So, this is where we rant about (among other things) -
having to head back home.
We south Indians have this curious tradition of getting a girl to stay at her mom's place from the 7th month of her pregnancy until the baby she has delivered turns either 3 or 5 months. This practice must be outlawed.Banned. Set to fire.Banished. Made to stand under the hot raging sun of the Thar desert, and then cooled with Co2 ( a la Golden Eye) so that it smashes into a million (nay) zillion different pieces.
It is one thing to say you are getting married, and go live elsewhere. It is a totally different thing to experience the same bliss you used to have prior to marriage for 7 months, be extra pampered - because now, you are a "to-be" mother in addition to "ye ghar ke kaam to apne ghar main karne hi hain, ab aaraam karo" and then, one not-so-fine day head back home with the new born and its 35 suitcases worth of luggage back to the marital home. *sigh* no one to wipe the baby's potty but you, no one to soothe its cries or restrain you from stuffing it into an airtight container to stifle its constant bawling, no one to play with it, while you watch your fav movie.
The bloody tradition must be fed to dogs I say.
Whoever the hell invented it, was a sadist.
Here, you had a perfectly settled person, resigned to the fate that she should call the house she spent an eternity in, the "mom's place" and the house that she lives in for the last 1.5 years as "my home" and then she plucked from that resigned state of mind and left to wander around in paradise of the "mom's home" as happy as a monkey in a banana orchard, and just when she was this close (-><-) closer than that actually, to bliss and divine happiness, you throw her back at "my home" and expect her to be happy to be there and be contented to visit "mom's place" in the next era. Kill the bastard who said this, I tell you. Torture parlors - The bloody "package deals" that these effing beauty parlors have - they must be sent to concentration camps. While yours truly was packing umpteen small clothes into the blasted suitcases all grumbl-y and grinch-y foul mood , the mother decided she wants the moaning and groaning and i-will-not-go-home-i'll-hide-in-the-attic daughter out of her way so she can watch all the serials that the Kapoor duo produce/direct/conjure up; she suggests a visit to the beauty parlor.
Now. all that I wanted was to stop having my eyebrows look like this -
and look a little like this -
Was it just too much to ask? (its a rhetoric - don't bother answering that - not ever!!)
Here I go, hoping to take my mind of the impeding cleaning that the now-bachelor-pad, then a newly-purchased-house would have, and suddenly I'm bombarded with all these "packages" that will transform an ugly me, into a Cleopatra and will save me a princely sum of 500 rupees while doing so. Whatay favor I say!. Suddenly, my eyes have bags under them, they dark circles too. My chin is too dark and I have pigmentation. My hair is too limp and too straight. Oh my legs, they look like green peace would be overjoyed, if only the hair there were trees. Not just this, my eyelashes could be longer, my lips could be smaller, my nose could be smoother and I could be anyone but me.
And I could save 500 bucks in the meanwhile too!!
Whatay offer i say!
What about the other packages?
Well, they dont save as much you see. And the world wouldnt just spin right, if you took them.
What about just experiencing mimimum pain and getting the eyebrows plucked?
The silver surfer would no longer fall for Halle berry, and Galactcus will drain the earth of its life force.
The 500 rupee saving package it is!!
Yeaaa, you just saved the earth, and gave us a nice fat bonus too, you ugly bitch!
and I'm welcomed by the 3 charlies angels, who will be my "beauty assistants" for the day.
Suddenly, my face freezes with all the ice water on it, and my hand is now burning with something searing hot poured on it. I cannot tell for sure if they want to take a mould of my hand for posterity, for I have something covering my eyes. So, while my body decides whether to shiver or suffer, the measures central tendency tell me that - on an average, Im gasp! okay!, suddenly I realise that it isnt a mould they want of my hand, they are in love with the skin on it.
Im sure some pale faced firang wants my skin for himself to appear tanned and healthy. they start pulling it out strip by strip. While I'm trying to come to terms with this fact, my eyes still under that wet gooey substance, which I'm hoping isnt flubber, my feet are pulled apart and attacked with sharp instruments, I'm being scraped and poked and tickled all at once at my feet. Maybe they want to be sure that Im not an imposter, posing to be me. Maybe they want my DNA to be sure.
Suddenly the cool ice leads to a warm blast of air on the face, barely allowing me to breathe, and Im reeling under the sudden temperature change trying to get adjusted to it, thanking the merciful Gods that finally the hand and the face can feel the same thing and commiserate with each other, that suddenly the hand is now subjected the ice cold treatment - again, on an average, Im fine.
Now, I understand the full import of what my Six Sigma trainer meant, when he explained this to us.
Well, I could go on and on about how I saved Rupees 500 (lets not talk about the Rs.5000 that was spent alright? comon, be postive and look at the savings)and got jabbed, poked, burnt, scraped, and a dozen other things in places mentionable and otherwise, but I will save you your 500 minutes by not telling you the fair and the dark details of it all (gory and kaali u moron).
Finally, if you have been brave enough to read until here, go further and leave a comment. i'll celebrate your bravery by replying back to your comment and eating a pastry with your name on the icing.