Bald, the new black

Hollywood knows it, Japan too. Guess we Indians didn’t get the memo?

I have often wondered if there is a God and standing in front of a mirror — or any reasonable reflecting surface really — paints a rather shoddy picture for Him/Her/Them. How, in all His/Her/Their wisdom did they look me over? How is this (pointing at my reflection) anywhere near perfection? Sure my insides are unparalleled in being super-fabulous but surely an exterior shell to go with all that awesomeness would have helped. There’s a reason you don’t house an Aston Martin engine in a Maruti. Among the many imperfections that I find agonising, baldness would rate pretty seriously high. I mean, imagine a world where we can almost cure cancer, and AIDS and even put up a serious fight against a pandemic within a short span of two years and yet, alopecia leaves our science fraternity flummoxed. Given how most of them look, you’d think they’d see a major personal gain in prioritising this issue. Instead, they continue to work, oblivious of such worldly woes. Now, remember that being bald is not something we can control and yet us baldies get ostracised — stared at, called names, felt for smoothness, segregated, all for no fault of ours. We need our own minority rights movement because nobody is fighting for us. So when a popular rag goes and announces the World’s Sexiest Bald Man Alive awards or recognition, it is just the shot in the arm that our community needs (with a booster, maybe every few months).