Muse | On grooming - a babble | 21st Feb. '10

"Change your specs. "

That shook me up. I had heard this before, but this time round it was different - it came from my mother (once again). And it came more as an “insistent pleading directive.” Yes, that sounds oxymoronic, but there was a sense of pleading, as if, "why don't you please do this for me?" At the same time, it was a bit authoritative, just like parents do when they really want to say, "I am saying this for your own good and so do it."

Well, I realise that times have changed. My being has changed. My equations have changed. Of course, what's the big deal? Things change with time. But some things don't change - or so I had assumed. And that is the mother - son relationship. That my mother would suddenly be interested in how I look, how I groom and preen myself is something new to me. I had never experienced that aspect of her.

In fact, while growing up, it was quite to the contrary. Spending more than half a minute in front of the mirror aroused her curiosity (and I guess some suspicion that I was dating girls) that led her to "innocently" comment, "you take quite a while in front of the mirror". And as if to discourage the behaviour, the stereotyping was completed with, "...just like girls." And this when in my whole of school days, I must never have stood in front of a mirror ever for more than 2 minutes at any given point of time.

But this is new to me. Suddenly, I found my mother different. She has a view on my clothes, accessories, and my grooming. Not the regular types that mums have, "have you had a bath" etc. Usually with boys, mums have this issue. This is not the issue I talk about. She can’t find fault with my personal hygiene. Well, let me share some examples. "So do you use the ‘Tabac’ Eau-de-Cologne that your sister gifted you?" Or, “which perfume do you use?” Weird - mum never asked such things. Or something like, "...that's not quite a combination…" referring to the North-South looks of my pant and shirt.

I am partially colour blind (I am not joking - I take a friend along for shopping). To add to it, I have not yet mastered the art of matching colours. So usually I stick to the solid colours. Of course white and black / blue are eternal matches. I mean, I just find it so difficult. I must confess that I've given up. I don't really care now except for ensuring that I am "by and large" ok. When it is some important occasion / meeting, I will ensure that I land up in black/blue and white - it just helps me skirt the whole issue of ‘making a choice’. Maybe I don't want to learn - well, not maybe, definitely. I just find it too boring and complex. My mind stops working. My heart beat increases as soon as I see multiple colour dresses - how on earth does one figure out the combination. I feel like a rat in a maze who has no clue of his / her surroundings when it comes to these issues. And so I console myself by saying that it is a man thing; finally, I have this excuse of colour blindness (God bless)!!!

So coming back to my surprise when my mother had a view on it. As a kid, she did have a view, but on most occasions, it was she who simply decided what we'd wear when going out of home for an occasion. I took that for granted - sigh, life was so simple (at least in that context). But now it’s all on my own. The other day we were to go and meet an acquaintance of ours. I put on a kurta and jeans and found my mother's piercing eyes examining me from head to toe. A volley of questions followed.

Post which an inquisition on not having had a hair cut. Just to pacify her and not give her the opportunity to pounce on me to have my specs changed, I went out and got one. In military strategy parlance, I did not want to be attacked on multiple fronts. I land up in office the next day and my colleague (a lady) tell me, “…hey, you got a ‘crew’ cut done – you look like a school boy!!!” So much for keeping mother happy!!!

It did not require me much time to figure out the change. Has mom changed or have circumstances changed that have made her change? She herself blurted it out, "... with this kind of dressing and grooming, how girls will like you..." Aha - mom interesting in me being liked by girls. That was new. And good. As a kid, I always got not so approving looks when I happened to share a story regarding any girl. The moral of the story was, "good boys don't go out with girls." So, at some subtle level it became, "good boys don't groom to impress girls."

And then came college, girls, and friends. Then came work and so on - and I moved on in life. To a stage where I am comfortable in the "mediocrity of my grooming." Well, that phrase actually applies to me. I have had so many friends (both men and women) come up and say, "...why the hell can't you follow what we suggest?" But you see: I am a rebel. The youngest of the 3 kids - what else can you expect? My attitude has fossilised to something like, "...if you like me for my looks and my presence, I don't care a damn about you..." In the process of growing up with my own insecurities, I learnt early on the psychological principle of "compensation." Because I could not make myself "up there" by my looks and grooming ('coz my grooming IQ tends to single digits), I actively worked to gain approval from extra curricular activities. Debating, Writing, Elocutions became my passion. I learnt to "intellectually challenge" peers around. That also provided me a safe play area - especially when it came to girls.

I grew up at a quaint rustic place (it really was rustic back then). So, given that I was not sophisticated and as I moved to various cities in progressive stages of "hep-ness", I too learnt to sharpen my defense mechanisms that provided me acceptance from peers and others. With time, I've learnt to accept my own inadequacies; and this is a journey that will continue for the rest of life. I've found that there never ever is a stage where I've been able to say, "I've ironed out myself and I am ok." Every time I see myself saying that, the universe conspires to create a meltdown (like a nuclear meltdown) and I am back to square one. So as I move towards "wholeness", I find that I have chosen consciously different approaches to different things. In some areas, I strive to excel and better myself. In other, I've chosen to let go and not try to keep up with the Joneses.

Grooming (beyond the point of personal hygiene and basic decorum) is one such area where I've given up. I mean I just find it plain silly to fret over what I consider the smaller things of life. I like things of utility - bless my professor who administered MBTI (Myers Briggs Type Indicator - look it up in the net) and gave me another excuse to comfort myself. Being an INTJ, I look for utility in things. So my choice of specs is based on utility. I like to read; so when I am home (post work or on weekends), I like to lie down and enjoy a good read. You can't have some slender delicate sophisticated frames. You need sturdy, durable and flexible frames. I had one rimless specs earlier, but the trauma they went through coz of my lying down and reading ensured a very small lifeline for them. So when my ophthalmologist changed the numbers, I took that as a God sent opportunity and promptly changed my specs. They've been faithful for a year now and on occasions I've even managed to put some of my weight on them. They are now part of my identity and utility.

And my mother wants to take that away!!! No wonder I felt so insecure. Then followed a dialogue with her. My mother thinks I am now of a “marriageable” age - which I am for quite a while. But now she is concerned and worried. So every little thing matters. She (of all the people, mum) gave me a lecture on how one should keep up with changing times and how she “knows” (from newspapers and page 3) that girls these days don't like guys who wear specs which make them look "studious / professor". Gee - I just wished my mum asked me to carry a condom in my pocket ;-) But sigh – that advice has not yet come :-( Then followed another chapter and verse on the importance of having a good haircut. It is true - and I admit to it - that many a time, I take a while to go and get a haircut. Its not laziness - or maybe it is. If you spend 3.5 hours a day traveling to work and back and work for 12 hours every day, who the hell wants to get a haircut done on a weekend!!! Consider (if you wish to) that as an excuse, but I do ensure that I don't look like Andre Aggasi ever (when he had the pony tail). So why the hullabaloo?

Sometimes, I realise that I am obstinate to the point of cussedness in these matters. I just find a great amount of joy like Calvin in harassing the harried person in front of me who considers this very meaningful. A friend of mine shared with me her first impressions of me - not so flattering though. We had met at a workshop and she told me that by day 2, she could predict what I would be wearing when she would see me next. Well, no smart guesses. For a week long workshop, I had taken 3 T-shirts and 2 jeans. My logic of utilitarianism: "Why on earth do you have the laundry service in a hotel? And if I am to spend 8 hours inside a room in a lab, why should I carry trunk full of clothes?" To add icing to this cake of logic, “travel light!” What I did not share with her is that half of my suitcase was filled with books – so where the space was for clothes?

We are good friends now. And that is exactly my point. She did accept me for who I am and not how I groom. This provides me enough fodder to stick to my guns and not attempt the painful (to me at least) process of re-orienting the brain to pay attention to such matters. After all, how much can a human brain handle!!!

Thank heavens, my mother has not yet thought of what some of my colleagues and friends tell me. "Shave off your mustache." One day I was quite taken aback by this comment from a colleague. She told me that I needed to become more "hep". Pat came the tongue in cheek reply from me after which I experienced her as a slab of ice frozen in Pleistocene era, "will you give me a kiss if I shaved off my mustache!!!" Soon she laughed it off and said, "...not me, but maybe someone else will."

"MAYBE". You mean to say that I should remove my mustache in the hope of getting a smooch from some hot nubile babe. And ‘hope’. Sigh – might as well live the current reality than hope!!! Well, as I said, I've been a rebel. If a girl does not like me the way I am, too bad. But if things do work out, I would be glad to hand over expertise of professional grooming to her (assuming that she has a better sense than I have – which usually is the case). After all, it is my Achilles heel and I do need some help in that area. Will I accept it from everyone - maybe not. Will I take it from my girlfriend - why not, if that is what makes her happy. But should I do all this in order to get a girl - no, thank you. Maybe I feel scared. Scared that if a girl likes me for my grooming and looks, she may not really appreciate me for who I am. So I follow the reverse psychology: show the worst of yourself and if they like you still, then you can become normal and better.

All these thoughts were going up in my head, when I heard mum say once again,

"...change your specs..."