Can you dare? Long Hair

Finally I decided to go through with it. I don’t know about others but I don’t do it that often. However once in a while I do ignore my inner inhibitions and heed to the demand of this material world. We often hear “inner self is supreme”, “What you are within matters most”. If that’s so, why does every other guy in the town need to point “it” out to me? I usually don’t accede to the constant queries like, “Why are you not getting it done?” or suggestions such as, “I think you should get it done already”. For those who are wondering, I am talking about my poor hairs. I don’t understand why does the society go all out to bring them under the guillotine? I mean, “Why Why Why???”

Any sign of hairs outgrowing my ears and they would all gather into a pack of hounds that has find its new prey. It would start with the usual, “Poor chap seems busy, so much of office work, doesn’t get time for even a haircut” Brick by brick it would lead to, “Want to keep long hair, hmm…going fashionable?” Even before you can react to that, you are being called by names ranging from Zulfi to Hairdo to Girly. I remember one of my favorites. It was when Tera Naam released and my hairs were around five months old. One of my colleague started calling me Aashiq or something similar; and soon every other guy followed suit.

When the near and dear ditch you, why to lament of the strangers. It might be bitter but the truth is that the strongest resistance comes from the family. Leave aside parents who were supposed to react so, even theBua’s, Mami’s and Mausi’s make your life miserable. At first you try to laugh it off, later you try to dish out witty excuses. After some time you start dreading the family functions, where a bunch of deadly faces, salivating to the full, is waiting to devour you. One may reason that our society is a closed knit family…blah blah blah. I agree but why my poor hairs!!!

Recently when I was at home, fresh from college, all hell broke loose. It took some time for my parents to recognize me at station (or so they said). I don’t remember even a single relative who had not pricked me. High point came when I finally decided to go under the hammer. I was standing at paan bhandar near my ancestral house. The shopkeeper asked, “You seem like Shiv Bhaiyya’s son”. I nodded, “Yes, why?” His reply struck me really hard. “Nothing, I saw you last week. Wondered, what is Shiv Bhaiyya’s son doing roaming in a ponytail?” Earlier they were after me to get a cut. Now they have a new weapon ready, “Now that you have heeded to the advice, you look like a man”.