Dear Harsha Bhogle, Virender Sehwag, Jackie Shroff, Akshaye Khanna, Salman Khan and millions of other men who have spent fortunes getting their manes repaired.
I cannot understand what makes men (and some visibly sensible ones at that) go in for hair transplants (or weaves or whatever they call them these days).
I am sure they feel like a million bucks (especially after spending something that’s close to that), but do their women think they do?
I can understand if they have moved with their new manes to an entirely new habitat where no one knows you and you can start all over again, pretending it was always like this. But what intrigues me is walking into a party where everyone and his dog knows that it is a crop acquired overnight (or however long it takes).
I wonder who their women are, and what they thought of the idea. Did they not feel the slightest trepidation, cupping a manufactured mane in their hands, and fearing that they might damage it? I would be worried silly if I dated such a guy and worry that I might be responsible for diminishing a wee bit of that crop every day even with my gentle ruffling.
Imagine Sehwag going, “Oh, that’s fifty thousand rupees worth hair gone!” every time a girl is sweet on him.
I can still get it if you are devastatingly good-looking, like a Johnny Depp and one fine day woke up to find your locks diminishing, you may have a case for some hair-engineering. But how many men who have had hair tragedies can really call their face their fortune?
A few handy tips for men on the verge (and believe me it’s nature’s way of saying that you may have to reinvent yourself):
· No hair is better than bad hair.
· A comb-over is a sure sign of a loser. Women run away from losers.
· Shaving your pate is one way to ensure you will never have a bad hair day.
· Think of all the money saved buying hair product and going to fancy hairdressers to cut hair that barely exists.
· Think of all the men you know who have gone bald. Now think back and remember them when they had hair. Which one is better?
Over to my men. The husband currently has a decent crop, which I fear is suffering gentle erosion by a certain hat he seems to have developed a fetish for. To the point when aunts have started asking me, “Why does he wear that? Is he balding?” Well, all I can say is that the son can sure learn the letter M from the father’s forehead at this point.
The son, on the other hand seems to have inherited the luscious and curly Iyer mop, so I don’t have to worry about him, at least for now. Unless the Y chromosome takes over as the dominant gene. Or he starts wearing hats too.
But I have an unofficial pre-nup with the husband which states that the day he starts visibly balding, he shaves his crop, because I will have none of the cover-up or hair cultivation business.