Through Myopic Eyes

I have always been short-sighted figuratively but a few years ago I became myopic in the literal sense of the word, too. I started having slight problem with my vision soon after passing out from school. Initially I turned a blind eye (pun unintended) to the problem thinking that if I buried my head in the sand long enough, it would disappear by itself.
Perfect timing, I thought sarcastically. Here I was looking forward to the freedom of collegiate life after years of being trapped in a school uniform, and specs just did not gel. With a heavy heart I went to the optician’s and in an attempt to raise my spirits selected the most expensive frame on display. (I could afford the luxury in those pre Ray-Ban days).
When I wore my specs for the first time, reactions came pouring in from friends and relatives. “Boy! Do you look studious,” said one. “Intellectual,” another and “cute”, someone else.
The kind part was over. “Specs! you can kiss good bye to your dream of becoming an air-hostess.” The unsolicited comments continued and I realised how brutally frank my friends could be. “Gosh, it’s amazing how specs can change a person’s appearance.” “Jesus Christ, Sheenu, you look awful.” Some people just didn’t believe in softening the blow. “Join the club,” welcomed my specy friends gleefully.
I tried to get used to wearing specs. I even tried to joke that a good way of doubling money was to take off ones glasses and look at it through myopic haze. However, all efforts, to accept specs as a part of life failed miserably.
I wore specs for a full week before I decided to brave the world without them. I learnt to wave in the general direction of Hi’ sand Bye’s. A smile pasted at all times so as not to appear snooty to friendly souls smiling at me from a distance was another ploy that worked.
With a little ingenuity, things progressed rather smoothly except for a few cases of mixed signals. I remember the time when I kept waving excitedly at this boy having mistaken him for my tomboyish cousin. I felt like crawling under my shoes when on moving closer I registered his puzzled expression.
However I found myself missing out on a lot of fun and happenings at parties and weddings because of my insistence on not wearing specs. Though it seemed a long way before I’d need specs to locate my specs, the limitations of my unaided vision made me feel insecure.
Life became a series of guessing games. When people would be speculating on the sex of the approaching person, I would be straining my eyes, to make out if the vague, distant form was a cow or a human being. I learnt to my disadvantage that I was not very good at guessing and that’s when I started thinking seriously about contact lenses.
The eye specialist after knowing my plight convinced me of my cosmetic need for lenses. Fortunately my eyes were receptive to soft contact lenses and with a hole, bigger than the size of my contact, in my pocket
I stepped out to see the world through new eyes. I was ecstatic. Everything seemed sharper and more beautiful. It felt wonderful to be back in focus.
It is nice to be able to see the white of everybody’s eyes. I am so happy I could try. But wait a minute. Let me ring up my eye specialist and ask him if it is all right to cry with the contact lenses on.