I am 45 now, and as the winter chill settles in, a simple act—oiling my head after a shower—triggered a cascade of memories spanning three decades. When I was a boy in a small town in Uttar Pradesh, the ritual of a weekly, sometimes daily, head massage with oil was as common as breathing. My favorite was the potent, earthy scent of mustard oil . I remember visiting our local vaid ji (traditional practitioner), who stressed the importance of this practice, lamenting even then that fewer people were keeping it up. Fast forward to adulthood, and my simple habit met the sharp reality of changing cultural norms. My wife, from a different background, and her circle found the idea of oiled hair "un-stylish." Even when I switched to the fragrant, dark luster of amla oil, the gentle teasing and continuous pressure to conform chipped away at my resolve. Now, my cherished ritual is relegated to an occasional, quick application, washed out within hours. Where Did the Oil Go? As I drov...