My name is Huji (short for Harjit Hayre), and I am a British Indian woman, a practicing makeup artist, and an influencer. On February 20, 2020, I made a decision that would change how I see myself: this would be the last time I sat in a salon chair to cover my greys and bleach my hair. I firmly believe that everything in life is planted like a seed in your mind—it may take years to grow, and sometimes even decades to blossom fully.
In my mid-twenties, I worked for an airline, and I will never forget the day I checked in an Indian woman, no older than forty. She had beautiful silver hair, styled into a chic lob, perfectly blow-dried, and her makeup was subtle except for a striking red lip. She looked effortlessly young, elegant, and completely herself. I asked if it was her natural hair, and she said yes before walking away. That brief encounter stayed with me for years. Maybe, just maybe, that was the seed being planted—one that would take another seventeen years to fully bloom within me.
I had been dyeing my hair for sixteen years. For the first twelve, it was something I genuinely enjoyed—I loved experimenting with colors and styles, expressing myself creatively. In my thirties, I became obsessed with achieving the perfect ash blonde highlights. It was not an easy feat; it took eight years of bleaching and styling, enduring damage and patience, to finally get the shade I wanted. But by my early forties, after having my second child, the stubborn greys along my hairline were asserting themselves. I found myself dyeing my roots every two to four weeks, as they would appear just two weeks after my last color.
And that’s when the questions started. Do I really want to keep this up while raising two young children? Is this still feasible for me? Is this a priority, or just a habit? Why do I feel the need to hide this? I wondered about my husband, about what people might think, about unsolicited comments I might receive. I began to question whether all this effort and stress was worth it.
At 41, I casually showed my husband images of women with dyed silver hair—not revealing my full plan, more like testing the waters. He was not convinced, which, in hindsight, was a blessing. When my youngest started nursery part-time, I realized I simply didn’t have the time to get to a hairdresser, style my hair, and be back in time to pick him up. By the age of 43, I knew: this was it. I was done. I went for one final salon visit, ostensibly to blend my grey roots. They ended up covering some greys, but my mind was made up.
In March, the UK went into lockdown. If that wasn’t a sign, I don’t know what was. Since I wasn’t seeing anyone outside the home, I chose to keep quiet and let nature take its course. Two months passed, and my husband hadn’t noticed or commented. Around this time, I started an Instagram account to document my journey week by week. Little did I know, there was a huge, vibrant community of silver sisters doing the same, supporting and encouraging each other.
Three months later, I finally told my husband I wasn’t planning to color my hair anymore. To my surprise, he was encouraging—maybe relieved we weren’t out in public—but he genuinely cared about my happiness. By August or September, as lockdown eased and school had resumed, a few mothers asked if I had colored my hair this way. Hearing this brought me unexpected joy—it was affirmation that I had truly embraced this new chapter.
When I took this step, I realized I no longer cared what others thought. Growing up in Indian culture, our lives are often guided by the question, “What will people think?” I now understand that most of those opinions never mattered—they never nurtured or supported me. Instead, they were often critical and judgmental, chipping away at my self-confidence and leaving me riddled with doubt.
It took years, but I learned that freeing myself from cultural expectations and other people’s opinions is liberating. I now want my children to grow up understanding that a woman with grey hair is not “old” or “letting herself go.” Society’s conditioning is deeper than hair—it extends to skin color, makeup, body image, and perceived standards of beauty. Embracing my greys has given me a sense of authenticity and self-confidence I hadn’t felt before—a feeling of nothing to hide and being unapologetically myself.
This journey is not just about hair; it’s about transformation. Lockdown allowed me to face past demons and reflect deeply. I confronted unresolved feelings from childhood, and my inner child demanded acknowledgment. It was a difficult, sometimes draining process, but it led to clarity, growth, and acceptance. In parallel with embracing my natural hair, I began to realize what I truly want from life, not just what I don’t want. Daily affirmations and motivational content became a lifeline, reminding me that we are far more than we often believe.
People often ask me what message I have for women considering going grey. I tell them: do not do anything because others expect it. If coloring your hair brings you joy, do it. But if you are covering your greys out of obligation, stress, or fear, ask yourself—is it worth it? If the answer is no, then step into your truth. Join the community of silver sisters—like myself—who will celebrate, encourage, and root for your roots.
Going grey has been more than a hair journey—it’s been a journey to self, confidence, and freedom. I have learned that midlife is not a decline, but a powerful awakening. And I am here to embrace it fully.
