Baldness On Big Screen: The Pain Of The Vanishing Top

Bald is cool. Nobody told you that in college days. Back then, which is many years back in time, you missed sane advice on receding hairline or heavy hairfall. Friends being friends would crack sick jokes at the nudity on top. In the family there would be pointless words of sympathy and casual acquaintances would advise you to do something, anything, to get the cover on your glistening pate back. But hardly ever a genuine suggestion. Whatever you received was borrowed knowledge from dubious sources.

Those were less evolved times. Words like alopecia and dihydrotestosterone were still alien to the world beyond the medical community. Few knew of trichology and even less about platelet-rich plasma therapy. Rumours had it that hair transplant happened in faraway places such as New York and Mumbai. People, according to unreliable sources, sneaked into hair clinics looking old and haggard and emerged with the swag of teenagers, heads full of curly hair. Then they dumped their girlfriends to find new ones.

Well, this came from untrustworthy characters and the information garbage for a man in desperate need for a quick fix. But a man in panic would clutch at everything, so you tune in for more. What you get is quackery of high order. Rub egg yolk on the scalp; place a mix of lemon juice and honey on the pate; apply castor oil; use wooden combs; eat fruits, onion and it can go on and on.

Do shirsashan, some would advice. This, incidentally, is believed to be the magic cure for a host of problems, hairloss being a minor one. If you stay upside-down, the theory goes, blood flows to the head, irrigating the sparse areas on the scalp and coaxing new hair to sprout and enjoy the breeze. Maybe the theory has its merits, but it is not for the sod looking for dramatic results. You gave up after a few days, partly because curious hostelmates gathered every morning to watch you in action up close. The same went for other yogic poses. Baba Ramdev had not descended on the scene then, so anulom vilom was not in vogue. But some breathing exercises were suggested too. None helped.

While through many experimentations you made the surreptitious trip to the charlatan in a roadside tent who had a herbal solution for every conceivable human trouble, from erectile dysfunction to infertility to acne to arthritis to whatnot. Of course, you got the oil to bring back luxuriant hair and the promise that a fortnight is all it would take. As you made the return trip to him, fretting, fuming and frothing the tent would be nowhere.

Heartbreak was all you got from these efforts. And you lived between sighs and sorrow.

As we have mentioned, those were less evolved times. Baldness was believed to leapfrog you to unclehood. This was before it was reimagined as sexy, and masculine. Hollywood hunks with shiny heads gradually captured the imagination of the young and baldness became synonymous with virility. We had fashion models with smooth heads walking the ramp.

Soon, being bald was cool. As inhibition collapsed, it became a style statement. Now we live in times where male pattern baldness or alopecia is a signature good look accessory and baldness of other kind is as welcome. It is no more the luxury of the old.

What the hell was I up to? You wonder looking back to those days with some embarrassment. It had to do something with the social shaming that followed. Our cinema portrayed baldness with little sensitivity, making it less than normal. Two films Bala (yet to be released) and Ujda Chaman deal with the subject. The script line suggests despite baldness being trendy, in certain quarters it remains a condition to be laughed at.

It’s time people grew up.