Of moustache, machismo, masculinity and follicle overbearing-ness....

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!!!!