The Hairfall Problem

I am struggling with hairfall and it’s killing me. Each day a little more.

Yesterday I found seven strands on my pillow. I counted. Seven. I picked them up like they were evidence. They looked lifeless, tired, like they had given up on my scalp the way old tenants leave a house that’s started leaking.

In the shower, I behave like someone guilty. I use soft fingers, slow strokes, no harshness at all. But even then, the drain has a new tenant every morning. My own hair, curled into defeat.

“Use filter water,” my dad says, like he’s solved climate change. “Yeh Dilli NCR ka paani is poison.”

My brother says, “Try onion juice and Minoxidil. Smells bad but it works.”

My bald friend says, “Just shave it off, man. Who cares?” I do, Mr. Monk Abraham.

Even the gym guy offered something called marine collagen powder. He says it works wonders. He also said the same thing about ashwagandha and shilajit.

Everyone has a theory and a man in his thirties with a fading hairline is like a public service announcement for fear. I guess this is the age where you realise nothing is permanent - jobs, people and now hair.

Hairfall is slow poison. It starts small - a little thinning near the temples, a receding patch at the crown. Then one day your selfie feels off. You stare at the photo and realise it’s your crown feels lighter, feeling your confidence suffocate.

We live in the age of AI & Marketing. And hairfall has become an easy target. Shampoos now come with ten ingredients you can’t pronounce and a promise that sounds like poetry - root revival therapy, follicle restoration complex, 7-in-1 botanical blend. Everyone wants to sell you hope in a bottle.

But what do you do when biology isn’t cooperating? When your hormones start playing games? When your genes hold the remote control and you’re just watching?

I looked into the science. Hair grows in cycles. Anagen. Catagen. Telogen. Then rest. Then fall. Simple biology. But in our 30s, everything changes. Stress shortens cycles. Pollution damages roots. Sleep becomes erratic. And somewhere in all this chaos, your scalp starts behaving like an old lawn. Patchy & exhausted.

I have started meditation. Switched from tap to RO water. Cut out junk. Added protein. Trying coconut, argan, almond, castor, even some bizarre Korean fermented rice scalp serum. Still, each week the comb feels heavier. Like it knows something I don’t.

Hairfall is no longer just a medical condition but a cultural phenomenon. India’s haircare market is projected to cross ₹80,000 crore in three years. That’s more than the GDP of some countries. There are clinics offering laser helmets, PRP therapy, hair tattoos, and even emotional counselling.

But who do you trust?

If you or someone you know actually knows a dermatologist who gets it, not someone who just wants to upsell treatments, but someone who understands why this scares you, drop me a DM.

And please do it before I start giving my fallen hair names like Ramesh, Suresh, and Mahesh.