It wasn’t 8 o'clock. It wasn’t a
time for breakfast. It wasn’t a pleasant day. It wasn’t raining. It wasn’t a
weekday. I wasn’t asleep. I wasn’t reading a newspaper. I wasn’t fiddling with my phone. I wasn’t
waiting for my turn for bathing. I wasn’t told to get groceries. I wasn’t
planning my day. I wasn’t wandering in my house. I wasn’t standing at my
wardrobe. I wasn’t ordering anything online. I wasn’t looking at the clock. I wasn’t
doing yoga. I wasn’t calculating my heartbeat per minute. I wasn’t listening to
traffic outside. I wasn’t switching on the light. I wasn’t messing up my room. I
wasn’t doodling. I wasn’t staring at the ceiling fan. I wasn’t counting the
footsteps of my mother. I wasn’t playing hide and seek with the sun and shade.
But, it wasn’t my day. For sure.
I wasn’t delaying my shaving
time. I wasn’t careless with my trimmer. I wasn’t disliking my beard. I wasn’t
planning for a new beard style. I wasn’t dicey about retaining my facial hair. The
trimmer’s speed wasn’t slow. It wasn’t
in my control. It wasn’t loving my beard. It wasn’t following the trimming
instructions. It wasn’t doing the right
thing the right way. It wasn’t a perfect move. And there it was, my face with
an ugly cut on my mustache. And to make it look good. I had to chop off my
long nourished beard.
But it did make my day. My grandmother
was happy. As she had told me zillion times to chop it off. My aunts were
happy. My family was happy. And now I could
see my complete face after a long dark shade of my beard.
But it wasn’t me. I wasn’t
delighted. I wasn’t able to recognize myself. I wasn’t with my identity. But it
will definitely reincarnate. In an angelic fashion. And I will take care of it
this time.
