Today I made a reluctant visit to the parlour to do the abnormal things that normal girls do. And count on it to give me food for thought! A beauty parlour is not a place where you can mind your own knees... Um, bees wax. It is a place that unites various women for a diverse range of concerns, beginning from filing the pinky toe nail to positioning hairy eyebrows to freeze the expression of the right amount of surprise on one's face. And we all have our ends splitting somewhere in the hair fray.
Every time the door opens, all eyes turn to look at the poor woman who is going to be the next victim of the friendly beauty parlour aunty. Imagine their horror today, and my amusement, when the newspaper guy came around to collect money for their monthly subscription. He opened the door WIDE and went "Sunitha aunty..."
And she went "Aiyyooooooooo. Bagilu tegibediiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" (Don't open the doooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooor!)
Now, I wonder, why is it that a man who carelessly comments on the state of his woman's hairy legs is not allowed to see her getting it removed? Or, given a choice, why wouldn't he want to see it? I took one look around me and saw a three year old girl getting her first hair cut next to me, and a senior citizen getting a pedicure at the farthest end; Three lanky girls getting their eyebrows done, one getting her arms waxed, one lady getting tan removed off her back (her BACK!) and another getting her hair coloured. All of us were there trying to look better than we already were. I thought of how I had walked into the parlour- with resolve to finally get rid of my ugly arm hair, and the first thought that came to my mind when aunty put hot wax on my arm was- "Iss Jungle se Mujhe Bachaaaaaaaaaaooooo!". But obviously, I only breathed in sharply (fail).
Sunitha aunty looked at me and went "Too hot-ah?" with a kindly smile. I just smiled. She continued her speech-
She: Long time, no see? You need to wax regularly.
Me: Exams, aunty. (Yes, it rhymed!)
She: Ohh. Thought so. You haven't been sleeping well no?
Me: You could say that.
She: Your face looks so tired... Want a clean up?
Me: (thinking to myself) She probably means cleansing my face? What the hell? (to her) Ya, ya.
*Dumbest decision ever*
I didn't know she would be knuckling my eyeballs (she called it "massage")! I had my face frozen with some kind of plaster of Paris type thingy and she was SCRAPING my face off with a thin stainless steel instrument of torture! Did she think it was my face or the stinky toilet in the shopping complex?
(Yes, I'm writing this! I don't care if boys are "not supposed to" know. I know more men who care about maintaining the shape of their eyebrows than me and my imaginary best friend ever do!)
We deluded women were being skinned and all we were thinking was "When I open my eyes when these wet cotton pads come off, I'm going to make Aishwarya Rai jealous"
BULL.
The only thing that comes out of getting your skin ripped off your flesh is less discomfort when you sweat. For all the pain you go through, people you plan to please- husbands, boyfriends, student tenants of your opposite house aunty- will only react as if you finally decided to look presentable. And we don't realize that we are beautiful already.
I may be one of those fortunate women who knows men who are not jackasses, who will call me pretty, bushy eyebrows, hairy legs and all. But maybe once in a while it is good to break the monotone- to grab the double deal of less sweat and a little entertainment.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have some boys to taunt, tease and beg me please.
Every time the door opens, all eyes turn to look at the poor woman who is going to be the next victim of the friendly beauty parlour aunty. Imagine their horror today, and my amusement, when the newspaper guy came around to collect money for their monthly subscription. He opened the door WIDE and went "Sunitha aunty..."
And she went "Aiyyooooooooo. Bagilu tegibediiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" (Don't open the doooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooor!)
Now, I wonder, why is it that a man who carelessly comments on the state of his woman's hairy legs is not allowed to see her getting it removed? Or, given a choice, why wouldn't he want to see it? I took one look around me and saw a three year old girl getting her first hair cut next to me, and a senior citizen getting a pedicure at the farthest end; Three lanky girls getting their eyebrows done, one getting her arms waxed, one lady getting tan removed off her back (her BACK!) and another getting her hair coloured. All of us were there trying to look better than we already were. I thought of how I had walked into the parlour- with resolve to finally get rid of my ugly arm hair, and the first thought that came to my mind when aunty put hot wax on my arm was- "Iss Jungle se Mujhe Bachaaaaaaaaaaooooo!". But obviously, I only breathed in sharply (fail).
Sunitha aunty looked at me and went "Too hot-ah?" with a kindly smile. I just smiled. She continued her speech-
She: Long time, no see? You need to wax regularly.
Me: Exams, aunty. (Yes, it rhymed!)
She: Ohh. Thought so. You haven't been sleeping well no?
Me: You could say that.
She: Your face looks so tired... Want a clean up?
Me: (thinking to myself) She probably means cleansing my face? What the hell? (to her) Ya, ya.
*Dumbest decision ever*
I didn't know she would be knuckling my eyeballs (she called it "massage")! I had my face frozen with some kind of plaster of Paris type thingy and she was SCRAPING my face off with a thin stainless steel instrument of torture! Did she think it was my face or the stinky toilet in the shopping complex?
(Yes, I'm writing this! I don't care if boys are "not supposed to" know. I know more men who care about maintaining the shape of their eyebrows than me and my imaginary best friend ever do!)
We deluded women were being skinned and all we were thinking was "When I open my eyes when these wet cotton pads come off, I'm going to make Aishwarya Rai jealous"
BULL.
The only thing that comes out of getting your skin ripped off your flesh is less discomfort when you sweat. For all the pain you go through, people you plan to please- husbands, boyfriends, student tenants of your opposite house aunty- will only react as if you finally decided to look presentable. And we don't realize that we are beautiful already.
I may be one of those fortunate women who knows men who are not jackasses, who will call me pretty, bushy eyebrows, hairy legs and all. But maybe once in a while it is good to break the monotone- to grab the double deal of less sweat and a little entertainment.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have some boys to taunt, tease and beg me please.
