Dog's life (contd.)

After I wrote my last blog, I couldn't stop thinking about women and obsession with looking good. Till today, I have seen very few women above this vice. Most of us spend minutes, hours, and days toiling (in varying degree) over getting the last hair off our legs, removing the last black spot on our shoulder, getting that French manicure (whatever that means). There was a time when I thought us women genealogically prone to this. No no, I don't mean we are genealogically bad looking … in fact quite the other way round. What I figured was, we as a species are overly self critical. You know that hair on your upper leg that you removed … no one is going to notice is existence or the lack of it, cause most of us don't really wear such short skirts. And that black mole that was so painfully removed from your lower shoulder, (remember how you had to take antibiotics for weeks to get that wound to heal, made you nauseated all the time), well it actually gave you a character.

But then I started thinking it over again. Think about the time when we were still young. We didn't go through all the painful process of waxing, threading, bleaching, laser therapy and the list goes on ... And we were not really very aware of our imperfection. In fact we were quite happy with our cute curls, freckled faces, and plump cheeks. When did that curl become freezy hair problem (and what that means … for the life of mine I could not figure out). And the freckles grew into black heads and all the baby fat became a serious logic to go into that crash diet immediately.

I think it starts around the time when this secret tribe starts playing mind games with us. Yes the secret tribe … the beauticians that have been planted in very damn parlour of the world. You go there for an innocent hair cut, and they will pick on you.
"hmmm, are you losing hair recently"

You are alarmed, "NO!!!! why?"

"Nothing they look damaged." (a big sigh, befitting the doctor who has just finished examining her mortally ill patient)

"Damaged!!! Oh you mean … eh … what do you mean?"

Your barber looks at you with undisguised pity and smiles. Now you need to prove yourself … after all you know beauty secrets also, you read a beauty magazine … once.

"I have dandruff?" you read something about dandruffs, lemons and honeys and egg … sounded more like some savory dish, if you leave out the dandruff part that is. Anyway, you definitely read all about it … well you are almost sure you did.

Now a look of horror replaces the pity on your beauty godmother's face. "WHAT YOU HAVE DANDRUFF!!!What kind is it?"

"What kind? … Eh … I am not sure I have .." you are rudely cut short by her shriek. "b(n)uchi get the detol water, we need to disinfect the scissors and combs, it might be infectious"

"What is infectious?" you mildly probe to increase your breadth of knowledge on the beauty domain.

"Your dandruff of course!"

"I have them?"

"Well you told me so"

"no I didn't. I asked you if I have any"

"How am I supposed to know?"

"You are looking at my head, move my hair, and you will see if I have any"

"Of course I wont see any if you have already shampooed to hide it"

Now you are offended "I didn't hide anything"

"Then why did you tell me you have dandruff"

"I DIDN'T!!!!"

She looks at your head again, carefully lifting a strand with that long spatula kind of object in her hand (any of my readers know what they are for, please let me know), then suspiciously probing your head with a gloved hand, as if your head is a time bomb about to burst (I bet this happened to john woo, he used it in his movie MI:3).

"Hmm, well your hair is not dry, its not freezy …"

You are now all ears, is that a complement of sorts???

"Which is why if you have dandruff, it's the oily kind, and most probably infectious."

"I don't have them, I never had them. So my hair is not freezy. That's good ha?"

"No your adipose glands are overactive, they are secreting excess aqua-saponaceous element. Making the texture of your hair extra lubricous"

"Wha?????"

"Your hair is oily and limp. No shine … its bad" she generously offers the meaning in layman's terms … "you tarzan .. me jane" format.

Looking slightly relived after the dandruff-episode but still cautious, she looks into your face. "What are those spots?"

"Those are my freckles" your proudly proclaim "my ma used to name them each one of those."

"No they are white heads, you might have them from dandruff or from saponaceous glands of your face" She concentrates hard on you to get to the bottom of this difficult problem of yours.

You must have shown that bewildered look, so she diligently offers

"Your face has a T-zone".

"A what?" you are confused whether you should be proud of this possession of yours.

Ignoring your question, she looks deeper your face… "You have a huge black head next to your nose"

"No no that's a beauty spot, I have it since my birth … you know, Marilyn Monroe used to wear one?"

"That's a big and old black spot and no wonder. You have huge pores. Also your nail beds are too deep"

"They are." now your confidence level is so down you don't even dare to question, exactly what size the pores should be, what are nail beds and where can you find the right sized ones.

"We can help you out, with them; you should go for our complete body rejuvenating program. Its just 1k per sitting"

That sounds kind of expensive, but then she just made you feel like a diseased dying cow, so you ask "and that's 1 sitting or 2?"

"Nah, its 20 sittings per month, we can get you scheduled for every Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Saturday, sunday (there goes your job and weekend plans). I am very hopeful we can see some improvement within 2-3 months and then we can lower it down to only 3 times a week."

And thus starts yours journey in the beauty land. You will learn about million such impossible follies about yourself and learn about the simple cure such as apply a paste of curd, tomato pulp and suprakharna powder all over your body six times a day. You will endlessly subject yourself to pain of waxing, threading, twitching, blackheads removal etc etc. You will wake up every morning to look at the mirror and see that blackhead (which used to be your beauty spot) sigh. Every new beauty saloons will let you know how ugly your pores are, how tan is your tan, how bad is your T-zone.

Till now these secret creed has targeted women, but now they are expanding their market. Look at our actors, sportsmen and singers of today. They have designer hair, clipped stubble and waxed chest (OUCH!!!!).

No, I don't write this article to inform and spread the awareness, so that you can shield yourself. You just can't. If you stop shaving, cutting hair etc to avoid saloons, you will be enlightened about your weird eyebrows, blackened toes, big ears, small nose by your friends, coworkers and relatives. There is no way to hide, no where to run, sisters. We are doomed to live a life of ugliness. We are destined to hate each pore (big and small) of our body and wish we were someone else.

--
I am not young enough to know everything.
Oscar Wilde

It's a Dog's Life!

I was traveling to office today morning. Saw a dog. She was lying there under a tree, on a heap of sand. Dug herself a cozy little hole in that heap, and sleeping away enjoying the advent of winter in our, so far unbearably hot, Delhi.
Now I love dogs, I have always loved them. What drew me to her was that amazing peaceful look on her face. She was looking at me smiling (yes you unbelievers dogs DO smile, and very often, its just we human beings don't look often enough), absolutely content with herself, and comfortable. She was slightly dirty from all the sand, but she looked magnificent, looked like may be that day she had had the luck of getting a slice of stale bread or so for breakfast, found herself a cool and cozy place to enjoy first winter sun and in short, she meant to be happy. And she was.

As my rickshaw moved off my dog's palace, I looked in front of me and saw something else. There was this girl. She was walking in front of my rickshaw, an envelope in her hand. Probably going to the post office nearby. She was around eighteen or twenty, walking with great difficulty. No no, no need to get your sympathy hankies out, she is not physically disabled. At least not congenitally so. It's just the extremely tight trouser, skin hugging top and high heel. She was physically disabled by fashion. Caught a glimpse of her face as I crossed her, kajol, lipstick, streaked hair and oh-so-many other makeup didn't allow me to see what she actually looked liked. But I can see a very painful expression on her face. That young face was troubled, may be important questions like "what this sun is doing my skin", "will I lose a couple of kilos from this 100meters walk" "pollutions cannot be good for my hair" were going through her mind.
As my rickshaw crossed her, she got into yet another pothole of the road, the fact that this particular pothole was much smaller in size than most and just fitted her shoes heel didn't help her much. Last I saw her she was bending down trying to free her shoe from that hole, cursing, with her trouser and top now refusing to hold her fat anymore and burst, I don't know why, I remembered my dog smiling at me from her sand bed.

Life as we know it

It continues. Life as we know it continues.

Hello all,
let me introduce myself, I am the scum of the earth.
Why the low self esteem? Let me explain.
I exist. Thats pretty much it. I live, I consume and waste. And I give nothing back.
Every day I live is just like the day before, with the knowledge that tomorrow is going to be no different than today. Yes my dearies, we live in exciting times......