I am fast approaching the half-century mark and am feeling the effects of the upcoming golden jubilee event. Hey, don’t be too hasty in writing me off as an antique, because I still have a couple of more years left, before I hit the ‘F’ mark. I am not vain and know that we all have to become old one day and we all will surely die someday, but I am not ready to become old right now.
So to keep myself from growing old, and also to ward off the sarcastic and hurting remarks of my so-called well-wishers, I went looking for a magical cure for old-age. My first stop was an imposing looking, and important sounding, beauty clinic; even their advertised treatment had exotic sounding names. I was convinced that my search for an elixir of youth had ended and I was going to be transformed into, if not a Miss Universe, then at least, a Miss World here.
I entered the pristine white lobby with a spring in my otherwise limp step and flashed my 20 odd, yellowing teeth at the receptionist, who recoiled at my gap- toothed ugly smile. She opened her drawer and took out her wallet, I held out my hand thinking that she was going to give me the clinic’s visiting card but only when she extracted a Rs 50 note from her wallet that realisation dawned. She was giving a hand-out to the crazy old lady with a million missing teeth. Oh, if only the floor would open up and swallow my huge frame, or at least some part of me!! No wonder my family members ridiculed me, I was a freak!
I tried to sound well educated and sophisticated, while explaining to her that I was here for an appointment with the beauty therapist. She wasn’t completely convinced but she did call up the manager on the intercom, all the while keeping an eagle eye on my humongous frame.
I am a large woman but still was surprised when the so-called beauty therapist and slimming expert walked in, she was 10 times my size and her wrist resembled my thigh. I knew I was in the wrong place immediately, but couldn’t make a fast get-away due to my stomach-impediment. So she cornered me and bombarded me with her beauty jargon. I listened with only half an ear as I was still trying to get her entire frame within my line of vision.
She requested that I follow her into the treatment room for a demonstration. I did that, but by the time we reached the end of the long corridor, my eyes had had enough of her jingling, jangling gigantic behind. Inside, we were welcomed by their cosmetologist, who took one look at me and commenced a verbal attack my skin tone, and open pores. Her opening statement was, “you need at least 24 face treatments because your skin is very flabby and you have open pores and also black-heads. Your eyes need work too, the dark-circles need to be worked on and we have to do something about your extremely dull and dead looking eyes.”
I mumbled an apology and waddled out of the beauty clinic from hell, they had made me feel a hundred to my fast approaching fifty. On reaching home, I asked my kids, “Do I look like I have dead eyes?” They shook their head in denial and said, “You have the prettiest eyes in the whole world.” Bless my angels; I felt 18 and not 47 at that instant.
My search for the fountain of youth ended on that fateful day, what about yours?
Sulekha aka Lucks
Lucks aka Sulekha