Occupational h(air)zard
An occupational hazard is any condition, circumstance, or factor in the workplace that has the potential to cause harm, injury, or illness to the person working. These risks are inherent to specific jobs and are generally categorized into physical, chemical, biological, ergonomic, and psychosocial hazards, though some sources also list safety and work organization hazards. All of this information I got from Google.
Plagarism is an occupational hazard for writers, specially for "chota mota" writers like me. To stay out of trouble, I have given google it's due.
As a teacher, my voice, patently, was getting bad and that was an occupational hazard I had to deal with. The Allopathy doctors said I need to leave teaching. I left those doctors. Finally I learnt to cope with my vocal cords, thanks to one of my student's parent who suggested that I see a particular homeopath. His concoction worked along with some voice exercises. I have never suffered back pain due to note book corrections or shoulder issues from black board usage. For that matter I have not had any other occupational hazard that's typical for teachers. So my teacher life was joyful and I continued to teach happily for 30 + years.
My other occupation, you may all know, is doing theatre. Calling it an occupation itself is a hazard. Here again voice plays an important role as a stage performer. I could lecture to 38 people at one go without a microphone. 38 used to be my class strength as a teacher. I had quite a loud voice.
Some of the other theatre occupational hazards are like the complications of live performances, such as falling down from sets, getting hurt back stage, misplacing your costumes, losing your footware, dealing with co actors, props, food, and the unpredictable nature of the expected audience. Sometimes if they don't turn up in large numbers, performing to a handful of them in a big auditorium with little response from them too is an occupational hazard.
A person's hair condition can be an occupational hazard for a variety of reasons, in theatre and outside theatre. Certain professions such as healthcare or food service may require frequent hand washing and the use of harsh chemicals, which can strip the hair of its natural oils and cause dryness and breakage. This can be especially problematic for individuals with curly or textured hair, as it requires more moisture and maintenance. In addition, jobs that involve wearing protective gear or helmets, such as construction or military work, can lead to hair damage and scalp irritation due to the constant rubbing and pressure. Moreover, long hair can also pose danger in some work settings, as it can get caught in machinery or equipment, leading to serious accidents. Furthermore, certain industries have strict rules and regulations regarding hair length and style, which can be a challenge for individuals with cultural or religious requirements for their hair.
My occupational hazard in theatre was created by my own evil hands. Do I call it an occupational hazard or is it a non technical malfunction? I don't know what to call it, but it is what it is.
But how can one's hair color be an occupational hazard? Yes. In my case it is. Or I should say I created it with my evil hands.
I had started greying when I was around 40. Friends of my age, who were still black or brown, said atleast your locks are thick and healthy. Look at ours, its like a mouse tail. That was like a mouse trap for me. I felt fortunate and contended. I decided I will never ever color my hair. I was proud of my rainy day clouds like locks. Infact started using purple shampoo which was specially made for grey hair maintenance.
My experiments with my thatch was limited to just trimming them at the saloon, till I turned 45. But being a stage performer, I was also trying hard to shoot for the moon with my looks. Age does a lot of things to you. I try to accept them, chuckle to myself and write them here for you to laugh aloud.
I tried a bob cut. It was so convenient for Chennai summer and for early morning school routine. My class children loved my new hair style and were more focused during my Maths periods. To handle yourself, use your head; to handle others, use your heart. I used both.
In Bombay Gnanam ma'am's - all ladies- Dramas, I used to don male roles. My short hair was a boon. I did not need a wig or any make over to conceal my hair. It was easy. I escaped the whiffy
wigs and cruddy combs from the Drama cupboard.
Thus I stayed grey with short hair for a long time. As my greys started showing well, some of my friends kept harassing me and at times sweetly luring me to color my hair. They said sweet things like my skin is young, my heart is young and so why not my hair. I continuously declined, but heart of hearts had a desire to give it a chance in the future. What if my roles in plays boom if I do it, was my thought.
During the Covid pandemic era my grey hair grew in leaps and bounds. As parlour visits were not allowed during the lockdown, I looked a 50 year old grey haired Rapunzel.
My daughter's MIL, a few years older than me had colored her hair. She too wanted me to get mine colored. Her point was valid. We were friends from childhood and everyone in our circle knew I was younger than her but my hair was grey. This gave away her dark black secrets. But I was adamant, I said jokingly - I want to live and not dye.
On a sudden impulse, I visited a salon to dye my hair. However, the coiffeuse praised my natural salt and pepper hair, showed her trainees how lovely it was, and shared some complex information that went above my head. She eventually sent me home without coloring my hair. I felt confused and frustrated, with my salt and pepper locks still intact. I thought god wanted me not to color. Gods too, I guess have their share of occupational hazards.
Shanta Akka, a child prodigy, a great dancer, a singer, and a teacher par excellence, is someone I have had the privilege of witnessing and admiring as a student of Kalakshetra. Shanta Akka's unwavering confidence is in her refusal to color her hair, which I have always admired. Her grace and poise on and off stage - I have been in awe of her.
Ratna Pathak Shah, my favourite theatre personality had embraced her natural grey hair, finding it a "release" from the pressure to maintain a youthful appearance. Her husband, Naseeruddin Shah, encouraged her to stop coloring her hair.
My husband had no say in these subject matters, as long as food was on the table.
Go girl, live your life, but let there be protein and fibre on my plate, he said.
I saw my Facebook friends posing with their beautiful silver strands looking beautiful and under their pictures, comments like -you look Greysful, Greygantic, Greygeous, your wisdom Greyrays look Greynd.... confused me further, not for the way these words were spelt, but for the fear of losing them out on my profile.
My daughter said - Amma, don't even give it a second thought, go ahead and transform your head. May be she meant- Nothing can be done with the grey matter inside, atleast get done with the outside grey. A non theatre friend who was like family spoke about how the ammonia in it can damage my hair and scalp. Suddenly my interest in organic chemistry grew. Research on organic hair dyes is still on my phone history to go back and clear doubts as and when again in doubt.
To be or not to be?? What a tangled, knotted, messy, frizzy and unmanageable occupational hazard this was.
August 2025, I was part of a play with women of three generations. I was offered the role of the mid generation, which was the focal role of the play. My mother-in-law in the play had to use a grey wig, where as I had natural grey. She was 10 years younger. It all happened in a wink of an eyelid.
The director of my play booked my parlour appointment and in a moment of frail I got my fragile grey locks colored dark brown. Decisions are often made to be vanquished.
Someone rightly said - No amount of experimentation can ever prove me right; a single experiment can prove me wrong. All life is an experiment. The more experiments you make the better.
I looked at the mirror. I looked so not me. I was not looking greysful. This time I made a stern resolution to get back my greys, but I knew that I had to wait. The color will stay for a while. Grandmother roles in plays and ads will fade away. Already a casting agent said I looked too young to be a grandma. I was so upset I lost that opportunity, she reminded me - ma'am it's supposed to be a compliment.
May be. May be I will get mother roles in plays. Some of my daughters and sons born out of stage plays, had more greys than me. Why did I not note that point before my appointment at the tonsorium?
I can't change my instinctive nature anyday, nor can I get back my natural tresses any soon.
I look at my mirror and say-
Mirror Mirror on the wall
please please GREY them all.
PS
Wait wait. Not here in India, but in the US October 1st is celebrated to show the importance of hair as a form of personal expression and to appreciate hair care products and stylists. It is a day to give recognition to the creativity and expertise of hairstylists.
I made my hot cup of Chaya and started off writting the post. It slipped my mind that I had to cook my meal.
Writers, theatre artists, hairstylists Instagram users and other creative tribes should not have a kitchen in their homes. They should just order food. Maybe Vastu Baghavan, the deity of architecture and design, should reconsider this aspect. After all, even Gods and goddesses must have their own share of occupational hazards to deal with.
Speaking of occupational hazards, the post got sidetracked and here it is for you to read.
Comments
Post a Comment