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Ketaki Jani
It was 2010, and a regular office day when my scalp first started itching. My colleague took a long look and said I had developed a bald patch. Within eight months, I lost every single hair on my head as if a magician had moved his wand and made my hair vanish. I was just 40 then and diagnosed with alopecia.
I tried every kind of treatment — allopathy, homeopathy, ayurveda, and even visited expensive hair clinics that promised new growth — but to no avail.Steroids led to temporary hair growth but made me gain weight and had other dangerous side effects. Even as I was battling my own preconceived notions about beauty, taunts rained down on me from family, friends and everyone I came across. “Do you have cancer?” some said. Others eyed me with contempt, saying “Her baldness will scare people away. Who will love her?”
In India, female baldness is considered a curse. Widowed women used to have their head shaved off as a mark of lifelong grief. Looking at my bald pate, neighbourhood aunties would say, “Kitni badnaseeb hai yeh, iska aadmi zinda hai lekin sar ke baal nahi hain (She is so unfortunate, losing all her hair while her husband is still alive).” My husband asked me to wear a wig as he couldn’t bear to be seen with a bald wife. I had shifted from Gujarat to Pune in the nineties with my two school-going kids owing to work opportunities. We already had a long-distance marriage; alopecia increased that distance even more.
During that phase, I was fast losing myself to depression. So much so, that I even made a suicide attempt in 2015. But the faces of my sleeping children made me stop myself. I thought, will they grow up with the notion that those who have alopecia kill themselves? That wouldn’t be a good lesson at all. I drew strength from that thought and decided to turn my life around. People still taunt me every day. But now, I brush those jibes aside and focus on the real issues of raising awareness. Till the day I die, I will be telling people about alopecia and how to accept people with the condition.
I am 54, and among the first models in India with alopecia. Every ramp show I participate in is a triumph against traditional notions of beauty and a bid to raise awareness. In the Mrs India worldwide beauty pageant final in New Delhi, where I got the title of Mrs Inspiration, veteran actor Zeenat Aman had told me, “For me, you are the winner. You have your own crown, which always remains on your head.” Once I shed my own taboos, I stopped getting affected by what others think of me.
But there are many others suffering from the trauma and ostracism that the disease brings in its wake, especially in India. Bald men and women are the butt of cruel jokes across the country. But alopecia is no joking matter. It’s an autoimmune disease that causes temporary or permanent hair loss. A person’s life can be fully functional despite that. Just like we raise awareness about other autoimmune diseases such as diabetes, rheumatoid arthritis, thyroid problems and more, we must sensitize people about alopecia as well.
Across the world, September is celebrated as alopecia awareness month, with support groups and counselling sessions. But in India, we have no support groups, only stigma. I wish to break that chain. Being bald is neither a crime, nor is it a curse. We don’t need pity. We just need to be accepted as regular human beings. My lifelong mission is to uncover alopecia, not hide it with a wig.
It was 2010, and a regular office day when my scalp first started itching. My colleague took a long look and said I had developed a bald patch. Within eight months, I lost every single hair on my head as if a magician had moved his wand and made my hair vanish. I was just 40 then and diagnosed with alopecia.
I tried every kind of treatment — allopathy, homeopathy, ayurveda, and even visited expensive hair clinics that promised new growth — but to no avail.Steroids led to temporary hair growth but made me gain weight and had other dangerous side effects. Even as I was battling my own preconceived notions about beauty, taunts rained down on me from family, friends and everyone I came across. “Do you have cancer?” some said. Others eyed me with contempt, saying “Her baldness will scare people away. Who will love her?”
In India, female baldness is considered a curse. Widowed women used to have their head shaved off as a mark of lifelong grief. Looking at my bald pate, neighbourhood aunties would say, “Kitni badnaseeb hai yeh, iska aadmi zinda hai lekin sar ke baal nahi hain (She is so unfortunate, losing all her hair while her husband is still alive).” My husband asked me to wear a wig as he couldn’t bear to be seen with a bald wife. I had shifted from Gujarat to Pune in the nineties with my two school-going kids owing to work opportunities. We already had a long-distance marriage; alopecia increased that distance even more.
During that phase, I was fast losing myself to depression. So much so, that I even made a suicide attempt in 2015. But the faces of my sleeping children made me stop myself. I thought, will they grow up with the notion that those who have alopecia kill themselves? That wouldn’t be a good lesson at all. I drew strength from that thought and decided to turn my life around. People still taunt me every day. But now, I brush those jibes aside and focus on the real issues of raising awareness. Till the day I die, I will be telling people about alopecia and how to accept people with the condition.
I am 54, and among the first models in India with alopecia. Every ramp show I participate in is a triumph against traditional notions of beauty and a bid to raise awareness. In the Mrs India worldwide beauty pageant final in New Delhi, where I got the title of Mrs Inspiration, veteran actor Zeenat Aman had told me, “For me, you are the winner. You have your own crown, which always remains on your head.” Once I shed my own taboos, I stopped getting affected by what others think of me.
But there are many others suffering from the trauma and ostracism that the disease brings in its wake, especially in India. Bald men and women are the butt of cruel jokes across the country. But alopecia is no joking matter. It’s an autoimmune disease that causes temporary or permanent hair loss. A person’s life can be fully functional despite that. Just like we raise awareness about other autoimmune diseases such as diabetes, rheumatoid arthritis, thyroid problems and more, we must sensitize people about alopecia as well.
Across the world, September is celebrated as alopecia awareness month, with support groups and counselling sessions. But in India, we have no support groups, only stigma. I wish to break that chain. Being bald is neither a crime, nor is it a curse. We don’t need pity. We just need to be accepted as regular human beings. My lifelong mission is to uncover alopecia, not hide it with a wig.
As told to Srirupa Ray
Caption: Jani is one of the first Indian models with alopecia
Quote: ‘Do you have cancer?’ some asked. Others taunted me with comments like, ‘Who will love her?’ Even my husband asked me to wear a wig as he couldn’t bear to be seen with a bald wife. We already had a long-distance marriage; alopecia increased that distance even more
BOX:
Don’t split hairs over this
- Alopecia is the second most common form of hair loss, after pattern baldness in both men and women
- It’s an autoimmune disease that makes your immune system attack hair follicles, most commonly on your scalp
- It’s not contagious and doesn’t affect your physical health at all
- However, social stigma owing to alopecia might cause anxiety and even depression
