The title may baffle you, but I can assure you of this: when
I thought of it, I felt that it should represent the best of what I had always
loved about being masculine…often which I end up lying down on the floor
whimpering why do blokes need that fat caterpillar-istic growth below their
nose and above lips to look, err...manly.
I am reminded of this constant nagging sense, why a
moustache (re:Why-a-duck…viaduct in an early Marx bros movie…oh, just Google
will ya?)?. Why are men compelled to grow moustache and yet, diligently shave
away any other follicles that sprout in the regions that does not concern the
head, armpit, hands, legs…oh well, you get the picture…I don’t have to detail
you everything else.
But a recent posting by a cousin of mine, Vimuna (my dad’s
sister’s daughter) which showcased her parents, which was totally overshadowed
by my uncle Balakrishan (her dad, of course) and his staggeringly imposing moustache
that threatened to jump out and strangle you till you willingly give away few
DVDs featuring actor Kamal Haasan who himself is known for his many roles that
feature varieties of shapes and sizes of follicular achievements (in one film he just quit
and bald himself).
The history of moustache started
long time ago when the whole evolution process decided that living beings need
a bunch of thread-like woolly thing covering the upper region of their lips for
reasons only known to the creator or whoever it is that did the original PowerPoint
slide presentation after dinosaurs kicked the bucket.
It was a big mystery to us kids.
Both my brothers have had enough of watching our dad carefully shaving and
snipping away excessive growth to make sure that what was there looked like a
goddam slug resting peacefully after a hard day's work of sucking blood. They (my brothers, not the slugs) are now both
clean shaven and leading a happy healthy life. In fact, I heard that once Accha (dad) had shaved the whole thing
off and even a close friend didn’t recognise him. Since then, the tache became
dad’s barcode (probably give him easy access in airports).
Worst part is, most of our uncles
are equally, if not as threatening, in possession of hairy explosion you
can’t remove your eyesights from when addressing them. Quite a number of them
are bald or balding, but the brutal bristles are as imposing as an atomic
mushroom explosion that you just want to keep an eye on so that you can jump
overboard if it suddenly protrudes further and poke your eyeballs.
But, apart from these snide
remarks, I have long harboured the feeling to have one of those facial
brutality myself. Yes, I wanted a Frank Zappa moustache, or Kamal Haasan (70s)
or U2’s The Edge (Pop album) downward pointing but fiery growth that makes
others think that they shouldn’t trifle with you unless they have a shaving
blade handy.
Oh yes, I have experimented dear
readers, any styles of moustache…except the Charlie Chaplin one where it may
not be appropriate as it might remind you of a brutal dictator...with a comical broad-stroke brush below the nose. Unfortunately,
after I got married with all those experimentation, all I got from my wife was an “ewww!!!” as if I had stuck a
shell-less snail above my lips. Since then, I always kept it at Bob De Niro’s
mild spurt ala Heat, one of my
favourite 90s flick. (note that the co-star, Pacino is always exploding
furiously…which I believe came from the instruction for him not to have any
such growth…).
Anyway, November is supposedly
the month for all blokes to grow moustache even if they look like midget cousin
of Fu Manchu (something to do with testicular cancer awareness, I believe…but
shouldn’t the growth be…oh…never mind). Can’t wait, because I want to do
this!!!! Take that wifey!!!!
