growing up, sunday oiling was never a choice. it was nani's rule. i'd sit on the floor, she'd sit behind me, and her fingers would move through my hair in slow, warm circles while the house smelled of til, amla and something i could never name. i'd complain the whole time. i didn't know i'd spend years trying to get that feeling back.

then life happened. new city, deadlines, late nights, stress i didn't talk about. and one morning, standing in front of the mirror with a comb full of hair, i said it out loud: oh my god.

it was everywhere. on my pillow. in the shower drain. on my clothes. my parting looked wider every time i checked, and i checked a lot. i stopped leaving my hair open. i started dreading wash day.

so i tried everything. the viral oils, the expensive serums, every "miracle" my feed sold me. some smelled nice. most did nothing. and every bottle that didn't work made me feel a little more like it was my fault.

one night, tired of all of it, i did the only thing that had ever felt like home. i warmed some oil, sat down, and oiled my hair the way nani used to. slowly. no phone. no rush. just ten minutes of slow circles and long breaths.

i cried a little that night. not because my hair changed overnight, it didn't, but because for ten minutes i felt like that little girl on the floor again. cared for. calm. safe.

those ten minutes became my ritual, and that ritual became nani's nuskha: 20 jadibootis and india's first 10-minute hair meditation. later, for my roots, i wanted something modern to sit beside nani's wisdom, so we made grow baby grow.

i'm not a doctor, and this isn't a miracle. it's care, the slow, steady kind nani gave me. so if you're standing in front of your mirror today saying "oh my god", i've been there. and i promise you this:

every oh my god has its own oh my glow.