Must-ache

Moustaches are excellent for hiding long nose hair. They are also great for getting food stuck in them until your upper lip resembles the starry night sky. That's assuming you have a thick one. If you don't, shave it off. Mothers, sisters, grandmothers, aunts, non possessors of the growth will alternately mention how mature or young you look.

In my case, growing the bristle added a few years to my face. My grandmother was all praise. "Having a moustache at this age is very manly. You look just like your grandfather did when he was your age."
* Sudden rush of pride *
My sister was less enthusiastic. "Ewwwwwwwwwwww!"
Mom and Dad took one look at me, then returned to their paperwork.
* Sudden rush of short-lived pride *

Three weeks and two inches later, my symbol of manhood came off. Symbol of manhood. Read properly. I looked like some misplaced descendant of Genghis Khan, damn his spelling. It was longer on one side, shorter on the other. No, now shorter on that side, longer than the other. It's difficult being a well balanced person.

I missed the moustache today though. Them bristles are considered regal. You'll rarely see a bus driver, rickshaw puller or (my personal favourite) cabbies without their filament. It gives additional character to personalities. Note that I don't mention politicians, businessmen or movie people. That's because it's our drivers who take the country forward, contribute to wolf whistles in movie theatres and complain about pot holes. No self-respecting politician will complain about potholes. No businessman will take a national onus. No actor will whistle in a theater.

So back to moustaches. They are important when you want to cow someone. That's why I missed it, really. Thing is, we've got a Marwari infestation. They live in colonies in groups of four-five families scattered all over Lake Town. This particular infestation resides just behind my house.

It's a five storeyed apartment. The second storey is getting a boob job. You get the simile. They've got masons, electricians and marble cutters working in there 7 days a week. The masons and electricians are fine. The marble cutters are not. A marble cutting machine makes a high pitched whining sound, then cuts into the slab. Imagine a mixie trying to blend iron filings on Dolby Digital Sound and it gives you an approximate idea of what a treat to the ears it is. Our infestation is considerate. They work only on Sunday afternoons. That's when a peaceable retirement community like Lake Town sleeps. It sleeps at other times too, but that's not important now.

It takes two to operate the cutting machine - one to guide the instrument, another to hold the slab in place. At 2 pm, our dynamic duo got to their sound engineering. Cutter and squatter assumed their positions, drill in hand, marble between legs. Electricity flowed, sparks flew and the moans and groans started. All innuendo apart, I wasn't in any mood for afternoon shenanigans. Marched to my balcony (it overlooks their backyard), and hollered for them to stop. They looked up.

"Oi! Stop! How many more times will I ask you people to not work on Sunday afternoons?!"
"Just one slab more bhaiyya. 15 minutes."
"The last time you said 15 minutes it went on for 3 hours. Nothing doing. Stop!"

They looked at each other and continued. Me too.

"Look fellas, I know you have work to do. Do it over the week when it's time to work. You can't expect an entire locality of senior citizens to stay up just because your Marwaris want a different shade of marble."

More blank stares.

"All right people! I'll continue shouting at you. The older ladies and gentlemen will never raise their voices! But tell me, do you want to have their silent curses on your head? You who by doing your work destroyed their few snatched moments of well earned peace? You who have no consideration? Will you be prepared to live the rest of your life under those curses? I'll still be screaming, but you two will have an indelible blot on your existence! You'll go to hell for disturbing their peace!"

I've never seen anyone pack up and leave so fast.

And that's when I missed my moustache. It would've been so satisfying to give it a twirl. And no, twirling long nose hair isn't half as satisfying.

The alternative to being dead would be being employed.

That, perhaps, might be the reason why I spent friendship day at work with two equally luckless colleagues instead of gorging on bony chicken and melted rice. Just for the record, lunch consisted of a single cheese sandwich accompanied by mango juice. Not the tetra pack or bottled variety mind you. This version was literally squeezed, packed and oozed out the edge.

We were in Salt Lake at a printing press making sure the heaviest of our award winning anal reports were being done. Did I say anal? I meant annual.

The ride to the place was in an auto. It's weird the way everyone in the auto will hang on to the metallic rods that have an affinity towards the softer parts of the cranium. One jerk on the road and daytime stars materialize. One jerk in driver's seat and.. you get the picture. The passengers take a perverse pleasure in putting their hands, legs, arms, extra appendages wherever it seems to fit. Maybe everyone has acrobatic tendencies. It is said that we have abilities we aren't aware of...

But this post is getting longer. The press isn't set to function on a Sunday. I'm not too sure about the remaining six days either. However, they do have malt biscuits for every occasion. And on to City Center (touted as India's most favoured mall on some obscure billboards in India), for an attempted lunch.

Sunday afternoons at a favoured mall favours a lot of unfavourable crowds. The most entertaining of which can be found in Kookie Jar wondering aloud whether the nut corner cookie will contain nuts. By the same logic, there might be death hiding in the death by chocolate. Actual chocolate might not be there - don't ask. Don't wonder. Don't eat. We did eat a nut corner and shawarma. Two actually - the girls don't eat much. Washed that down with 25 bucks worth of crushed ice and grape juice marketed as international quality slush.

Footnote: my colleagues are all female. My boss is a male. Repeat previous statement.

From City Center to the Salt Lake Barista. There are lots of Baristas in Salt Lake. Barista is a coffee joint. If you didn't know this, then you probably don't know that they've come up with thirstbusters. These are incredibly expensive items that taste incredibly expansive. We'd come for, presumably, coffee which took 1 man to make and 4 men to put the cover on the paper cup. It was take away.

Speaking of take away... the thirstbusters have a very interesting menu card. My colleague filched it. And all in the name of design and print. No wonder I write anal reports.