Friday, 24 September 2010

Baldness Liberated

They say as men get old, graying gracefully is the best thing that happens to them. The salt and pepper effect does wonders to the feminine variety. But what about the ones whose hair withers away before the fall? Thin on top men stop watching soaps like the “Bold and the Beautiful”, they would rather be caught gazing a talk show named “Bald and the Bountiful” Even the holy bible has few words for the balding types, “But the very hairs of your head are all numbered” (Matthew Ch. X, v.30)

My wife who belongs to the category of graying gracefully, ventured into tinting her hair to one of those fair-haired types. At one party as we sauntered in, we were quickly christened as the “Illegally blonde and legally bald” couple of the evening. That was the last time my wife painted her hair. As for me, I took off the very next day hunting for a trichologist. For the uninitiated the trichologist’s area of operation is at the other end of that of a proctologist (The branch of medicine that deals with the treatment of disorders affecting the rectum and the anus). Trichology deals with the health of the hair and the scalp.

The meeting with the trichologist was a hair raising one. I had to answer a whole lot of questions. These included, query on the type of my hair from straight to frizzy, and questions on various shampoos I use. The moment he came to know about my father being completely bald, the diagnosis was quick. I have androgenic alopecia – or for the common man “male pattern baldness”. Thus began my liaison with baldness treatments. For a few months my tryst with allopathy, homeopathy, immunosuppressants, stress reduction and application of coffee beans ended with the only luxurious thing on my head, the shine.

Not wanting to squander my efforts, I discovered one method of hiding hair loss is the "comb-over", which involves restyling the remaining hair to cover the balding area. Though a temporary solution, the life of my remaining hair will determine my extreme effort in covering up the hairless patch.

My life is now coming back to normalcy albeit the bald bit continues to grow, but whenever a cricket commentator screams that the bowler has “scalped” another wicket, my heart misses a beat. Balsam, protein and conditioners have very little emotive meanings now. Toothpaste advertisements are more interesting than the shampoo ones, until I begin visiting the dentist.

Tuesday, 14 September 2010

Bun Maska and Chai

The chai time chronicles all began at St. Xavier’s College, Dhobi Talao, Mumbai... The ubiquitous chai at the college canteen was one great affair as all the discussions and debates originated over a cuppa. But the zing to chai was added only when the bun maska was served. A slice of the buttered bun dipped a little into a hot steaming cup was shared by at least a dozen of folks surrounding the table.  Often the Bun Maska was savoured at nearby Irani restaurants like Kyanis, Sassanian and the Red Rose. The taste of the delicious buns that my mom bought from American Express bakery at Kemps Corner, Mumbai still lingers on. Why Bun Maska and not Maska Bun? I guess that’s the terminology the waiter used at the Irani joints and it stuck on.  
Journey to Baroda after passing out of St. Xavier’s did not stop my affair with the Bun Maska... The chai wallahs outside the Polytechnic Hostel Campus served the same Bun Maska with generous dollops of homemade butter – I loved the difference, though the tea was much sweeter in Baroda. As my journey to Ahmedabad continued, la affaire with Bun Maska continued. The two joints I loved to have this much sweeter version were Ruthuraj Tea Stall opposite the Gujarat University (B.K.School) and the famous Times of India at Ashram Road.
Now my liaison with Bun Maska has deteriorated because it has added oodles of fat and of course Trupti takes care that I do not sneak onto any of these scrumptious delights. But once in a blue moon she brings home some freshly baked buns from Imperial bakery (the bakery is right next to her office in Shahpur) and my dream is relived.
Now you all know why my blog is called Bun Maska. It not only brings back cherished memories but is a place for all things sundry. A nice cup of tea, sit down and Bun Maska makes life more liveable.