Hair, Makeup, Dress

Amayra

My mom shouted at me while combing my innocent hair. They were also first time shocked that after twenty years of my life, someone was literally binding them in a rope-shaped tail otherwise they were always open, attracting dust and particles. Though my life had always been under strict rules, still I had some freedom of expression, freedom of phone, freedom of shopping, and freedom of walking in the park side with my mother. It was not a total dictatorship kind of exercising in my house, sometimes there was fun and enjoyment too. We as a family play together carrom, and I and my father also sit together to watch IPL and FIFA. While with my mom, I play nothing. She was not used to much playing rather she was interested in daily soap.

As I woke up in the morning, I first saw delicacies in the kitchen. My mom alone prepared it and honestly, I bear zero excitement about whoever was coming in my house but I felt extremely happy knowing that after they leave, I was sure to finish all cuisines.

Now back to my troubled hairs. She tightened the roots of my hair and from one end to another end, she had been doing something fishy.

"Mom easy! It's hurting." I spoke.

"If you just sit accordingly, it won't hurt." She responded as if I am pretending to be in pain. "Mom, I have been sitting in this same posture for hours, and now my neck is paining. And what is this? India Pakistan borderline in the middle?"

"Shut up Minal, this is the place for the maang, very soon you will be putting sindoor (A bright-red dye traditionally worn in the hair by married women in India.) here."

"Mom … for God's sake, do not tell me these things, I am already feeling dizzy."

"Drink turmeric milk and you will be fine." She told.

For every problem, she tells me to use turmeric as if turmeric is the only medicine left in the entire world. If you have a stomach ache, drink turmeric tea, for pimples, apply turmeric paste, and last but not least, turmeric for skin glow.

I am so fucking tired to hear this turmeric word that nowadays if my mom mentions turmeric, the first thing that comes to my mind is POOP in the toilet … the liquid POOP, loose motion POOP. Due to this poop thing, I also started to hate Dal curry.

Yuck!

Never mind!

After the half braiding of my hair, she went to the kitchen and quickly made the turmeric milk. She gave me and then began to say about my profession, requesting me that I should not tell that I am a you tuber.

"Do not disclose you are Utuber, few-tuber. You are a trained classical singer and you finished business studies." That's what you will say if they ask about you or else, I will cut your tongue."

"Is that what father told you to say to me?"

"He told me many things and most important is, you will behave properly today, just like a good girl."

"When did I misbehave?"

My Mom did the braiding of my hair into a fishtail as I saw them. It was not the first time she had taken me into her control but it feels like this time she was on a mission of arranging me like perfect present.

My mom is a typical Desi Indian mother whose lifestyle is simple and sweet and who blindly believes in useless superstitions. Weeks ago, she applied turmeric to brighten my skin and curd to silken my hair. I asked if they are coming to buy my skin or smell my hair. She said they are coming to see you. "See me? Why can't they just see me the way I am?"

"Shut up" Another bang on my head.

After the completion of my hair, she gave me a set of dresses to wear. She had told me clearly to choose red but then I ask her if I have to choose red, why do you give these all?"

"I find all of these beautiful so …." Said she, basically no logic.

Leaving my room and giving myself five minutes to dress up, I pick the bloody, shimmery red one. This red outfit was neither a Cinderella kind dress nor a saree but it was a salwar pajama, deep azure in a color that belonged to 19's. My mother told me this would make me look elegant and define me as a perfect "Sanskari" girl. In my life, I never cherished a salwar suit kinda dress. My life was spent mostly on jeans and T-shirts. Though my parents are strict they never made any objection to my styling.

So just after five minutes, she knocked on the door and I saw her bringing a Bindi for my forehead, an old-fashioned traditional silver-lined earring, and a blush that she borrowed from a neighbor.

I am not used to make up because I was naturally very beautiful. In short, I would say mirrors may break if they see me. Jokes apart, make-up is something which I dislike a lot. The process of makeup includes many things, the foundation, the sunscreen, blush, contour, makeup spray, etc.... these are just a spoiler. "Beauty according to me is being comfortable in your own skin or a kick-ass red lipstick"

"What the fuck is this blush?" I scowled.

"I don't know, it will just make you beautiful, that's all I know."

"Who said you? That fat flirtatious lady?" I asked my mom while she kept applying it to my cheeks.

"She applied on her daughter and now look she got married to a rich businessman instantly." She replied.

"Ya definitely, he must have been shocked on the wedding night and that's why they got divorced after six months," I answered with confidence and she shut my mouth with a 'shut up' again.

The only thing my mom knows is how to shut me up. Almost of all of my questions and replies, she gives me an instant answer which is "Shut up". Before her you cannot utter a word also.

"They shall be coming soon, tell me how will you greet them?"

"Mom, I guess it is the hundred times you are asking me the same question …" I rolled my eyes in discomfort.

My parents do not care how much the world has exceeded in its modern terms, they will still stick to past rules and rituals. Since morning I saw my mother, chattering the same line; she thoroughly explained to me the accurate posture of the body and the perfection of my hands for the delivery of "Na-mast-e".

She told me "It's not just only Na-ma-ste but you must fold your hands so that your elbows make a 180-degree angle, including your smile in a way making your white tooth visible."

C'mon mom, in this era who accepts namaste? Nowadays we shake hands. "I will tie your hands forever if you think of shaking hands, you will do as I instructed you." She said so aggressively that for a moment I sparked out.

"They will ask your hand today, do not let your father's pride go down, do everything properly. You will bring the tea from the kitchen, keep it slow, and first serve it to the boy's mother then father..."

"And then to that idiot who is coming to ask my hand." I cut my mom in the middle. She dilated her eyes in anger.

My mom left my room after making me exactly like a clown. She also locked the room so that I could not escape. I spared a look at myself in the mirror to discover how ugly I was looking. My new Avatar is similar to a "Bhartiya Nari". The long fishtail braid with a mini road in my head did not compliment my look at all. Also, the dark kajal in my eye and red matte lipstick did not make me look lesser than Annabella. I hope this feature of me did not dread them away. Since the room was locked and the phone was also not available to me, I had nothing to do except lie on my bed. My mom took my phone away early in the morning when she came to wake me up.

She is very calculative; she knows I might spend hours on the phone which may delay me in getting ready so she took the phone.

CLEVER!

She had also taken my pillow to prevent me from sleeping and the only thing she gave me three days back was a cooking book. She told me to mug up everything before I go to my in-law's house. Seriously, am I here to mug these up? During my graduation days, I hardly finished reading two books on business studies and this is a cookbook…..

LOL!

"I wonder how long these guests will take to come. Are they coming from mars?" I spread my body on the bed and just silently watched the incredible fan moving. One particular thing that I noticed above was the dust attached like a worm in the fan, perhaps only Desi middle-class Indians would know about this innovative thing.