BENGALURU: After sporting shoulder-length hair for years, I finally got a haircut last week. The reactions from people have ranged from shock to concern. Why did I have long hair? It’s hard to explain. Footballers, singers and Babas have all had long hair, and my strict schooling made me explode in rebellion. My first stint with long hair was born from the flames of shame and guilt. Salman Khan released a film called Tere Naam, and impressionable teenagers like me adopted his hairdo.
Calling it a ‘hairstyle’ would be too generous – it was a system where you (without being threatened by anybody) parted your hair in the middle. It was done without much care or concern, like a child splitting a Kitkat with a friend.
While it is not easy for a man in society to have long hair, it comes with its own advantages. Parents don’t pester you to get married because they are just relieved you are not a psychopath. You seem a tad more intelligent than you are in real life, since your long hair gets you some of the credit of Socrates and Plato. I have sometimes gotten free entry at pubs since I was mistaken for the band performing. And a few compliments, all of which came from men. There is something primitive and neanderthal about long hair that only men seem to appreciate.
The decision to get it all chopped off came with its own fears and tribulations. You can achieve nirvana in life, but getting your barber to comprehend and carry out your requests is another story. I speak five languages, and they are not enough to get my point across. The hairdressing industry has survived for hundreds of years with zero customer satisfaction.
Additionally, barbers bombard you with unwanted advice. My barber advised me to quit smoking, oil my hair, and generally be a better human being. I showed him the photos I had downloaded, and limply expressed my desires. He nodded, already making his own mental notes. Finally, I followed Buddha’s path of total surrender and let him do his thing. He brought out his tools, and turned my head around. An hour later, I was looking like a contestant from Dance India Dance. I was fully aware that these results were fleeting, and would last till my journey home.
I now look like an illustration from Tinkle comics – short hair and clean-shaved. Has anything changed about my life? Not really. But the kids in my neighbourhood smile at me a little more. Just like the Biblical Samson lost all his powers when he cut his hair, some people remarked that I had lost my gravitas along with my hair. I still keep feeling for my missing hair, and then remember that it was all maya. Whenever someone tells me it was a terrible decision, I think of all the money I am saving on hairbands, scrunchies, shampoos, conditioners, hair gels and hair oils.
For days after, I wondered why I couldn’t clearly communicate my wishes to my hair-stylist. How my knowledge of five languages, and a Masters in Mass Communication didn’t really help my cause. But then, it’s a truth of life that some of our finest have already realised. Philosophers have decoded life, but left their heads shabby – having given rid of barbers. Shiva, Buddha and Jesus all found different paths to life; different methods to become the highest form of humans. And yet, they let their hair grow long and avoided the hassle of dealing with barbers. I sacrificed my hair to learn life lessons on desires, fleeting joy, and the need to get over worldly attachments!
(The writer’s views are his own)