Is there any girl or woman today who does not have her eyebrows shaped and threaded to perfection, her arms and legs waxed to smoothness, her hair styled, straightened, permed, coloured or streaked , her face bleached, massaged, creamed and ‘masked’?
In Salem, we had just a couple of beauty parlours. I had never been to one, knowing fully well that the idea would have been scoffed at by my grandmother who considered shampoo to be harsh on the hair!
I always wonder when this beauty parlour/ salon/ spa/ wellness clinic culture started thriving and we women embraced it with open arms and large wallets, spending long hours lounging in chairs and couches while girls pamper us with their services. What if we were caught in that vulnerable state? I mean, in a ridiculous garment handed by the salon – held by gathered elastic, hanging loosely upto the knee, our hair tied back tightly with huge clips, our face unrecognisable behind an inch of mask or our feet soaking in warm water in a pedicure sink. But when we step out after a lot of scrubbing, rubbing and creaming, we can’t help feeling good and beautiful.
Beauty queens can wax eloquent on the importance of inner beauty that shone on the wrinkled visage of Mother Teresa, but I daresay they would never trade a visit to the salon for charity work.
I had long thick hair that was oiled everyday with a herbal concoction prepared at home using hand- picked ingredients such as amla, henna, curry leaves, cow’s milk and coconut oil. My aunt removed tangles and plaited it twice a day. Our maid helped me wash my hair with Shikakai mixed in sour curd. A mud pot with burning coal would be kept ready in the backyard. Fragrant sambrani would be thrown in , a cane basket instantly placed as a cover on which my tresses would rest, as aromatic smoke slowly wafted across my scalp, drying it. That was the only time my hair was not plaited and left loose, to cascade down to my hips. I knew no other hair style except the rettai pinnal, othai pinnal and pai pinnal. My hair was healthy without ever having used shampoo, conditioner, gels or serums. But I envied the more modern girls with ‘bob cuts’ and dreamt of chopping off my hair with a ‘fringe’ on my forehead!
As for the face, where was the sunscreen lotion, toner, moisturiser, cleanser and scrub? For the longest time I used green gram flour mixed with kasthuri manjal for my face, as my mother decided that was the best to keep acne at bay. Then, I graduated to Pears soap as it was supposed to be mild and gentler on the skin....in any case, it looked exotic, oval shaped in a light chocolate colour, even transparent, so unlike the solid red and green bricks that passed off as soaps. The rest of the family used Hamam soap – the same soap for everyone and each complained that the other had over- lathered it, wasted it or kept it too long in water. Making it sound as if soaping one’s body is an art. Since we all used the same bathroom, I cautiously hid my soap behind the boiler lest my brothers helped themselves to it. At times, they did, and finding my Pears wet and soggy was enough to start a fight. Once in a while, my mother applied milk cream, gram flour and lime juice on my face.
Once on a visit to Madras for a relative’s wedding, coaxed by an older cousin, I had my eyebrows tweezed. My grandmother hit the roof, reprimanding her for taking a teenager to a beauty parlour and doing things that only film stars did. Besides, plucking one hair from a girl’s body, however tiny, was considered a sin – equivalent to extinguishing a thousand lamps!
In Chennai after marriage, far from my grandmother’s scheme of things, I revelled in visiting beauty parlours and did the works. Not having the courage to sport a bob cut, I kept trimming ‘split ends’ , until my hair decreased in length and made its way up to the shoulder. People who knew me with long hair lamented this undesirable change and kept remarking how lovely I looked earlier!
Since I had straight silky hair, I decided to perm it - after much thought and debate, telling myself that we have one life and what the hell, should we not follow our heart and do the things we desire? I zeroed in on a famous unisex salon that looked like it used only the best and safest products. After what seemed like an entire day of applying gels and lotions , knotting my hair with curlers and loading it with chemicals, I looked at the mirror. Good grief! Was this me? The beautician said in a reassuring tone ‘ You look great madam! What a difference it has made to you!’ I wasn’t sure...if the ‘difference’ was a good one. It felt kind of weird....this was not me. I spent a fortune buying special products to maintain the perm, more chemicals, for sure. Despite following the rigmarole of using special shampoos, conditioners and leave on serums, to my utter dismay, the perm wore off in a few months. And with it went a chunk of my hair too. As if this wasn’t enough, people empathised with me for the awkward phase my hair was going through - neither straight nor curly. And I did all I could to get back my original hair!
For some inexplicable reason, women are never happy with their natural attributes. We want curly hair if we have straight hair and vice versa. We want bigger this, smaller that, better this, brighter that. And we help the beauty business and cosmetic industry boom, thrive and flourish. Botox, chemical peels, dermabrasion, laser hair removal, lip sculpting, micro pigmentation are just some of the specialised treatments offered by leading dermatologists today- that they are exorbitant goes without saying. Yet, skin clinics are teeming with people – especially older women who make appointments several weeks in advance.
As for me, now, I have come a full circle. Only mild baby soap for my skin. Only shikakai powder and henna for my hair after applying herbal oil. I still visit a salon and get basic stuff done. But stopped tampering with my natural, physical attributes. Avoid hair dryer and blow drying. Use a basic sunscreen on my face. Avoid make-up except for kajal and lip gloss.
Above all, feel good about myself- the way I am, looks and all.
Pictures above - first one shot on my wedding day- Sept 15, 1983. Second - when I 'modelled' for a pharmacy co. in 1989. I sigh looking at my long tresses in both!
Pictures above - first one shot on my wedding day- Sept 15, 1983. Second - when I 'modelled' for a pharmacy co. in 1989. I sigh looking at my long tresses in both!
