; the downside is how you need to switch stations to reach your destination. So, as usual, I changed lines and walked for over ten minutes to get to another platform.

Every morning, when I carry a handbag in one hand, my lunchbox in another, and my saree pleats with yet another, I silently scream about my situation. I can’t even take out a face wipe because all my hands are preoccupied. And if someone calls me by chance, I’d rather not pick up, because it would certainly mean lashing out at an innocent soul—many times it happened with my boyfriend (sorry for that). But he knew, and he understood.

Everything felt normal and mundane—until I saw a girl. She was almost 5’7”, had a pretty face, and she was wearing jeans and an off-white top that looked simple yet chic. But what really caught my attention was her dyed pink hair, which complemented her skin tone perfectly. I observed her face, her forehead, her neck, her hairline, and everything looked so flawless. And suddenly, it took me back to my own darkened, pigmented skin—caused by something we call “herbal,” an indigo powder.

I wasn’t envious of her; I was wondering why my skin had to scream in pain while everyone around me could roam freely with vibrant hair and no visible signs of PIH.

Why did I have to endure this?

What did I do to deserve this hardship?

I felt heartbroken. It’s become so common to see people with gorgeous hair colors and flawless skin. My dermatologist told me to check ingredients like PPD before applying hair dye—but how many of us actually know what PPD is? I think nobody actually knows. We are not at all aware of any such problems that might come along with the use of some creams or hair oils, or hair colours, that might cause more damage than good.

I looked at her again, then at my reflection in the metro mirror, which seemed to emphasize my darkness. Of course, I felt bad. The only part that kept me hurting was 'why me? ' I mean, I was not wishing evil for her; I was, in fact, mesmerized by her shining pink hair, but I was feeling bad for myself. Because I too wanted to apply colour to my hair, I too wanted to flaunt my hair just like her, I too wanted to feel confident and happy, but now, with the existing condition, I wasn't allowed to do any such thing to my hair or my skin. I mean, I don't even know when this will go away.

And just like that, I started overanalyzing my condition again. I mean, it was just a morning hour, I had just begun my day, I had to deliver lectures to my students, I needed to be mentally happy, but here I was sitting in the metro with thoughts more poisonous than the skin allergy itself. I did my Ra Ma Da Sa today. I did 12 Sun Salutations today. I did my breathing exercises today.

But what's the point ? Where did that positivity go away, of which I was talking so highly a few days back? Am I turning into the same woman who used to be before turning into spirituality? Or is this the phase, or is my deep insecurity finally taking the anchor of my life?

Oh my goodness. It shouldn't be like that. There has to be some way out. I need to figure it out again.

I guess this is what life is all about. You just can't find magic beans overnight. You need to create your magic beans every single night with the thought that they may or may not sprout the next morning, but the magic beans need to be sown every night. Because definitely a day would come when a fruitful tree, a magical tree, would grow on its own, and I might wonder where it comes from.

With love,

AY