Things We Do For Love

Long long ago, when I was a strapping young lad of 32 or so, I went through an episode so traumatic that it has taken over a decade for me to be able to come face to face with it. It's time, I have to confront this bitter episode and hope that writing about it is cathartic and I'm able to move on.

<Deep Breath>

I went to a beauty parlour and I had a facial.

What can I say, I was going to get married, my fiancee (now wife) thought it would be a cool thing to do and I acquiesced, albeit a bit unwillingly. Now I'm no dinosaur, I am known to dabble in a bit of aftershave, the odd deodorant and I even get a head massage after my haircut but this was a new paradigm.

So we reach this place and I was seated in the reception tapping my foot nervously, looking longingly at the exit door. But before I could change my mind, I was moved to one of them fancy barbershop chairs in a dark cabin. One lamp hovered over my head menacingly and a tray of assorted items was next to my chair. Primary amoung those was what looked like a pair of dentist's drills.

It was spine chilling.

Was this a trick? Would I have to spill the gory details of my past? Was I to be implanted with a tracking device? Was my decades long escape from a dentist finally over? Despite the air conditioner, I was feeling rather hot.

The door opened, and the Lady walked in. She had a sneer on her face (could have been a smile but damnit I was nervous). She reached beside the chair and pressed a lever and I was now stretched horizontal. She took some paste and started applying it on my face, a cold concoction that felt like the icy calm before the storm, then slowly she wiped it away with a warm towel.

This was oddly nice, I could get used to this, I thought. She did it again, the paste felt soothing, and the seat felt nice and comfortable. I was nearly dozing by the third or the fourth time she did it. Not bad.

Then, I realised something odd, the paste she applied last seemed to harden around my face. My eyes flew open, she said was a face mask and asked me not to talk. I the skin hardened, along with it my anxiety rose. But soon she began peeling it off, leaving my skin feeling nice. I was sure that by now I was looking like Idris Elba.

Heaven.

Eyes closed and sinking back in satisfaction so much so that I didn't hear the buzzing noise. As it got louder, my eyes opened again, wide. She was slowly approaching me with those drills, rubbing the tips against each other, creating a crackling noise.

In my mind I think I enquired politely as to what that device was? But in reality it must have been "Whaasaassttaat???"

"Relax, Sir" she snarled and began applying it all over my cheeks. It stung. I was quivering, I was ready to provide any information she wanted, I'd sign an confession that I  had stolen the crown jewels if  she had asked for. I just wanted it to end. She could see me struggling. "Sir, it opens up your pores" she said. I wanted to tell her it wasn't just my pores that were going to open up but also my bladder! I was too scared to open my mouth.

And suddenly, it was over.

She took a bowl of golden goo and began applying it. It felt nice, my pores were enjoying it too. I sank into my chair, tension slowly easing off. Oddly, I felt like I was in Madonna's Vogue music video, conical bra and all. Hmm. Strike a pose.

The warm towel was back. All was well with the world.

DING DING DING! ALARM BELLS! HOLY MOLEY BATMAN!!

While I was relaxed in a state of semi conciousness, she had began scrapping my FACE OFF with something very sharp. Tears streamed down my face. I sat up and croaked "What are you doing?" 

"Removing blackheads" she replied as she was trying to push me back.

"BLACKHEADS??? LADY! THIS IS A BLACK HEAD" I sputtered, pointing to my head.

She laughed and pushed me back and assured me she would do it slowly and proceeded to work on my nose, ignoring the tears streaming down my face. My nose, like Micheal's, has never recovered from that onslaught. 

The warm towel was back, as a consolation. She added insult to injury by flashing a mirror to my face. 

No Idris Elba. Just me, the now broken man, looking back defeatedly.

It was over. I was over. I needed a warm bed and therapy thereafter. 

I've Vuittoned, have you?

(Wrote this 4-5 years ago and don't know why I didn't ever publish)

Fools rush in where Angels fear to tread. - Alexander Pope

When passing a Louis Vuitton showroom the average Joe might stop, shrug and move on. I, my dear reader, ain't no average Joe. So towards the entrance I walked with a sense of purpose.

Not that I had any intention of buying anything at that moment. It was, how shall I say this, the same reason some people climb mountains because it was a sort of a challenge, a test if I can call it that. Something a man measures himself against, in my case I just wanted to know if I could actually afford something in there.

Vain you think? Guilty as charged.  If there wasn't any vanity in this world, everyone would be driving dinky little Japanese electric cars and wearing Chinese watches.

So there I was, wearing my banker's best, a blue shirt and the company tie. (A Banker's attire thankfully doesn't involve a jacket here in India. Eets Mucho Hawt, see?), walking towards the Louis Vuitton. As I got close I saw this tall dapper gentleman, with the demeanour of royalty standing near the door of the store. When I reached the door, much to my chagrin the dapper gentleman quickly snapped to attention and opened the door for me. Apparently, he was the doorman.

It was at that moment that I knew I was way out of my depth.

The store was very brightly lit, and the lights were more than a little disorienting, I had never been to a large store that had so little items on display. A well dressed young store assistant walked over to me, smiling pleasantly yet giving me the once-over. I smiled back I think, I swear could feel, what had been hitherto a tiny, coffee stain on my tie beat heavily against my chest. It felt like some neon lights had magically surrounding it.

I blathered something which was intended to convey that I was just looking around.  

"Very Well Sir" he said with in an accent-less English. More to get some oxygen into the bloodstream rather than to just look around I walked around slowly, with my hands clasped behind me, he was never more than a couple of feet away. After a few minutes it became a little embarrassing, I had to engage him in a dialogue over some product or the other. The silence was thick. As my eyes searched for something to talk about it fell on the wallet counter. I breathed a sigh of relief. I could talk about wallets. What the heck, how expensive could they be!

I made my way over to the wallet counter and peered inside the glass counter with interest. As if judging my interest, the assistant walked around the counter and pulled a few wallets out. They were nothing special, just regular wallets with the Louis Vuitton symbol all over them as I riffled through them I couldn't find a price tag I wasn't perturbed because I knew that I wasn't going to buy one in anycase, I told him that those wallets weren't quite my style (they were hard..I preferred softer leather, I didn't realise till that moment!).

He looked inside his counter and was very apologetic, there wasn't a soft leather wallet inside. I nodded in the usual way a shopper nods conveying to the assistant that if there was a soft leather wallet then there was scope for some business.

As I was turning an odd thought struck me, I needed to know what these wallets were priced at. So, nonchalantly as I could, I asked him "Oh by the way, how much are these wallets?", to which he queried which one I was asking. I picked a rather cheap plasticky looking thing which I wouldn't be caught dead with and gave it to him. He then looked through his catelog and told me. Rs. 25,000!

My head reeled. A wallet that costs 25 grand? Thoughts ran helter-skelter in my head. What would happen if I had this wallet and I got mugged? Would I beg the mugger to leave the wallet and take all the money? Coz I don't think I'd ever carry as much money as the price of the wallet inside it.

I needed to get out of there, the air around me suddenly seemed to have lost all oxygen in it and I tried not to gasp. I weaved my way across to the counter opposite. There were a few gold trinkets. I picked one and said, nice earrings. "Er...Sir, they are cellphone handles" he said. Clearly I was at my wits end, I needed air..badly.

I nodded weakly and started walking towards the door, it seemed atleast 2 kilometers away.

With great difficulty, I reached the door and it slid open, the ever present doorman at work. As I walked past him, I swear I felt his moustache quiver.

A Letter to Shifrah and Annika

It's midnight and the both of you have been asleep for a few hours now. The reason I write this is not to tell you how much I love you both, I'm sure you know that by now but to share with you some of my thoughts as a father, a young father, well a young-ish father anyway.  When I get older and 'wiser' I'm afraid I may lose a some of the idealism and the restlessness that I now have and it is very important for me to write this down now so that you may be able to understand these thoughts when you grow up.

You are two fine young children and I can see the makings of two fine young ladies and there isn't a day that I am not immensely proud of the both of you. But I can already see that the weight of this world and our society impose itself on the both of you and that worries me.  Obviously this is more so with Shifrah due to your school, your homework and also because you are an elder sister who is expected to grow up just a little quicker than you would have liked.

Before you know it, you would be caught into what we fondly call the 'rat race', despite our words to the contrary you will feel that the world at large (and even us your parents) measure you by the marks that you score or the rank that you get in class.  You will be taught that success in life depends on those very numbers or worse yet, as young ladies, the men you marry.  You will be encouraged to do creative things as long as they are socially acceptable like painting or singing or playing a musical instrument but those too will subject you to a rigorous regime.

With my experience of the both of you, you will rebel at most of these things and then accept, some if not all of these social do's and don'ts, eventually.  We all do.  I honestly do not know if these rules are right or wrong.  I do not know if a strict school or college brings out the best in people or stifles creative minds neither do I know if our social rules, especially the ones concerning young women, protect them or enslave them. What I do know is this, that there is but one life to live and I urge you my darlings to live it to it's fullest.

When I say that it does not mean that you break all the rules and live a life that you generally see in the movies but to live it like you have extracted the best of each day.  Most people I see around me are consumed by some quest or some need, it may be for work, money, fine things, popularity, a fitter body etc.  This quest is ever consuming yet unattainable. I have yet to meet a business man who says I have all the money he needs or movie star who says he/she has reached his/her pinnacle and is done with all the fame.  We move around like zombies, with only this quest in our minds, yet we don't realize the gifts of the world that surround us!

I read somewhere that if life was like a glass jar and the most important things in life family, friends, good deeds were pebbles and the less important things like work, money, fame etc were sand, you need to fill your life with the most important things first, i.e. the pebbles before you find space for the less important things i.e. sand.  If you fill the jar with the sand, there will be no space for the pebbles.

Even at the most important times, things like marks or ranks are teeny tiny grains of sand.  Yet many of us make that mistake of filling our lives with them.  The highest of marks, the best of colleges and the most sought after jobs (or husbands for that matter!) do not guarantee happiness.  Happiness is not something that you get from anything outside yourself, it is within.  There are a few exceptions to this though and mine are when Annika calls me 'Appa' or when Shifrah tells me 'I love you', I can barely contain the tears of joy.

If you have to be consumed by something, let it be that realization that you are given the gift of life, a gift that can only be realized by the sharing of it with others.  Being a part of a society does not just mean following it's rules but also being an active contributor to it and lending a hand to those who need help through thoughts, words and deeds.

Ever since Pattimma's passing away last year due to cancer, I have begun to realise one thing that all that we have in life, our possessions, our talent even our family have been given to us for a reason.  We are not owners of anything but are trustees.  It is for us to maintain them well and to use them in which ever way God intended us to use them. Hence hoarding or being foolish with them only goes against what we should be doing.

Another thing that will happen as you grow is that there will be a lot of guilt thrown at you because none of us can do things the way all of us think we should be doing.  In this, if there was one voice that you should hear and hear clearly, is that of your own conscience.  Realize this that all of us (even the ones that have forgotten their childhood)  some point in time have gone through the same issues and felt the same way too.  I used to think that my parents were very studious in their formative years and they have never had the issues that I faced in school and college. Only later did I realize that Thatha had almost done all the same things that I had done and gotten into trouble in the same ways too.  By the way, one of your great grand mothers had been known to jump the odd college wall to bunk classes by the way.   One of you parents has done this too.  I'm not advising you to follow their footsteps but in case you do, you sadly will not be the first in the family.   When you are both done with college, let us do swap stories of all the things that we have done, till then this is all you get!

Gobsmacked!

It is said that everyday you learn something new, I don't know if it's true but what I learnt today blew my mind away! Invisible Nail Polish! Yes, you read that right, there is such a thing! It makes your unpolished nails look like, well, unpolished nails.

This is extra special! I mean the male equivalent of this would be drinking tap water and calling it an extra mild beer! I know talking about something like this could end up sounding very sexist but trust me ladies I never written a word about the electrodes during a facial or logic of stilettos, hell I have even bravely ignored waxing and phenomenal underarm products but this, is SPECIAL!

Nail polish isn't a big deal really, some form of cellulose and a solvent is all it takes but the kicker is the colour, that elevates the very basic (and dirt cheap ingredients) into something women pay a lot of money for.  If you take that element of colour away from the whole thing then it's basically worthless, UNLESS you can put it in an extra small bottle and price it something obscene then apparently people will buy it.  A M A Z I N G!

I've truly wondered if there ever was a 'widget' (in it's true meaning) sold and boy now I know it's been right in my medicine cabinet! I'm hoping to start a line of invisible mascara...wait... don't tell me there is such a thing too!

My Father to my daughter- Random Ramblings

Earlier this evening I was sitting in my living room with my 3 year old daughter in my lap and both of us were watching a cartoon streaming on my cellphone. My wife was sitting next to us and feeding my daughter and those 30 minutes or so were by far the best moments of my day.

As we were sitting there, I couldn't help but remember the time when my Father was a teenager, living in Madurai, his whole world view came from sitting next to an old radio in the middle of the night, tuning on to the scratchy radio channels from across the globe. I have a vision of him lying down in the middle of the night, on his bed on the floor next to the two foot long valve radio, with a faint green light of the radio helping him navigate the vast oceans he was crossing with each twist of the radio knob. I'm sure he still has that radio stashed away in his attic. I think, most of the things he likes to do were shaped during those idle hours, like his love of rock and roll or his keen interest in world politics, his fascination for any scientific thought and writing. Even today my Father doesn't throw away newspapers or magazines till he re-reads them (which is usually months later) and cuts out interesting articles for his library.

During this weekend, I had the opportunity of taking a road trip with my parents. And like in all our trips we ended up discussing many things under the sun. The topic veered on to education and my father was categorical that the quality of education now across the world was very poor compared to that which was available to his generation. As such he believes that children today are mislead with vocational based education that makes them specialists in one area or another in a quest for being a 'success in life' but he doubted if these kids got a well rounded education.

Honestly, I don't know the answer to that one. in a way I know that my daughter would have access to a form of technology and probably the best of what the educational system had to offer, things that my father could not have even conceptualized in his teenage years yet, it also could be that she would take them for granted and not use them to their fullest potential. I think it's drilled into everyone's head that they need to succeed, though they have a very faint idea of what that success means. I guess 10 years ago, I would have thought that success in my banking career meant a country level role but now that I've reached that I don't see what the fuss was all about.

I realize that whichever period of life you belong to, you are what you make yourself out to be. The benchmarks of success and failure are very personal, they need to be and as for me off-late being a father, a husband and a son seems much more important than any other role that I play in life & as such, my life is full.