As I rode from London to Glasgow
I noticed a sight once familiar
I blinked my eyes hoping it was so,
And it was! A long Indian plait
Lying innocently over the seat
Bringing back many memories
Of rich dark hair of sisters and mother
Braided and fragrant with flowers
Hair once so familiar and now replaced
By cropped fair and bleached British hair
A welcome respite among the redheads and blondes
Lay the innocent snake of rich dark hair.
As the train rumbled on
Light shone through the panes
And was caught by the hair so glossy and dark
and revealed hints of red and brown.
As I gazed at the reminder of my past
a custom so common in my country place
once adopted by me, but now cast
aside by my ‘rebellious side’ which made
my head home to a chic bobbed wave
or a ‘chicken’s nest’ as my mother would say.
As the train rumbled to a halt
the owner of the object of my interest
(or ‘tamer’ should I say with respect to hair)
Stood straight and shook herself
Ridding herself of the tiredness of a journey so long
And as I watched in dismay
Unwound her beautiful braid
and put it up in high ponytail.
Shruti