Aditya Kandala gives vent to all the confusion and terror he felt during his first facial.
A time comes in every man’s life when he is forced to do things that he would rather not do; pushed to foray into territories unexplored. It does not take a genius to guess the force behind the feat – WOMAN.
My saga of trial, tragedy, and triumph started with my cousin’s wedding. Mom coaxed me to get a facial done and I soon geared up to embark upon this quest. The journey to the salon seemed unusually shorter as I contemplated my decision… my brows knit together in deep thought.
When I finally reached there, I decided to get a haircut to start with, which would give me enough time to think it over. And think I did. It didn’t seem like a great idea you know…. People generally talk about this little voice they have inside them, the voice that tells them what is right and wrong.
Well, I did find that little voice, and millions of others that echoed it. If that one little voice belonged to a little person, then I am pretty sure that I have a whole country of these little people inside me. They surely will give India a run for its money to become the world’s largest democracy; and boy do they practice their democracy. Never once did I hear the snip of the scissors. Some of these people advised that a facial was an expensive indulgence, and reminded me of my friends’ unfavourable reactions. But the majority thought that I should go for it, and hence by way of voting, I decided to go for it.
I pressed my hands hard on the seat and prayed a silent prayer to the heavens above. It had begun. My man, the barber, started off by first applying a
cleansing cream on my face and thoroughly rubbing it in, making sure that every inch of my skin was covered with it. For reasons unknown to mankind, my nose caught his fancy, and he preferred to shower it with maximum attention, rubbing, massaging, and exfoliating. Only some heavenly pleasure could give man such motivation. He then left me for a few minutes and came back with something new and slapped it onto my face and the rubbing resumed, there goes my nose again. I was getting used to the cold in the salon, but his sweet smelling creams sent shivers each time he slapped them on my face.
Then it was time to bring out the big guns… out came some thing that ACTUALLY looked like a gun. He plugged it in and thrust it onto my face. Again, my nose was under maximum strain. I imagined my makeover, with my nose reflecting light thanks to the rubbing and scrubbing. After this gun, out came a machine that was breathing steam out. And boy was it hot! After fifteen minutes of sheer agony, I felt betrayed by my country and its citizens. Suddenly a cold, wet towel was slapped on my face, putting it on fire. If my skin could withstand such drastic variations in temperature, it could go through anything. Off came the towel and a minute later, when I thought it was finally over, the man came in with a brush and started painting my face with something as I later found out is called a mask. I was left to dry out and mull over life’s irony.
The barber walked across the salon and surfed movie channels, settling for a Jackie Shroff flick. And the irony here, if you are wondering, was Mr. Shroff undergoing a plastic surgery. I surely was expecting similar, drastic results.
I saw the barber from the corner of my eye as he reappeared to check the mask, which, by now, was pulling my skin in all possible directions. Without warning, came ice-cold water in squirts, sending a jolt through my skin. My worst fears came true as he rubbed an ice cube across my face. This sealed all argument, making me want to bomb the country inside me.
After twenty minutes of blatant abuse, I looked up instinctively, expecting lights reflecting and my features shimmering. Though the face blinking back at me did not fit the bill perfectly, his nose did seem to stand out…. the sheen, the shine, the glow… Argh! Does a facial actually make u think like a woman too?!!