The road is named after a school. But everyone calls it Bollywood Lane. Through the lane, banners advertise cosmetic surgeons, power yoga classes, dieticians, dance classes, gyms, acting classes.

I walk in from strong morning sunshine into blue halogen light.

The light creates frameworks where there are none. I feel as if I am walking through walls. It’s a strange light. People seem to be in different zones. There are some open glass cubicles, but I feel glass even where there is none.

In one cubicle, a white lady talks to 2 balding men about hair transplants. She puts 4 fingers on her forehead and says, “This is what your head must look like.” They look bewildered. They look like ordinary businessmen. Middle- aged. Not the kind who you think would be worrying about their lack of hair. Not Bollywood.

They take 8 steps outside the cubicle and think for all of 1 minute while the white lady tries hard not to look at them. On the walls between the blue lights are photos of actors, singers, and details of their hair transplants. Presumably the pictures will help them make up their minds.

They go back into the cubicle.

The white lady puts on glasses. She is plump, motherly, is wearing a bright pink shalwar kameez. She shows them photographs of other people. She talks in a soft, sympathetic voice. One of the men says softly, “28.” Of course he needs more hair.

She tells him of a 18 year old girl who she met yesterday.

I want to see him with a new head of hair.

Nurses walk around in uniforms. Doctors work upstairs.

I would trust them more if the light were not so blue. And the air did not smell so much of freshener. Outside the sun shines.

This is Bollywood Lane.