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Journalism of Courage
Next to a round of golf, a visit to the hairdresser is the most delightful activity on a Sunday morning. That is, if you are not hung up on getting your hair, or whatever is left of it, done in a classy joint. It8217;s the regular corner salon where you get spicy nuggets of local gossip and street humour and see the trickle-down effect of fashion trends.
There is one such shop close to my home. Its owner, about my age, is a walking wikipedia on the state of the hair of the neighbourhood8217;s who8217;s who. Though the shop caters only to male customers, the posters adorning it are of the likes of Britney Spears and Shakira. As for fashion inspiration, the workers are live ads for latest hairstyles 8212; one sports the Hrithik Roshan look, another the John Abraham style and the third reminds one of Viveik Oberoi.
Seeing him, I gestured a 8216;what was the provocation8217; sign. He said, 8220;I always wanted to keep a full beard but did not because that would have been bad for business. So, I grew this.8221; A fine way to turn a fad into an opportunity, I thought.
After the haircut, as I was taking his leave, he read the 8216;should I or should
I not?8217; question in my mind. 8220;Aap bhi rakho saheb. Achchhi lagegi you also sport one, it will look good,8221; he pronounced solicitously. I just nodded and left, recalling all the great people from Abraham Lincoln to Amitabh Bachchan who had taken the beard route to an elevated look in middle age.
On reaching home, I took out a recent photo of mine and, with a pen, drew a French beard on the chin. Just as I was examining it from various angles, the wife happened to pass by. 8220;Who is this? Some terror suspect?8221; she asked casually. 8220;Oh, no!8221; I said apologetically and tore up the photo. Something even a French beard can8217;t improve, I sighed to myself, as I consigned the bits to the dustbin.
