My First Haircut

The following is a definition from Wikipedia:

Mundan - The Chudakarana (Sanskrit: चूड़ाकरण, Cūḍākaraṇa) (literally, arrangement of the hair tuft) or the Mundana (literally, tonsure), is the eighth of the sixteen Hindu saṃskāras (sacraments), in which a child receives his/her first haircut.

When I was three years old, I had a pretty strong sense of myself. Granted, I wasn't fully versed in my ABC's quite yet, but I was pretty confident in a few things.

My parents loved me.
My brothers and sisters loved me.
I loved White Castle hamburgers.
White Castle hamburgers always made me sick.
It's not easy being green.
Donnie and Marie were a great team.
I was a pretty little girl.

Now, I think most little girls are pretty little girls. At the age of three, I was used to going to the grocery store with my mother and having little old ladies stoop down to talk to me and say "Aren't you just the prettiest thing?"

And in my heart of hearts, I knew that it wasn't like I was winning the Miss America Pageant or anything. But it made my heart swell with pride.

Especially when people told me what long, pretty hair I had.

I had long curls that went down my back and which my older sister would artfully arrange in pretty little clips, ponytails and pigtails.

I was a rockstar.

So, it was quite traumatic for me when, at the age of three, my parents took me to a temple in New York City and shaved my head in front of an audience comprised of close family members and friends who looked on with pride at this lovely coming of age for me.

For this was my first haircut.

I went from being a pretty little girl to looking like a traumatized little boy.

Now when I went to the store with my parents, instead of getting, "Oh - you're so pretty!" I would get "What a handsome little boy! He's almost pretty!"

And I would want to run and hide.

At first my mom dressed me in cute little frocks and feminine clothes. But it probably confused people and pretty soon afterward, she just started dressing me like a boy.

I kid you not.

If you look back at family albums from that time, when I was between the age of 3 - 4, I am dressed very much like a boy - lots of corduroy pants, sweater vests and polo shirts.

The worst is - I remember. All of it.

Perhaps this is why haircuts are still so traumatizing for me today.

Thanks for the memories, Ma and Papa.

You know I love you but is it cool if I forward all my therapist bills to you?

Thanks!

XOXO,

Kiran