Androgenic Alopecia

Yes, that is what it is called. According to the Ultimate Reference, it is described as follows, "In humans, this condition is also commonly known as male pattern baldness. In classic pattern baldness, hair is lost in a well-defined pattern, beginning above both temples. Hair also thins at the crown of the head. Often a rim of hair around the sides and rear of the head is left. This is dubbed "Hippocratic balding". Rarely, the condition may progress to complete baldness". Little did Arun know how close to the truth he was when commenting on a previous post, about me transforming to a balding something person. Yes that is exactly what I am slowly yet surely transforming to. Every strand of hair that pops out as I casually touch my head warns me of the impending doom. Each bottle of those miracle hair tonics smiles weakly at me as if it is telling me that it is good but not designed for such extreme cases. And I languish in the certain knowledge of what is going to happen to me.

Ah, the good old days, when the name Fountainhead was an apt tribute to It. The days when the visits to the barber were a necessity. My hair would have grown wildly and densely and would be protruding in all directions. The barber seeing me approach would give a loving glance of appreciation at the vegetation and grin widely at having an opportunity to practice his art. He would painstakingly set all the tools of his noble trade on the table and ask how short I wanted it to be with great apprehension. And I would give a regal wave and say with casual nonchalance "Bilkul Chota Kardo Bhaiya". And he would give a huge sigh and begin his work. The battle of wits between the artist and my locks would follow and the wily barber would have to use all the tricks that he ever learned to tame the foliage. At any point of time, there would be a trimmer, scissors of varying shapes and sizes, combs of several textures and a bottle of water on the table. And the battle rages on. Slowly I start resembling a normal human being instead of Mowgli and finally it admits defeat to human ingenuity. The artist that he was, he would flash me a grateful smile for giving him the chance to prove himself ( the hair lying on the ground which was enough for a wig or too might also be a possible reason).

And we come to now. The necessity has transformed to a ritual, a rather farcical one at that. Something that we do just as to retain the old tradition. Like the kings still being called Your Highness and all inspite of being just common me (pretty rich common men yes, but still common men). A memory of something past. Sort of like going and renewing the subscription of the science magazine, not out of necessity but rather as a ritual, I go to the barber every two months. Why two? No idea. Maybe it is the second part of 42. Or half the first part of 42. The great number has many ways of manifesting itself and it is not up to us mere mortals to question that. So two months it is. The barber on seeing me gives me a look, at once a mixture of disappointment, disgust and disdain. Somewhat the look given to a student who inspite of his early promise goes wayward and derails from his path of greatness. He mutters to his friends," Chai garam kar lo, main abhi aata hoon" and beckons me inside. I quietly ask him not to make it too short and he gives a grunt. Taking immense care not to disturb the flora too much, he pats the old egg here and there and sort of puts on a show for around 5 minutes. I pay him the charge, and walk morosely back, one hand on the mane which had challenged many a barber, the other hand trying to count the days before even this walk won't be needed.