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V Gangadhar

Hairy Tales

My seventh standard teacher once told me, "Do not envy others." My parents, too, echoed similar sentiments, "Be happy with what you have, do not seek something just because someone else has it."

The advice made good sense and I learnt to follow it. I did not aspire to be a high-profile journalist, flying to all corners of the globe and enjoying five-star status. I did not even envy scribes who, within two years of joining the profession, bagged journalistic awards from Rotary Clubs, Lions Clubs or management associations. There was no heartburn as I watched tall, well-built, handsome men strut around, surrounded by beautiful women.

But there was one breed of mankind of which I am slightly jealous. Let me call him 'Mr Immaculate'. He is perfectly groomed even in the heat, dust, sweat and humidity of India. His hair is always in place, his face does not shine with sweat and his clothes are perfectly creased and fit well.

Why am I envious of this breed? Because they are exactly the opposite of what I am. Within five minutes of leaving home, I am as dishevelled as a passenger who has completed 48 hours in an unreserved second class railway compartment. My hair flies all over the place, my clothes are wrinkled, my shoes collect as much dirt as possible. In short, despite a long bath and several minutes of grooming, I look a wreck within five minutes of stepping out of the house.

Let's talk about hair, for example. Mr Immaculate steps out of a crowded local train at Churchgate station, flicks out a pocket comb, runs it through his hair and then proceeds to conquer the world. When I try the same thing, my hair looks like it has barely survived a hurricane in Bangladesh. So, several years ago, I gave up carrying a pocket comb.

Most Indian males carry a pocket comb with them and use it at every possible opportunity. Getting out of a train or bus, entering the office, finishing lunch or snacks in a restaurant, leaving a cab... they take out the comb and use it. Udipi restaurants all over Bombay clearly forbid combing in front of the mirrors fixed above the wash basins. But who bothers? Almost every customer pauses in front of the mirror to make last minute adjustments to his hair.

It is not that I have anything against pocket combs. Or, for that matter, any kind of comb. Some years ago, I lost a small, black comb which I had been using for several years. I had come to believe that my hair would respond only to this comb. As my wife and daughters joined me in searching for it comb, my mind went back to the wonderful times I had had with my precious black comb. It had accompanied me to several cities, towns and villages, both in India and abroad. Ensconced safely in my pouch, the black comb had seen quite a bit of the world. And now it was gone, never to be found again!

It was a shattering loss. Thinking back, I could not even remember when I first acquired it. During my high school days, I used plastic combs which were broad at one end and narrow at the other. I applied oil on my hair before bath daily and kept it wet so that it would 'sit' properly. The broad-narrow comb worked well in those days.

Trends in hair care and hair styling changed. By the time I was in college, the 'oily' look was out. Hair was supposed to look dry and fluffy and I succumbed to the new trend. My mother insisted I apply oil on my hair daily, but I got over this problem by washing it out with shampoo or shikhakai. The old, narrow kind of comb did not suit me. It bit into my dry hair, so I bought a small, black comb.

When I was in college, I found that most of my classmates kept pocket combs with them. They used it for different purposes. Some of them went for the Dilip Kumar look, using the comb to 'uncomb' their hair and allowing it to lie on their foreheads. Dilip was then the unconquered tragedy king and one way of portraying tragedy was sporting the 'uncombed' look.

Doing your hair like Dev Anand was easier. The combs worked overtime to achieve the desired result. The girls did not lag behind. First came the Sadhana cut, then the Asha Parekh look, the Sharmila Tagore bobcut and so on. The Sadhana fringe cut caught on like wildfire and, suddenly, all the girls in college began to look alike!

The pocket comb had no class distinction. I have seen corporate heads, company executives, taxi drivers, railway porters and restaurant boys use it. It fits snugly into the wallet alongside the photograph of the wife and children. The pocket comb is indeed a prized possession. Men may share half-smoked bidis, but they hesitate to loan their combs to their friends. It is too personal an item to be shared even among friends.

Coming back to the lost black comb, how did I manage without it? The pangs continued for a long time. For some weeks, I grumbled constantly about the unsatisfactory performances of other combs. Some of them could not part my hair properly, others made the hair on the back of my head stand up.

My wife pointed out that I was only getting more and more paranoid and there were more important issues in the world than a cheap, plastic comb. Finally, I think she managed to convince me. Today, I am not particular about the comb I use. I just take one from my daughter's dressing table, run it through my hair and the job is done. And I know the job will be 'undone' the moment I leave my home and step out into the open.

Illustrations: Bhanu