I was still on the bed, coiled in the comfort of the blanket, gazing at the clock mounted on the wall. There was still time for day break. My wife had already started her chores and the kitchen was abuzz with activity. “Get up and cut your moustache,” she said sternly. Yes, I knew my moustache had outgrown beyond the permissible limit and it looked ugly. She had been telling me to cut it the previous day too. Right out of bed, I made a beeline for the bathroom to get a glimpse of my moustache.
I gazed at the mirror intently. My moustache looked like a fat centipede on my upper lip and to my chagrin, it had partly turned grey. Though I am a quinquagenarian, I still refuse to accept the truth that age has caught up with me. Shrugging off the fear of advancing age, I took the scissors and started working. First I scanned the moustache and began to cut each grey hair that shoved its black peers sideways. I kept on cutting the grey hairs oblivious of time.
My wife had muttered something in between and I could not comprehend what she had spoken because I was completely engrossed in the activity. I seemed hellbent on cutting each grey hair off my moustache. Quite laboriously, I would pick one grey after another, cut it meticulously and revengefully—as if I declared war on them. After getting tired of this task, I put scissors away to give some rest for my arms.
Along with the rest came my composure and later I pulled my head to the mirror again for some finishing touches. I was humming softly to myself, pleased with removing the grey hairs from my moustache. No sooner had I looked at the mirror than a shudder ran down my spine. Oh my God! There was nothing like a moustache on my upper lip. It was completely gone; there were some patches of black hairs here and there. I called my wife. But she was nowhere in the house. Then I looked at the clock. It was eight. She had already gone to the hospital for work.
I was in a soup now. ‘How can I go to my office without my moustache which had been my part and parcel for over 30 years?’ I thought. Left with no option, I decided to shave off my moustache as that was the only alternative that could save me from the disparaging remarks from my friends and others.
However, I decided to stay home for the next few days. I did not attend the office, citing poor health. All to beat the blues of being moustache-less!
T K Nandanan
Email: nanduthejus@gmail.com