It took a couple of seconds but then it struck me in a flash. I was driving at a speed of 70 on a remote state highway passing through the outskirts of a tiny Indian village.
I backed my car, went over, asked him to cut me a fresh bowl. “Dude, you’ve styled your hair?!”
“Brylcreem” He snorted “By the way, Mister, there ain’t much left on your head” (That’s the picture moment)
“Ahem…I’m a writer”
“Quit it. I love to chop but in a restaurant kitchen, the oven heat and closed room messes my hair. So I’m here in the open. Got it?”