Posts Tagged ‘gen’

pretty women

Infrequently, I have to visit what are called beauty salons and appreciate the so much that still remains to be learned These occasional trips make me realize how less of a pretty girl I am, according to the beautician. To start with, she bluntly comments on every possible aspect of my face, and hair, and hands and feet! And I have to agree with all that she says and do the ‘ya I know’ and ‘oh is it?’ sounds every now and then as she rips off each part of me pointing to imperfections therein.


The lady in power: Your hair is too dry. It has no shine at all.
I to myself: Why does it need to shine?
She: which conditioner do you use?
Me: umm umm
She: what shampoo do you use?
A small voice in my head shouts, “What’s the difference?” *
“I have a foundation which will make your acne marks lighter”
“Huh? I have acne marks? Where?”

She goes on chopping and threading while you stare at the posters on the walls, the brown, suave, sleek and chic women giving out the surprised, catlike or orgasmic expressions. And you have to put up with an occasional humph from her as you take your hand out of the apron to brush hair strands off your face.

The other day, a friend and I were window shopping when a cosmetics saleswoman stopped us and urged us to try her surma. This is same as kaajal as she explained to us. Girl with me was skeptical about wearing it as she was wearing her contacts. I gave it a shot. After much of ‘oh, not that deep, wait it burns’ I finally managed to put it on. When we asked the guy accompanying us who by now was gloriously bored to see how it looked, he gave a ‘what’s the difference?’ look. Grrr, so much for the effort!

*This was a couple of years back. Now I know the difference. Conditioners are more expensive.

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headlines yesterday

TOI knows how to be dramatic. Compare yesterday’s front page news in Times and Hindu.


Read things like “Raju ban gaya Conman…”. As against this the hindu uses no sensational words at all… After being subjected to 20 yrs of TOI reading, I have begun to like the southern favourite.


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the wall

The wet grey color of the road towards the Computer Science department blends entrancingly with the jade leaves balancing water droplets on their weak palms. Somewhere far, the two borders of the road merge together into a single dot, with trees still lingering over it, enclosing the path with a curved arch against the light blue sky. Nature seems to impeccably get the perfect color schemes, everywhere. Birds seemingly invisible to me tweet in the background, deer scamper into the grass, rumpling the blades as they disappear in the green. I reach the wall, they have given it some thought and painted the thing in light green to match with the surroundings. Heart shapes carved crudely in the wall, the bent arrow with initials at it’s ends, declaring X’s love for Y make this more realistic lest I think it’s some kind of a heaven on earth. I am lucky that there is no one here today, so I have the whole wall for myself. The white fog disburses murkiness on the uneven ground giving it an impression of a Bollywood dream sequence. The sun comes out on the side of the courts and flaunts a luscious orange color. There’s nothing as fun as playing tennis, getting your strokes right and hearing the ‘tut’ sound on the wall as if an applause for your play. The feeling is peculiar, at the wall. I feel as if I am the last person alive on earth. There is no one else around, nearer or farther. I tell Cosco to behave herself. But she won’t oblige. She just has to find the dreariest places to run to and hide herself up in confused foliage complete with invisible thorny plants so I get my fingers cut as I ramble to find her, half heartedly into the dark green. And the time passes in a jiffy. I feel water drops on my forehead and the reducing stamina makes me hit the ball under the virtual net more and more frequently. The orange sun almost coincides with the court lights. It will rise up gradually, get bigger and yellowier. It should be past 8 now. Let me check… and as usual I have forgotten my watch. I am tired. This is my last shot and Cosco has gone missing again! Are you coming or do you want me to come and force you out of there? Fine! If that’s what you want. I go fetch her from behind the wall, pack my stuff and move towards the cycle.

P.S: One rainy day, I had this strong urge to go to the wall. I dragged Cosco into it, in spite of her reluctance. Then the unanticipated event happened. Cosco rebounded from the wall and hit the wet wet ground drenched in water. And ya, I accept my mistake, I hit it after it’s bounce. And there you had it! She had come apart and was displaying a slight black chink in her coat. The bright green course hair standing upright and piercing me in the eye, making me feel guilty for my thoughtless, spurred action. Sure, many like her will come and go, but memories of Cosco will haunt me forever, and remind me of the fact “wet tennis ball is a ruined tennis ball.” The last thing you should do, is hit it when it’s wet!!

Splash. Hit. Tut. Crack.

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