Coming to terms with the bald look

THE mop on the crown lends a defining edge to an individual’s persona. Many an hour has been spent before the mirror by men and women alike, impelled by their misplaced vanity to ask an age-old question, “Am I not the fairest of them all?”

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In my heyday, I laid great emphasis on an immaculate turnout and ensured that each strand of hair was in place. If a flutter of wind threatened to unsettle the mop, it was restored to its place with a disdainful jerk of the head.

It was petrifying to think of a future without a mane, and every strand of hair lost was met with panic. It sent me scurrying in search of remedies to stall the loss. The head soon became an experimental ground for grandma recipes, homoeopathic prescriptions, oils in combination with lime, butter milk, eggs and weird concoctions by quacks to check hair fall, but it was a losing battle.

Each morning, the receding hairline was meticulously scanned to see the extent of erosion with as much care and precision as the scrutiny of an incursion on the McMahon Line at the northern frontier.

But alas! No matter what, the hereditary laws and genetics successfully played their villainous role and my hairline receded rapidly like a river in spate, consuming its banks.

This darkening scenario had a silver lining. As I was in the profession of law, litigants readily parted with their income to enhance mine, viewing baldness as a sign of wisdom and maturity — a perception most likely not shared by the hon’ble judges before whom I appeared.

As far as my better half is concerned, she never made an issue of it, but occasionally slipped across write-ups on actors Yul Brynner and Persis Khambatta, which probably was her way of conveying that ‘Bald is beautiful’, a message delivered emphatically by these celebrities.

But the face is the index of mind, they say, and her fleeting expressions betrayed sentiments of a person short-changed. Evidently, she had not bargained for a bald companion at the time of saying ‘yes’ to me.

Today, much hair has ‘flown’ from over the head and I have reconciled to this ‘bald as an eagle’ look. But I still take a trip to the mirror and look at the scant hair with the pain of a jilted lover. After a reflective moment, enough for the ‘bald truth’ to sink in, I settle down in my recliner and wistfully reminisce about the bygone days, while an old Hindi song rings in my ears, “Ude jab jab zulfein teri...”