There is a regular visit I make to a place once in a month
or a month and a half. It is a trip I put off to the last minute – until my
eyebrows reach the bushy stature of Kroor Singh’s eyebrows in the fantasy soap
of my childhood, Chandrakanta . Yes,
I am talking about the visit to the beauty parlour. I have heard that for some
women, having a spa date or making a trip to the parlour is a great hobby,
stress-buster or therapeutic. But for me, it is akin to the experience of
Stephen Leacock in My Financial Career.
When I finally realize that I can no longer postpone the
trip, due to the aforementioned look of my eyebrows, I visit the neighbourhood
parlour. As I step in, I see some women who are already getting things done or
waiting for their turn. The beautician or parlour lady or whatever she is
called tells me to wait for 5 minutes. I say, “That’s okay. I will come
tomorrow,” glad that I have an excuse to postpone it for one more day. But no,
the lady is vehement. So, I wait.
One customer tells the lady, “Please see, this eyebrow is
thicker than the other. You have left one line here.” Another will say, “There
is no shape at all. Please give it a shape.” While another one is concerned
that the beautician has made her eyebrows too thin.
My turn comes and I ascend the chair. All the while, as I
close my eyes, my whole thought process goes like this, “I left my wallet and
phone on the chair. What if someone steals them? Don’t be stupid. Why would
they do that? But how will I know? My eyes are closed.” Then thankfully, when I
open my eyes, the wallet and phone are still there, because obviously everyone
is more engrossed in how their eyebrows are looking. I quickly pay her the
money and thank God that I don’t need to see her again for a month.
Another time, I was concerned with my grey hairs and decided
that I could not apply henna on my own. So I called the parlour and took an
appointment. Now, if one has a lot of time on one’s hands, one can sit through
the process, wait for an hour, get something else done and get the hair washed
and come out, fresh and new. But, as I didn’t have the time or patience, I
simply asked her to apply the henna, preferring to wash my hair at home. Now,
for those of you who have done this before, you will know the ‘plastic cap’
that our hennaed hair is covered with so that we can cover it with our dupatta
and walk or go back home nonchalantly. Others do it nonchalantly. Me, not so
much! I was so embarrassed by the plastic cap (that no one saw me wearing,
because it was mid-afternoon and the streets were empty), that I have never again
gone back to the parlour for dyeing my hair. Let me embrace the greys, I
thought.
Over the years, I have finally learnt to be comfortable in a
beauty parlour. But I do salute the beauty queens, actresses and other women
who go through these beauty regimes and present their beautiful faces to the
world. It is definitely not easy!
What I don't understand is how women can pour hot wax on their bodies, let it dry, then rip out every single hair by its root and still be scared of spiders. - Jerry Seinfeld
Day 5 of Blogathon 2017
