Hair, Properly Fixed

The other day I had to make a choice whether to leave the house in time to make my bus, or to fix my hair for work. I decided to catch the bus, and I would deal with my hair later. But the question is where? You can't do it on the bus--it's too private. I knew I wouldn't' have time at my bus stop--besides we all know how public the bus stop is: right where the traffic light stops all the drivers on their way to work, a favorite stop for Jehovah's drive-by Witnesses... On the other end  I get off under the tree at the top of the hill, the best view in the city, and white girls don't stop around there. I usually don't have time once I get to the office--besides, somebody might see me with the fly-away hair.

I learned how to do my hair on the bus. I wrote about it at the time; the bus stopped for some undisclosed reason for what seemed like hours. Women in bright, flowing pahardi skirts got out their lunches to feed their families, traveling by bus to visit family in some distant village. They might have to walk a couple of days, like I had. I watched the barbers take entrepreneurial advantage of the delay to earn a few extra rupees with their quick hair cuts for gentlemen and vigorous head massages. The lady-in-front-of-me's bun fell down, and she deftly twisted and tied it back into a simple knot that would hold it near the nape of her neck for a couple more hours. My hair was just starting to grow out from my tenth grade winter holiday bravery: my first drastic hair cut since third grade.
I've perfected my own slick style for hair since then. But the basis of all hair styles I learned on the bus, in India.