Hair-Brained Schemes

Aug 4, 2009
By the time they reach puberty, or in most cases way before, the general section (read vast majority) of the male population acquire a sense of obsession with their manes. If any of you humans have not encountered any of these lock-combing-addicted males, then welcome home from your trip to Mars.

Aye, this species of the human race is as common as mosquitoes in India. The author, albeit being a male, has no idea why his fellow members of the species are so darned attached to their tresses. He is not into the concept of a comb or hair gel or shampoo or whatnot, unlike other males. The author finds no purpose in these flimsy habits of combing (or hygiene for that matter).

He prefers going bald as it gives freedom and relieves stupidities such as those mentioned above. And so, once, having been enraged by constant bickering, he threatened to shave his head as he’d had enough. Pops said, “We’ll see whether you do that.” And so, a trip to the barber’s was due [Oh no, will he do it? Will he do it??? Read on, dear reader.]

On entering the black carpeted (covered in hair, duh!) edifice of the barber, the author requested a complete shave. The barber (Mallu guy, poor bloke, he was too darned misinformed), baffled by such request by a teenager to have his mane chopped off, asked whether he’d just heard me say I wanted a clean shave [I know, those darned Mallus are everywhere. 1 out of 2 readers of this post is a Mallu]. Of course, yours truly replied. Waddyu looking at me like that for????, added the author in his mind.

And so, reluctantly, Barber Boy picked up his handy-dandy razor and began. Believe me, although it’s a friggin’ blade scraping at yer scalp, it sure don’t feel like it. Stroke after stroke, it went on. Having successfully eliminated that black pain-on-the-scalp, he surveyed his work. Not bad, if I say so meself. Having run a hand over the oh-so-smooth surface that was now the author’s head, he’d gotten up, and bread exchanged hands.

As he stepped out of the shop, sheer ecstasy passed through his veins [No, not the dope, although I wouldn’t mind trying some out ;)]. For ‘twas a windy a day, and absotulutely no feeling can be compared to that. Until tried out (Ten bucks says you won’t) it is not understood by lock fancying pansies.

Now, the reader might be wondering, for quite some time, why in the name of Merlin’s baggy tes trousers would he do that. Ah, the answer is that ever since the author was a wee little Ay Jay, he despised combing that darned black thingamajing on his scalp.

Having succeeded in completing his quest, Sir Ay Jay ventured home, having defeated the evil black dragon. As soon as he entered back in his lair, fellow lair-mates, on seeing the clean, polished surface that was now his scalp, their mouths had made lots of space to accommodate their foots, in sheer WTF? Ah, said Ay Jay, Thou hast seen what I hath prophesised. ‘Tis me, none of thine sarcasm shalt change a thing!.

And, that night, he enjoyed the calm soothing feeling of an ice-cold pillow on his bald pate, waiting for the next day, wondering.............. To stupidity, and beyond!!


  1. Materialmom said...:

    haha You enjoy baldness safe in the knowledge that ur hair will grow back again.

  1. Ay Jay said...:

    Nay, I don't like anything to do with hair. I'm too darned lazy to carry that burden around and maintain it. I wouldn't mind not having any. Bald is indeed beautiful....