Case of a missing razor.
I shave on Sundays and it was the Sunday 07th March 210 and I was in Delhi. Sunday was one of the four days when I used to shave my pineapple face, other three days being Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Remaining three day i.e Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday according to our holy pundits, were inauspicious for removing any hair of the body. Intriguing. When I was in service, I had to perforce shave daily except on Sundays. No one objected. I wondered when all our days are dedicated to some deity or a planet, how could one be auspicious and another not? The Pundits could never satisfy me with the precise answer. You know they despise those who dare question them. Fearing being cursed, I never prodded them.
After retirement I had to adhere to my soul mate’s dictates, percolated through my mother’s notions, and had to observe three days as non-shaving days. Perhaps I also found it more convenient for my purse since I was to live on 50% income compared to what I was getting prior to my retirement.(actually it works out to be 40% of the last gross salary drawn) “Getting adjusted immediately to adverse financial circumstances is always the cause of one’s happiness”. This lesson I had learnt during financial ups and downs experienced by my father and his meticulous planning of his available finances at that particular time. Sorry folks, before I lose the track of my subject, I have to start afresh. The age, as it matures, plays numbers of tracks simultaneously in our omnipotent mind.
It being a Sunday I wanted to shave but could not find the razor at its designated place in the bathroom cupboard. I was annoyed. My face was etching to have a clean sweep. Keeping my blood pressure under control, I barged in every room asking for my razor. Everyone showed his/her ignorance. I there and then decided to be a Sherlock Homes. I interviewed everyone present in home. Everyone took my investigation seriously as for the first time an important item of body accessories was missing. Razor being an integral part of morning routine had to be given a place of pride in our scheme of life. It was a case of missing razor, an inseparable companion of a man. No one answered to my satisfaction. My wife batting her eyelids disapproved the idea of making fuss on a small razor. She was about to upbraid me but I had the common sense to respect her sensibilities and quit the place as a box office dud quits the theatre. After all she was a woman. How can a woman tolerate even a non-living object to be anywhere near the face of her husband every day? So as soon as I showed my back, they started laughing. It is always easy to make food than to ask somebody to eat that. I was reduced to Watson instead of Sherlock Homes, so searched every nook and corner of the house like a specialist surgeon cutting through a body with his scalp with clinical precision. I was bent upon finding my razor and made hell of rooms which soon looked like a banghar wala/garbage shop/kabbadi wala shop. My effort soon bore fruit. While searching that small razor, I found a small worn out brief case neatly stashed away in the corner of an old wooden almirah.
Opening it I felt as if I had retrieved a treasure which I had almost forgotten and written off from my memory. I found following items which had brought joy and happiness in my life.
a) An old diary containing my first poem & a story.
b) A pair of silver cufflinks.( first gift from my wife)
c) An old black and white photo album igniting the memories of my childhood and youth.
d) Some commendation certificates and medals.
e) My first quazi-permanancy letter of appointment and
g) Some black & white photographs of my wife(1969-70), which were shown to me before our marriage.
( at that time we were allowed to court our respective would be only through our photographs giving our imagination a long handle to steer through the visuals)
I had found a treasure trove as all my good memories, associated with most memorable memorabilia unintentionally set aside, came alive in a flash and kept me engrossed one by one for whole week allowing me to live again those very moments of life which had produced immense pleasure once upon a time. I thanked the lost razor for its going missing and I had no intention to go after it any more.
My pineapple face soon transformed into a dried haired coconut , taunting me whenever I used to look into the mirror but I cared two hoots for the lost razor. Nostalgia for me was more refreshing than a smooth shave.
ps: Till date I have not found that lost rezor. May be its appearance some day may mark another memorable day in my residual life.________________________________________________________________