It was the bane of my Sunday mornings as a child. My mum would come into the living room—where I’d usually be enthralled by Sabrina The Teenage Witch on the television—with a green bottle of Dabur Vatika Coconut Hair Oil bobbing around in a bowl of hot water. I’d diligently sit on the floor while my mum rubbed, massaged, and patted the melted oil onto my scalp and down the lengths of my hair until it was soaked. Each session was finished with me sporting a glistening, slicked-back plait, and I’d always ask the same question: “Do you promise I can wash it out before school tomorrow?”.
You see, I’d noticed my peers would get teased for their oiled