Black raven strands gleam at the touch of the brush. She threads the fine fibers into three, interlacing the hair with ease. I look in the mirror. She hums with each ginger skim, her eyes closed as if she knows the routine by hand. She probably does. 

She catches me in the mirror, looks up and smiles. I smile back. 

There is not much I remember from my childhood. Memories have eroded to nothing more than momentary glimpses that flash by every now and then.

But, my mom and her daily hair routine? That I remember quite vividly. I don’t know what it is about Bengali culture, but we are absolutely obsessed with our hair. When my paternal grandmother met my mom, the first words out of her mouth were not about my mom’s eyes or her outfit; they were about her hair. 

“You have the most beautiful hair I’ve seen.”

I have spent years admiring my mother’s hair. I have spent years adorning my own hair with clips to keep it intact as I have taken the stage to dance to classical Indian songs. I have spent years having my hair braided into pigtails with a rubber band corresponding to my outfits. I have spent years looking at my hair as an accumulation of the women before me, as a sign of my ancestry.

Hair is important to me, but it has a larger significance than my own life. It is a remnant of the unceasing strength of the matriarchy in the family. For a fraction of tradition that continues to be threaded down generations, I am thankful. 

My own mother and I do not have the type of relationship where we wrap each other in hugs and yell “I love you!” Love between my mother and I is more subtle.

Love is the time my mother takes every night to put oil in my hair, preserving my hair and preserving our tradition. Love is the mornings where my mother combs my hair into a braid even though I can braid my own hair. Love is the tucking of bangs behind my ear by my mom.

Thank you to the woman who made me, I am proud to be a fiber of the braids of tradition. 

Black raven strands gleam at the touch of the brush. I thread the fine fibers into three, interlacing the hair with ease. I tether the braids, and my culture, together.

Follow Anushree De (@anushree_night) and @CHSCampusNews on Twitter.

Gallery • 3 Photos

Photo courtesy of Anushree De

The Sidekick advertising and circulation manager Anushree De and their mother Ananya Kundu both value the ability for hair to show aspects of their culture. This Women’s History Month, De is thankful to her mother for the subtle ways in which she shows her love.