Hair Today, Gone Tomorrow

"So we say, grow your hair for peace" - John Lennon 

As I sat down to wait my turn at the barber shop, I was somewhat amused to see a man having a 'trim' when his hair was already very short. I mean it was about an eighth of an inch long. Why would he need a hair cut? He must really enjoy the whole experience, I thought. I, on the other hand, generally don't like having haircuts. I end up postponing it often and then I start looking a little grungy and unkempt. It eventually gets to a point when I must get my hair cut. And, unlike David Crosby who felt very strongly about it (you can listen to him sing 'Almost Cut My Hair'), I end up getting a haircut.

This dislike of haircuts probably goes way back. When I was young, I dreaded the hand-held trimmer that the barber used to shear my locks. He would have my head in a vise-like grip and run the trimmer up and down and left and right with absolute abandon. Sound technique if you are mowing a lawn perhaps, but not for cutting hair. This trimmer (I am sure many of you will remember it) was not electric but mechanical and had a jerky motion. It was utterly unpleasant.

The best haircut in my opinion is one which leaves you looking like you had not had a haircut at all, but nevertheless does some trimming in the right places. This was all but impossible when you were young and accompanied by a parent when you went to the barber shop. Your father invariably wanted your hair cut very short. Even if he was not there, the barber himself made it his mission to cut it short over your protests. After all, you were not the one paying him. The result was you came out looking like a freshly shorn sheep.

A good haircut has been mostly elusive through my adult life as well. I feel very few barbers and stylists understand my hair. This is perhaps the reason I never like having a haircut. All the same, I cannot completely avoid it. While I am all for world peace, I cannot follow Lennon's advice even if I wanted to. You see, now that my hair has thinned considerably, it is even more important to have regular haircuts. It sounds counter-intuitive, but if you have thinning hair and a bald patch, you will understand. It is more difficult to cover up a bad haircut (or bald patch) if you don't have enough hair in the right places!

It seems that when you start losing hair from your head, hair around your earlobes and in your nose seem to take up the void. This is the way of the world, I guess. What you don't want you will get plenty of and what you do want will be hard to come by.

My hair started turning grey fairly early - around forty. I could never bother with dyeing my hair. It seems to be too much work. About all I can do is to run a comb though my hair in the morning. But when the first silver threads made their appearance, it was with some sadness that I greeted them. And when I got used to these pioneers and their tribe increasing merrily, I was comforted to note that the problem would go away eventually anyway because I was also beginning to go bald! The race has been going on for a few years now. Whether all my hair will turn grey before falling out seems to be an even bet. And I am not going to lose my hair over - well, you know what I mean.

(Picture courtesy: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Manual_hair_clippers.JPG)

Ticket to Ride

I just read this disturbing news about commuters on the Mumbai local train being sprayed with a toxic powder. I was saddened. My memories of the Mumbai trains are from about twenty-five years ago, but I do not recall that you had to fear the other riders, especially when the train was crowded.

Riding those trains was certainly not for the faint-hearted and the newcomer to the city found it quite intimidating. The art of getting off a train before it stops (so that you do not risk being put back on the train by the onrush of commuters) and of moving away from the  exit before the train stops at a busy station (lest you be placed on the platform outside involuntarily) were only a couple of the many skills to be mastered. I remember a friend  who was getting to Churchgate in the evening (no crowds traveling in that direction). He failed to get off the train before it stopped and was engulfed by the oncoming evening rush anxious to get home to Borivali. There was no way to get out of the train. Worse, the train was an express which meant that my friend was now going back to a station even beyond where he started from!

There are many scenes from the train commute that have stuck with me through the years - a poor beggar being shooed away by most passengers, but receiving alms from a porter; the group of people regularly performing bhajans in the compartment complete with hand cymbals and offering prasad to those who broke their strides to stop by the window even as they rushed to wherever they were bound; people who played bridge inside the crowded compartment using a briefcase to put down the cards and hung around the platform even after getting to their destination in order to finish the hand (such dedication). Then there was the hushed rush with which money was passed to the riders at the doorway in exchange for the batata vada packages sold by vendors at Dadar station (the best, I was told, in all of Central Railway). In the few seconds for which each train stopped there, at least a dozen orders were fulfilled. Let us not forget that all these happened while the trains were jam packed.

Riding the local train to work in Mumbai is a unique experience. The train represents a microcosm of the city that is a microcosm of the nation. To me the visage of the train is almost alive with humanity bursting from every doorway, its only purpose, to get people to work or home or wherever they were going. Never mind that the train had long passed any reasonable retirement age; that the tracks were in need of serious upgrading. Uncomplainingly, it bears its burden at surprising speeds gliding along the rails that snake through the city. How much abuse can a machine take? I recently read that these old trains are being replaced with newer ones (about time, I guess). I hope the old ones get a respectable farewell.

One of my friends had sent me this song that I think captures the spirit of the Mumbai local train riders. Even though I must confess to hating my daily ride while I lived in Mumbai, I cannot deny the sense of nostalgia this song brought to me.

Photo Courtesy: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Bombay4.jpg