The parlor :p
One thing that I have always dreaded, yet known to have been unavoidable, is my monthly visit to beauty parlors. Earlier it used to be my famous haircut drama. All my classmates had long silky hair and my curly sexy hair was chopped down to some gawky mushroom cut. It made me look like a cute cowboy (for Dad) and sui generis (for Mom). I hated the parlor. I will never forget the ‘Classic Beauty Parlor’ and Sujata Aunty, who considered cutting my hair as the toughest exam of her career as a beautician. I made a pout face everytime she made me sit on her black lounger and cried deucedly when she turned the wheel and made me look into the mirror. I wept all back home and Daddy would pick me up and reprimand mom for the hair cut. Well, I knew she and didi were having a good laugh behind my back. They were probably practicing the best possible way to dramatize ‘funny things about bebu’. They loved doing that, no matter how bad I complained. :/. Secretly, I enjoy the fact that I make them and eventually, others laugh. But at that precise moment, the fun- surely is vexing.
But then I grew up and earned the right to decide my look and saved my Mom all the fun, only for her to come back on stage after we came down to Hyd. 😐 I was older and supposed to look prettier. Well, that doesn’t need a beautician of course but atleast I knew by then that parlor is compulsory, u want it or not. I didn’t want it. But mom was too particular about eyebrows, upperlips, hair-split-ends and clean up. It took me weeks to get used to them. The aftermath results were no different, except the fact that I looked as if I had just visited the hospital. The threads slashed on my skin, and my poor dermis winced with pain. My expressions- even. But let me tell you. I feel like slumbering into the couch, everytime during clean-up. She paints coat over coats of some dozen pastes. The paste cools and the boiling rose water’s vapor warms my skin, creating a polar effect and I feel like floating.. She takes away the vapor, applies some more paste, wipes it off and there is a respite of few minutes. Then sharp tweezers attack my skin in an attempt to perish the tinniest blackhead / comedo. After some minutes of patient suffering, she puts on some more paste, washes it off and I am free to leave. On my way back home, my face looks red, eyes water (it doesn’t always mean crying), skin itches and I promise myself that I would never let this happen to me again.
I wake up the next morning, barely check the mirror, take a bath, get ready for college, breakfast, blah blah and the final check as I gather my bag, nearly crashing my pink i-pod and pink cellphone (Pink! Is not my fav). A swift look into the mirror and am held back. And what do I see?- the change 🙂. I sigh and go back to usual life, knowing that next month I am going spend another 500 bucks again, torturing and tiringly boring myself, just for this one moment of beauty and many more 🙂.
P.S.- wait for it.