Rise and Fall of The Goatee.

Home’s always a place of horrible realizations and contradictions (of a huge order) with the place you usually hang out at or stay in. Not once have my adventures and experiments with hair (it aint as gross as it sounds) been looked at with anything more than a long glance full of disgust. At home, of course.

I’m here in my hostel. I’ve a long goatee and high hopes of growing it longer. Till a point when I have to get it braided. Noble intentions. I prefer not to comb my hair. That’s the way I like it. And no one tells me anything. I wake up in the morning, brush my teeth and rush off to the college without actually thinking how I look. Once in two or three weeks do I get to hear a small compliment about my goatee from the ilk of guys who don’t even don a goatee. But I know it looks good. And even if it doesn’t, I like it. It’s all about personal satisfaction I keep telling people. Being a metalhead, i feel like growing my hair long. Till-shoulders long. So I start growing my hair. I never comb. But then, I’ve never done so after my ninth grade. Its college, I tell myself.

But.

The day then arrives when I have to board the train which will transport me to Gujarat. It gradually builds up, the thought. Of having to hear all the chidings. But I keep my cool. The moment of my welcome is accompanied by exclamations of disgust. Getting to hear nothing but criticism every minute, my determination drops from a very high “I’m so gonna grow this” to a mere “should I cut it off?”. Even the mirrors seem to pass acrid remarks at my goatee. On the contrary, I hear praises from the mirrors in my hostel. Honest. But the mirrors at my place suck. Depressed by all the criticism, I succumb to the evil force. Like those stupid white robots that appear out of nowhere when Darth Vader summons them, the scissors and the razor appear out of nowhere and stare at me with an evil smile. Where’s the force that was supposed to be with me? Yoda doesn’t come to the rescue. Clack-clack, and bam! My goatee’s gone. Sob-sob follows. Now all of a sudden I realize I look stupid with long hair without a goatee on my face. And the barber shop suddenly looks visually appealing. Clack-clack and I’m close to looking like an army school drop-out.

That’s about it. After all the misadventures, when I return to the college, the hostel mirrors look at me in disgust because they are fond of goatees and I don’t have one anymore. They join the club which the mirrors at my home are members of too. Sad. This continues for a week or so till I get inspired to grow a goatee again and the cycle continues.

May the force be with me. From now on.