|Home | Issues | The Daily Star Home | Volume 5, Issue 96, Tuesday, December 22, 2009|
One brand, seven experts
A long-term relationship; one common goal: to bring amazingly beautiful expert-touched hair to millions of girls everywhere.
Sunsilk introduces seven pioneering global hair experts and the world's first co-created product range for all specific hair types. Hailing from fashion hubs of the world- New York, London, Paris, Tokyo and Los Angeles, the hand-picked hair experts were selected for their specialist, world-class insight and pioneering technologies as the result of an extensive search that lasted almost a year.
The experts have a combined 50 years' experience working in the hair industry and have honed their skills styling and colouring A-List celebrities' hair, repairing the damaged tresses of catwalk models and running elite salons and clinics. They have worked closely with Sunsilk's technical teams to co-create world-class formulations for specific hair types and have also featured in the advertising campaign.
Under A Different Sky
By Iffat Nawaz
But that's just the way you deal with everything, your morning coffee always piping hot finished with 21 sips, your pants always unfold with the same crease, you always say goodbye with the same intensity and calmness.
Portion control in all things except with the passion that you perhaps feel for me, and I like to take pride in the fact that I have somehow with my out-of-proportion ways thrown off the balance in your process oriented world. It makes you stronger. Do you know that?
The other day when I woke up in the middle of the night carrying the weight of a dead person in my soul. I tried to search for you to save me. You were there but almost unconscious. You told me there was a time in your life when you didn't sleep for months at a go. It must be so beautiful now to sleep in such abundance.
I dialed your number anyway and the phone rang six precise rings and I felt assured somehow that you didn't pick up. I knew everything would be okay, because one of us can still sleep the night through.
When I first met you and you started stealing glimpses of me while we sat in circles and spoke of people from far away and places close to home, I knew. I knew you were going to steal more than just glimpses. I didn't know what you would be stealing, and how fast and when but I knew if I let go, if I threw my head back and laughed my loud laugh about thirty one times with you and let you make me smile fifty times or so, you would become a part of me.
We would then get wet up to our waists in ocean water, Indian sea and the Pacific, walk streets holding hands like young teenage couples, sing songs that you heard and liked from the time before I was born. And it would be you who would be next to me while I bleed, birth and bathe. And that's when I got scared; your intentions were too strong for my nomadic heart.
And now in between inane details of lives copied from movie scenes and our parents' youth, my eyes wander off to the veins of your arms, the slight dimple on your chin, the perfectly mixed salt and pepper on your chest.
I think of my childhood dreams, my father, my mother, my brother, and yours. All the people in our lives and then in a box wrapped in red, orange, yellow and blue, you and I.
I think of how everything fits so perfectly in your closet, in your life, even the gap that you kept for me. As I run around making a mess of it all, I write you disjointed notes about your laundered shirts and the menu for our evening dinner.
You read them with a smile on your face, wipe away all stains and bury the dying souls floating in my brain and then you hold me up above all my insanity so I too can steal again.
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