Monday, 9 January 2012

You need to get away to be you…..

I recently let myself get sucked into the depths of cosmopolitan society. I who never even owned a hair dryer was the doubtful owner of strange contraptions called a hair iron and a thingamajig which promises to rotate on its own horsepower on being held up close to my head and deliver delightful sleekness and curls on demand.

I also now own 14.25 lipsticks (the .25 is the only lipstick I previously owned and brought over) all of which plead with me to try to look like Aishwarya Rai on her latest L’Oreal ad.

I also own (now hold onto your horses) 1)mascara 2)kohl 3)eyeliner 4)blush 5)2 shades of foundation (colors ranging from brown to purply black for pre- and post beach periods).

I also own 20 concealers and a zillion relaxation pills to conceal the wreck that I have become!

Most people wonder at the architecture and construction of Dubai’s towering edifices and buildings. I spend most of my time walking around with my mouth open……staring at the architecture and construction of the women here.

I don’t deny that beauty abounds here in plenty but I also admire the dedication and devotion of the women here to that ever alluring goddess – Beauty.

I stare at the inch long eyelashes seen in all Carrefour lines, accompanied by BeBe tracksuits and Kardashian hair; while tugging my sweatpants into Chanel like cuts, checking to see if I had taken off my showercap and telling myself that the yoghurt on the front of my vest could pass for a double G logo.

However I had an epiphany and one epiphany later was the proud owner of all the above mentioned articles of cosmetology.

And then I went to India for a vacation…………
Where a foundation means a pile of stones…
A dryer is something that unfortunate people with no balconies or gardens use to dry their clothes…
A blush is what you experience when your neighbor catches you desperately hiding the charred remains of the upcoming party’s “blancmange aux fruit trifle” whilst opening a 6 month old canned fruit pudding.
A BeBe is holding one screaming on your hip and clutching another who’s stepping on your toes while simultaneously poking the hip dweller.

Needless to say the epiphanied me was in for a big shock as I saw that dinner parties with pals meant to arrive, eat, drink and make merry – preferably in overalls or an apron (clearing up post merriness wreaks havoc to LBDs).

You reconnect with people who don’t care that slim fits are out but who make the time to read books in old people’s homes. You see friends and family come from afar to see you just to comment on how fat/skinny/tall/short you have become; while carrying your favorite cakes/pickles/vegetables for you, with exhortations to carry back vinegar, rice and spices like you were going back to the Aleutian wilderness back to your career of taking care of wild polar bears.

I roamed the area like a starved wolf hound, ravenously re-absorbing all that I love about life, culture and people. I stared at people doing mundane tasks as ‘come over to give me some coconuts’ and ‘take the whole family of 5 on a scooty to drop into see you’ like I had just been released from solitary.

As I roamed the state with a face as clean as a baby’s, my hair in a purple spotted banana clip and treating jeans and faded tees as haute couture, I felt myself becoming me again.

I guess I may never become a Marilyn but I sure could try to pass off as a Garbo…hmmm