The other day, I met a man with a magnificent moustache at the local vegetable store, clad in a shiny pink kurta and turban. I'd seen whiskers of all shapes and sizes, but few as luxurious as his. A girl giggled as he walked by and he bristled with irritation. "What are you laughing at," he asked. She beat a hasty retreat but he decided to tell everyone else in the shop the story of his moustache while waiting to pay the bill. His story made me realise how even facial fuzz can be an economic asset.
His name was Raj Singh, and he worked as a doorman in a restaurant. When he came to work in Delhi over a decade ago, illiterate and penniless, people laughed when they saw his moustache. "It was bushy and long, so I used to keep it curled on my cheeks," he said. In his village in Rajasthan, a fine moustache was a sign of manhood and virility. Men with bare upper lips were a rare sight and often reviled for not looking masculine enough. "I'd grown up seeing my father and grandfather spending hours grooming their moustaches," he said. "So even though people in Delhi told me I looked too odd to land a job, I knew I would never ever shave my moustache off."
In the next few years, Singh did odd jobs - he worked as an office boy, a caretaker and a watchman. Over time, he realised that more than his luxurious moustache, it was his lack of education that was holding him back from getting better jobs. Then his luck turned. "A tent-wala who did wedding decorations spotted me and appreciated my moustache and appearance," he said. At first, the tent-wala gave him the odd assignment as a doorman at weddings. "They'd provide me with fancy clothes and headgear, and my job was simply to stand at the door and look regal," he said. With his dark eyes and flashy moustache, Singh was an instant success in this role. Soon, Singh became a local fixture as the wedding doorman par excellence. "People said I lent a certain touch of royalty to the ambience," he said immodestly. "There weren't many like me who looked so perfect for the part." For each gig, he was paid Rs 500. "It wasn't bad for six hours of simply standing in one place," he said. "Since I could do these assignments alongside my day job as a watchman, I started feeling well off overnight!" He was, after years, able to afford eating meat once a week, and put on weight. "The weight lent my personality a further air of importance, and I prospered," he said. He was quick to realise that much of his new-found prosperity was due to his impressive moustache, and he nurtured it assiduously. "Like my father and grandfather, I oiled it regularly and washed it with a good shampoo."
Little did Singh know that his moustache was going to take him further in life. During a wedding gig, Singh met a businessman who was launching an Indian restaurant. "He gave me a job as a doorman there, with a place to stay, all meals, and a monthly salary of Rs 10,000," he said. His job was simply to usher in customers to the restaurant, wearing shiny togs and twirling his moustache. "So here I am. Thanks to my moustache, I've a well-paid job and enough time to complete my education through open school," he said.
Suddenly, his listeners began to look upon Singh's hirsute upper lip with greater respect. He smiled and said, "My late father always said that a moustache is every man's pride. But even he'd be surprised to see how far it has brought me in life!"
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