VI. Candid Verses: Aging (not so) Gracefully!
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Every morning, I stand in front of the mirror for a few minutes: examining myself hoping for my youthful vigor to return magically.

As soon as I switch on the lights, that first darn sign is revealing: my "Khappar" with the receding hairline -- C'mon Now! Onset this early? Some say it’s genetic, some say its stress, and some say it’s the Shampoo. Nepali doctors (aka friends, family and relatives who are experts in everything) have offered hundreds of homeopathic-solutions over the last few years to this inevitable fate, but to no avail. As the light from the energy-saving bulb illuminates, so do my two parallel streaks of wrinkles right across my forehead. I swear they were not there yesterday!

I quickly remember the facial cream my girlfriend bought me a few days ago that is supposed to revitalize my skin or whatever. Or at least it did to the celebrities flaunting on TV. How did she manage to put it on top of the shelf? I stretch with all my might barely able to reach it --the next frustration sets in. You see, I stopped growing vertically as soon as I hit puberty. I can't blame my parents for this because they tried multiple alternate therapies: they encouraged me to hang out with my "Tarzan" mama climbing trees, stealing fruits, and running away from dogs. My mom spoon-fed me tons of contraband calcium pills & Dabur Chyawanprash. And my Dad, just like my teachers, resorted to old-fashioned treatment every now and then: stretching my ears with all his might with the false promise of imaginary "MamaGhar."

I console myself thinking what the great-to-be philosopher (me) once copied "You only need to be tall enough to reach the ground." Ironically, there are other unwanted growths, in all tangents, secant and innumerable geometric shaped in both accessible and inaccessible of places: Hair protruding out from nose, ears and chest alike in most inopportune time as if they are going to sting someone you're having conversation with; the two lonely, thick eye brows aching for a reunion in the middle; the beard that is not satisfied with its territory and wants to take over the neck and make friends with the Adam's apple. But my gut feeling tells me there is a bigger concern in the gut itself: The horizontal ever-growing stomach!

It’s not like I don't eat healthy.  Slowly at first, and faster it seems every month now, it is continuously protruding out defying all odds to accomplish its mission: hide my own "manhood" from my normal range of view. When my girlfriend first scoffed at this beast, I got scared. I did the unthinkable. I spent hours (mostly minutes) doing the Ramdev exercises: breathing in and out in our living room. Then I quickly realized that this exercise only works on Ramdev himself. After constant nagging, I did the unimaginable. I started running (actually lazy walking) every evening. However, when she noticed that I began eating thrice as much as other dinners previously, she concluded perhaps it’s genetic as well and deemed it OK. Thus, I resorted to my old exercise routine: sinking in the chair, meditating (sleeping most of the time), and immersing myself in knowledge (TV) :)

I closed my eyes for a second to get a respite from the mirror. I hear her voice echo, "Why do you care about what others think? I like the way you are. I wouldn't have you any other way!" This brings smile to my face. I am geared up for rest of the day. I am one lucky SOB. It could have been much worse. "Much much worse" I mutter to myself as I reach for my glasses, whose power has been compounding every year. I glance back at the mirror.

Surely enough, it is much worse now: every little flaw amplified at least a hundred fold!