personal diary

The end of my bearded sojourn

To be honest, I forgot the last time I had my face clean. Looking back, I am surprised to have had my family convinced about my hairy appearance. Not a day passed without my father and mother telling me to sort myself out. My sister for her part unsuccessfully reminded that I once had a beautiful face. But I remained immune. In my university, my classmates and friends took every opportunity to remind me I had an overgrown mess. Oh thank you!

My roommate asked me if I had grown the beard for a religious purpose. I smiled and said, “No.” It would have been easy for me to grow a beard and say, “I just wanted to see how long it grows.” But then that would have been lame. I knew I had to possess a reason that is strongly justifiable or else it wouldn’t have stood valid before the jury. For some, the stated reason might be trivial, for others it might sound Nobel. But for me, it was something cherished. It reminded of the task at hand and what I had to do for its accomplishment! I had grown it not in a moment of passion but for something I strived for.

I knew the days were numbered though and it had to go somehow. I had grown it for so long and not without a purpose. Now that the beard has gone, it should have meant two things.

1)      The dream has vaporized even before its realization

2)      Or it has been achieved… but not to be.

Blah, Boring! Okay folks, here’s the real deal. I shaved because I was bored of my appearance. At times, it gave me a sophisticated look and on other occasions, I was left to seeing myself as a road side unfortunate beggar scratching his hairy face!  I have for long tried to give it a sophisticated look by stroking it like an intellectual but couldn’t do anymore.

The barber had a tough time. Oh yeah, he had his hands full (with my hair of course). He had to be contend with my hair as well as the ruckus created by my friends. He wasn’t that excited after all. On one hand, my friends egged him to cut it short further, while I had to firmly resist the temptations of his scissors reaching deeper and deeper. By the end of the session, I was left to wonder if I had made the right choice. I realized there was no way out. But then I wasn’t that un- recognizable as originally feared.

In the mess, a classmate of mine not surprisingly remarked, “I nearly couldn’t recognize you!” Next up, I was ushered into the class and introduced to my friends. The usual reaction shall be redundant; hence I give it a pass. Back in my room, I face myself in the mirror and ask, “Venky, are you ever going to realize your dream?” The emphatic reply comes, “Hell yeah!”

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