Being a handsome guy comes at a price. You get more attention from girls than you can handle, your bro-friends hold envious feelings for you, and your parents are worried that you may run away to Mumbai because you are too gorgeous for mundane jobs. Of course, I have never experienced any such feelings because on a scale of 0 to 10, where 10 is, say, Hrithik Roshan, I am just a few decimal places short of Raju Srivastava in his youthful days, which were probably three centuries ago.
Yet, I feel there are a lot of public attractions on my face, like the aam-aadmi-version of Akhilesh Yadav’s nose, the wheatish complexion (if the wheat was spoiled by rain and had a dirty brown fungus over it), multiple scars due to accidents involving cricket and/or alcohol, and eyebrows so thick, they could be useful for unmarried couples in summer season.
I have Punjabi roots, which clearly means that I am a loud, drink-friendly guy who must have butter present in/on/around his food items. That also means I’m a very hairy guy, and other than ‘obvious’ places that I cannot mention here because apparently it embarrases my dear ones.
I grew up with much hair cover appearing elsewhere on the body, so much that I look like a brown bear when shirtless, but not the cute one, a thoroughly malnourished one instead. I was kind of ok with those developments, preparing myself for an arranged marriage so that the above facts were more of a surprise than a compromise for my future wife. So let today also be the day that I come out of closet, and tell you all that I’m a Unibrow, and I trim/raze/do other things to NOT stay so.
It’s not easy being a Unibrow in this world full of impeccable, dark and threading-done-by-Jawed-Habib eyebrows. During my childhood, Kajol brought the Unibrow into fashion, but dancing around in a towel and romancing SRK on screen were a few confounding factors that weren’t present in my case. Right through my adolescence, I have grown up watching my eyebrows complete the Howrah bridge on my forehead, and it was, like other Bong things I could never understand, not a good feeling at all.
One fine day, I decided to get rid of it, so I picked up the scissors, and proceeded towards the mirror to break the permanent hand-shake on my forehead. 5 minutes and about 850 different angles later, I wished that I should have gone to a professional, and then didn’t step out of my room for the next 20 days to avoid showing my forehead which looked like as if a mongoose went all ninja over it.
With time, me and people around me got used to the fact that I, depending on the day of the week, may have variable levels of proximity between my eyebrows.
Handling my Unibrow did help me mature as a person who is not embarrassed of his facial features, or can simply lie about being comfortable with his looks very confidently. I recently read an article on how women in Cuba find unibrow sexy, but that makes me regret their existence more than my decision. See! Such maturity.