Hair Pollution

Mid-life musings after the writer spotted the first strand of gray hair on his head

I think I am dying. Honestly, there were signs. Every time I listen to a new song these days, I can’t help but look up at the sky, take a deep breath and think back about the times when they used to make Real Music. I tell myself stuff like “The latest Rajini song goes adi adi adi adi adi theripolikka vandhalle!!! What happened to stuff like Mannin meedhu manidhanuku aasai, Manidhan meedhu mannuku aasai?” Last week, I was walking (Yes, now that I am old, walking is my cardio, millet is my rice, and Clint Eastwood is my younger brother.) I looked around at the buildings, and started lamenting the lack of design in their architecture. You know, as opposed to how the buildings were during the Roman Empire, whence I was birthed. 

But no amount of trashing the current times could have prepared me for the shock of seeing a gray hair in my head for the first time. My days are numbered. Will I get to watch the debut of AbRam Khan in Student of the Year 18? 

I shared this fateful incident with my friend, and he started giving me advice. Imagine we are in a temple in Mount Kailash, and he is sitting on a seat 5 meters above ground wearing layers of viboodhi on his forehead. “Society makes you feel old irrespective of your age. When you turn a teen, they tell you, you are a teen now. When you turn 18, they tell you, you are an adult. When you turn 25, they tell you, congratulations on your platinum jubilee. So no matter how old you-”

“Dei, platinum jubilee is for 70 years,” I intervened. I understand he was making a bigger point about life that I would now never hear, but hey, I corrected his grammar. I don’t need to hear no philosophy from a 80s kid. 

I have a set of ideas to combat the situation. Dying my hair burgundy (dying it black means they’ll figure it out), clean shaving my head (people will think I am The Rock), moving to a country where everyone’s hair is white. Mathematically calculating, I believe half of my life is over. I am GenZ, which means I treat my body the way GVM treats his climaxes: I have no idea what I am doing about it, I just hope it all works out. 

In a few months I’ll turn 26. I’ll be old enough to get a license that allows me to abduct the tennis balls of the kids in my flats when it comes my way.You called me an uncle, I’ll be an uncle. So what, my head hereon is going to look like the Himalayas? My inspirations hereon are going to be Indian thaatha and James Cameron? How bad does it get from here? Where is that pension scheme? Age is just a number, but surely, I am very bad at numbers.