It’s often said that there are four things that a man seldom forgets in life- his first job, his first shave, his first love and his first lovemaking experience. Although I shall skip the last two in this piece (because I am still too inhibited to really open up on such private matters so candidly), I would definitely love to share my experience on the first two.

My first shave was on technically the last day of the school- it was our farewell party. To state the obvious, leaving school is, for any one of that age, full of mixed emotions- there is excitement as one is crossing an important threshold of life, there is an apprehension as deep as that of Christopher Columbus because the future is suddenly a vast unexplored territory; there is sorrow, for all the friends of yore are going to part and walk different paths; and of course, ironically and paradoxically, there is the immense joy of leaving behind set norms of class timings and uniforms and stern teachers. Amidst this pot-pouri of feelings I ventured my first shave.

Excitedly, I took down my father’s shaving cup, his brush, and even his razor. A gleaming new blade winked back at me in the dull mid-spring afternoon. I placed it carefully onto the razor (more than a decade back the fancy Sensor-Excels of today were not available) and proceeded to lather my soft down of hair with a sweet smelling cream from Old Spice. The brush glided over my smooth skin with finesse as the foamy whiteness smothered the face. How many minutes, I asked dad, a little apologetically. Just do it till the stubble is fully covered in the lather, he replied, a little too casually, for my thumping heart.

Then, came the time the glistening iron to touch my skin. At first it just glided down, and I could feel the thrill akin to a motorbike racer speeding down with razor-sharp perfection. And the time came for this steel rod to give me my first prick. I had not realized or imagined that the thing that was so smoothly racing down my cheek was actually sharp, and very soon, a thin red line shone over the white foam. I was taken aback. But continued with renewed fervor.

By the time I ended the first round, I had several nicks, and since I had applied a bit too much of pressure, the skin was rash-red. I looked aghast at myself in the mirror…how will I ever go to the party with this redness and madness advertising itself fortissimo over my visage!!!

I cleaned up my act with the towel, but the red lines persisted, and popped up on my face map much like the talk another line that crops up at any Indo-Pak talk. Washing my face turned out to be another ordeal, as the cruel water just gorged on the cuts, a terrorizing monster straight out of some Stephen King novel devouring on the red juice that was still oozing out. Big mistake, my father reprimanded…apply the after-shave or Dettol. And I did both, with results that had me prancing up and down the room hissing like a madcap snake.

The face was hot and red, as if I had got some tight slaps. Thankfully, I had decided to wear a reddish-colored shirt, my face make-up complemented it perfectly.

That was my first shave experience- painful, and pungent. And after that I did not pick up the razor till the time college started.

The first day at the job, and the entailing week, was a little less exciting, but nevertheless memorable!

A tin manufacturing company had lapped us up from our campus itself …us, meant three other classmates of mine. It was the third of April, exactly 9 years back. I was not allowed my own conveyance till then, so had to trudge to the office after changing two buses, with the last one leaving me helplessly a kilometer back. The factory was in the Sahibabad Industrial Area of Gaziabad. We were met by the manager, our boss, and taken for induction, which included a tour of the entire works, the various departments and what nots detailing each aspect about tin box manufacturing- the kind that you see Amul Cheese and Farex stored in.

However, after that one-week, we were suddenly thrown into a irrepressible vortex of duties and sales charts and targets and graphs and clients and orders. The biggest thrill of that time however was the first day I signed an official letter to a client. I was so pleased and proud of myself that I practiced my signatures ten times before signing the final draft. Further, I checked and rechecked the same, and kept looking at the file Photostat copy of the same the entire day- the signature looked even more beautiful in the copy. And the letter? Oh, it was a routine one telling a client that we had received his samples!!

At that time, I was so petrified about making mistakes, that I always ended up making more than a normal routine. I still recall the dread at which I used to go to my boss’ cabin. Once, he offered a lift ( since my residence was on his way only, I realized with my utmost horror)- that was the worst journey of my life.

At another time, I was sent to Calcutta for a tour to meet potential and existing clientele. I was so taken up by this fact, that I reached the station a day earlier- the train was traveling from Jammu to Calcutta, and I had read the date of its actual start journey, not realizing that it will reach Delhi only the next day- a date that the irresponsible Railways ticket had mentioned in some other obscure column. Since I had already informed all the clients and my boss here of my departure, I did the next best thing that I could. I got on the train that very day, traveled in third class, without seat or berth, sharing a small space with a young child, whose mother was magnanimous enough to allow me that constrained area.

On reaching Calcutta, I got my original ticket cancelled, pocketed the money and on my return claimed the entire amount back again from the company!!

But that is not to say the Calcutta tour was bad. Not as much as this part, because, I also had to travel to Siliguri and to the adjoining hill-lands of Bhutan also. That was surely fun. Siliguri is beautiful, green and just on the foot of the Himalayas. Bhutan was hilly, and since I love mountains, I adored the view and the lush vales and dales.

Although I did not stay for more than four months here, I still to fondly cherish a few other memories of this job-

- the daily lunch of watery daal with my friends at the factory canteen
- the after lunch stroll on the quiet, dusty roads of the industrial area
- the giggles and jokes that we had at the expense of our seniors; it was almost like being in college
- a delightful Gujarat tour
- the bus journeys every morning at seven- Delhi is so quiet and clean and peaceful at that time ( at least it was nine years back!)
- the ‘bunking’ of office hours on pretext of sales call
- the fun in learning and handling computers for the first time
- the thrill of sending official communication
- the happiness of finally achieving my sales target

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