One morning Samsa Roy woke up in bed and found himself completely bald.

It was not a bald patch or bald spot. It was complete, clean baldness. Sleek, soapy, smooth. He ran a confused hand over his head back and forth. He felt nothing there. Not a single hair. He slept on his right side, as usual, with his right hand under his head. He wondered if he might be having that tormenting dream again. He had been having a recurring dream of going bald. He got so used to it that he began to believe it.

View full text on New Asian Writing