Beauty business
 

by Kalpana M. Naghnoor

The beauty business has always had a hold on women's lives, much to the chagrin of their spouses.

Women from the time of the Harappan and Mohenjo Daro civilisations were known to use Cinnabar as a balm and beauty emollient for their lips, and Collyrium for their eyes. Ivory combs were neatly tucked into their hair, as a beauty effect. It is no wonder that foreign business houses are flooding the country with their expensive products.

The sales gimmicks used make for amusing reading and watching. They justify the cost, they justify the chemicals, they justify the need to be indulgently vain. We women love it, much to the chagrin of our spouses.

I was at this party where a certain 'Sam' was eagerly awaited. Having made a late entry, I was a little at sea as to who Sam was and why his arrival was so eagerly anticipated. But I was making up for my tardiness by being helpful to the hostess, and Sam was not on my list of priorities. Finally Sam arrived in a bag and was deposited somewhere in a corner, much to my puzzlement. It turned out to be 'SAMM' and not 'Sam' as I had thought. 'SAMM' stands for 'Skin Analysing and Magnifying Machine'. That explained the eagerness.

A few days later, amusing myself with this particular recollection I heard the doorbell ring. Languorous from the retrospection and still smiling, I didn't answer the doorbell. I let the maid do it.

The telephone rang at that moment and I just had to lift myself and take the call. It was a dear old friend, and the supine pleasure of having another few lazy moments with which to fill in the next twenty minutes, I lay back indulgently on the settee.

The maid handed me a visiting card.

The name on it was 'Hema'. Beneath the name was written, 'Beauty Clinique and visiting beautician'. I was impressed with the sophistry in the spelling. I walked to the door to see who the caller might be and I almost dropped dead! It was my ex-maid. She stood smug. It was her way of telling me that she had crossed over to greener pastures; that her choice of words could give me the run for my money.

She smiled seeing her visiting card in my hand, and by the look of the cordless in my other, she could tell who I was in conversation with; she knew me pretty well. She smiled. "Tell her about my new venture," she urged. I relayed the information to my dear friend. I heard a squeal across the crackling line. I had had enough for the day and I called off. Then finally I gave Hema my full and complete attention. I made polite conversation and promised to call not just for her services, but a complete make-over.

We both knew there was no truth in that. Hema will definitely know that I won't ever call her and I know from past experience that she cannot deliver.

But the beauty business is so very much here, that it will make many beguiles appear necessary. Life is a stage, so get the make-up!

- Deccan Herald