By Devraj Singh Kalsi
It is a relief that young women have not called me Uncleji yet – despite the visible signs of greying hair and beard. While they may not consider me fit for a romantic fling, they feel somewhat restrained to deprive me of the right to be called eligible. Thanks to the growing acceptance of premature greying, women seem to appreciate the strength and honesty of men who flaunt their salt-and-pepper combination even though they have the option of applying hair dye. While my peers use hair colour and suggest a similar makeover to avoid negative comments, I prefer to look real and face everything that comes my way.
Barring a few occasions marred by toxic jealousy, grey hair has never dismantled my confidence. In case greying is a cause for concern, blame a weak liver or genes and proudly declare that you have celebrated your grey hair throughout your youthful days and consider it a sign of wisdom that other people have to wait to acquire. However, in a changing world, with a thrust on balance and equality, where young women do not shy away from entering into wedlock with men with grey hair, the acceptance of young women with streaks of grey as a suitable life partner remains an unrealised dream, leading to another kind of gender inequality that should be rooted out.
Bumping into a former girlfriend, who still overlooks my grey hair but continues to chuckle at the unending struggles of a creative life, I discovered she drew the simplistic conclusion that nothing seems to have changed in my life despite the passing of two decades. Before I chose to contest her view by drawing up a detailed comparative analysis chart that could prove her wrong on several counts, I allowed her assessment to soothe me inside as she maintained the status quo, mentioning quite a miraculous achievement that the tide of time had failed to wreak havoc. Blessed with skin that refuses to show signs of ageing, I still drink municipal tap water instead of worrying about how and where to purchase pristine litres from glaciers to rejuvenate myself. When she raised queries about facials, night creams, and oil massages to tone up the sagging skin and get rid of wrinkles, I had a simple advice to offer: purity inside shows up outside. And this includes thoughts and a positive mindset.
She introduced me to her daughter in a video chat as a classmate who missed the chance of hitching up. The young girl spoke of her interest which fluttered at the threshold of pursuing a creative life full of adventure. I was curious to know why she wanted to pursue this path, even though nobody in her family had ever tread on it. This was answered best by her ambitious mother who had perhaps nurtured the idea of giving birth to a creative child even though she had rejected spending her life with a creative person. This was a bold question but she admitted the fact that she had always wanted her child to become creative even though she did not wish for a career in this domain. The girl now had the clarity to make a quick decision as my plight strengthened her resolve to join her father’s accountancy firm after completing her graduation.
The attitude of men seems to have changed towards me over time as I end up being called Uncle by those who view my grey hair as a conclusive sign of old age. Men belonging to the same age bracket also call me Uncle just because they have dyed their hair to sport a young, dapper look while I prefer being myself. The other day, a gentleman from the neighbourhood came seeking donations for a noble cause and chose to address me as Uncle. This was not said with the intent to prick or provoke, but a cautious attempt to remind me of my age. He had seen me moving around with young women and he must have secretly envied me my companions. He seized the opportunity to send an apt reminder that I should behave and act my age, and my knee-jerk reaction was to deny him what he sought. Men older than me have also called me Uncle – from drivers to fruit vendors – and derived a sense of satisfaction but I do not deny them this pleasure by showing my anger. Even if the entire tribe of men orchestrates a similar sentiment, it should not trigger a negative response as I have grown immune to such expressions.
Recently, a gentleman near the market stopped me to say that my daughter had left behind a tote bag last week. It set me thinking as I tried hard to remember when she had come with me to the shop. He added that we sat in a café and ordered French fries with cappuccino. I recalled the episode with this prompt and clarified that she was a young female companion of mine and not my daughter. He looked stunned to hear that I was privileged enough to enjoy the company of young female friends. I took the bag, thanked him and left.
Devraj Singh Kalsi works as a senior copywriter in Kolkata. His short stories and essays have been published in Deccan Herald, Tehelka, Kitaab, Earthen Lamp Journal, Assam Tribune, and The Statesman. Pal Motors is his first novel.
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