'Paps, you look like a grandfather!" coming from the person I love utmost in my life, such remarks should have jolted me but that was not to be! Yes, just across the milestone that lies in the middle of the datum that stretches between a 40 years young and a 50 years oldie, I have more whites than blacks on my head ...........calling those silvers as grey would be utterly wrong and may lead friends to believe that I have gone colour blind 'too'.
I don't have genes that support trends on the scalp. I began to lose my hair, in a true family tradition, well over a decade ago. Then came the change of shade if not colour per se. In fact, both the events belong to same circa. What next came was an act of desperation - a visit to Dr Batra's (and 11 more visits thereafter, each separated from the other by a lunar moon). As I began to shed my currency, shedding on top appeared to slow down but menu did not. So came the next step, equally desperate - colour the mane or whatever had been left of it!
Looking back, lemme confess all that was useless, not required and of course, pretty funny! But why do I think so? Is it due to my quest to look natural or is it my repulsion towards artificial colours and dyes; ammonia or no ammonia! Or is it due to the fact that like the lead character of Lunchbox, I have also realised that I am not young any longer even if not old either! Actually, (d), as in MCQs, none of the above would be the answer!
God has been kind and I have lived a life that I always wanted to live (thanks to some). When the same God has brought in the silver, I don't find it proper to run away from it. If He has allowed me to enjoy my youth, I must not shy away from my middle age...... such is my simple reason and an equally rustic logic. And then who has seen tomorrow! I don't want to walk off the field after wasting the opportunity to experience another unadulterated phase of my life.
On the lighter side, however, there are certain perks and privileges - staff gets up to serve (in the movie hall, in the shopping centre and in the club), assuming that I must be a very senior guy. People don't raise an eyebrow if I keep sitting in a metro (more so to rest my metallic limb) or if I brush past someone who may be younger but not as agile. I am not sure what strangers belonging to opposite gender think and feel about all this (who can predict them in any case?) but people of my gender don't really give a damn. So, there is a sense of obscurity and it feels good. It feels nice to belong to the crowds once again.
As regards Czia pulling my leg, that is all in a lighter vein and we both know that age and appearances don't affect mutual love and affection. I am sure her experience with my silvers will, one day, spare a decent guy some avoidable agony a few decades from now!
I don't have genes that support trends on the scalp. I began to lose my hair, in a true family tradition, well over a decade ago. Then came the change of shade if not colour per se. In fact, both the events belong to same circa. What next came was an act of desperation - a visit to Dr Batra's (and 11 more visits thereafter, each separated from the other by a lunar moon). As I began to shed my currency, shedding on top appeared to slow down but menu did not. So came the next step, equally desperate - colour the mane or whatever had been left of it!
Looking back, lemme confess all that was useless, not required and of course, pretty funny! But why do I think so? Is it due to my quest to look natural or is it my repulsion towards artificial colours and dyes; ammonia or no ammonia! Or is it due to the fact that like the lead character of Lunchbox, I have also realised that I am not young any longer even if not old either! Actually, (d), as in MCQs, none of the above would be the answer!
God has been kind and I have lived a life that I always wanted to live (thanks to some). When the same God has brought in the silver, I don't find it proper to run away from it. If He has allowed me to enjoy my youth, I must not shy away from my middle age...... such is my simple reason and an equally rustic logic. And then who has seen tomorrow! I don't want to walk off the field after wasting the opportunity to experience another unadulterated phase of my life.
On the lighter side, however, there are certain perks and privileges - staff gets up to serve (in the movie hall, in the shopping centre and in the club), assuming that I must be a very senior guy. People don't raise an eyebrow if I keep sitting in a metro (more so to rest my metallic limb) or if I brush past someone who may be younger but not as agile. I am not sure what strangers belonging to opposite gender think and feel about all this (who can predict them in any case?) but people of my gender don't really give a damn. So, there is a sense of obscurity and it feels good. It feels nice to belong to the crowds once again.
As regards Czia pulling my leg, that is all in a lighter vein and we both know that age and appearances don't affect mutual love and affection. I am sure her experience with my silvers will, one day, spare a decent guy some avoidable agony a few decades from now!
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