Beauty and the beast

*** Warning: Ladies' talk***

Once in a while, I treat myself to a facial or a pedicure at a beauty parlour. I wont include threading and waxing here as they cant be called treats, just essentials to make oneself look less masculine (all that bushy eyebrows and hairy arms).

And today, with all the time till noon to pamper myself, I set out to one in the neighbourhood that a blogger friend had recommended recently and which she said had a lot of girls from the North-East catering to you. I dont know what it is that make me particularly inclined to pretty girls with Mongoloid features as beauty caretakers. The same inclination that made me try out a "Chinese beauty parlour" two weeks back for a haircut for myself and Mira - that had been a wholly unsatisfactory experience since I did not get the U-cut I wanted nor did Mira get the mushroom cut we asked for; it just turned out to be non-specific haircuts by the Chinese proprietor herself, who was more interested in cajoling me to straighten my hair or at least try her array of frightfully expensive shampoos and conditioners to improve the texture of my rough and curly hair.

Finding a comfortable parlour has been an elusive experience ever since the chinky parlour inside the old Harrison's hotel on Sterling Road disappeared when the hotel was demolished to make for a new, swank Harrison's. It had been a favorite with many hostellers in the vicinity though the gals there did a rush job. But they were quiet and did their jobs fast and one could listen to Hindi music on radio and occasionally to some snob talk from fellow, elderly, patrons.

Today's discovery was a similar one and the gals jabbered only to each other in a language that sounded like music to my ears, which I later learnt was Nepali. The threading was not painful and the lights did not blind my eyes. The fruit facial was also a truly relaxing experience (though the fees are nothing to feel relaxed about and I carefully chose one that wasnt too much of a drain on my purse while the girl at the reception tried to coax me on to many a fancy one that she said would do wonders to my complexion) and the massage was the best part. I understand why ayurvedic massage parlours in Kerala thrive.

I felt as a mother of two lil kids I needed this pampering once in a blue moon to help my muscles relax and help me sleep, not out of exhaustion but out of pleasure. I earnestly look forward to this nap at the final stage when the wet pack is applied and made to dry for 10-15 minutes. The beautician gives you a knowing smile as she wakes you up.

The pedicure, opted on a whim, turned out to be an hour-long, meticulous affair that made me almost love my feet at last (the ones I have experienced earlier have been 15-minute jobs that made you feel that no better resuls could be achieved). I respect these women who can accommodate your less-than-wonderful-looking legs on a towel on their lap while they scrub and clean it with a frenzy.

However, all the effort seemed wasted before a comment extracted from hubby dear as I flaunted my feet for his inspection as he dropped me half-way to my office: Kaaka kulichal kokkakumo (Will a bath turn a crow into a stork)??

Cynicism is his forte. So I know better than to be angry.