Of Pampering Oneself

The general consensus was that I had been through one of the worst traumas in my life.

Initially, I fully subscribed to said general consensus and listened/obeyed avidly as those around me attempted to comfort me and revive my spirits.

I laughed dutifully at the jokes a cousin whom I adored told me to “lighten the situation”. Thankfully, the jokes stopped as the said cousin eventually decamped to the “other” side, even though he had professed to be impartial – but that is neither here nor there.

I listened dutifully as the Madame de Montespan to my Louise de la Valliere rang me at all hours purportedly out of concern but mainly to vent her spleen in thinly disguised catty remarks such as – Would you like me to find you a boy Sunita? Instead of saying F…U and slamming the phone, I explained patiently and sincerely that marriage per se was not exactly my raison d’etre. Naturally, conversations between such diametrically opposed personalities/psyches/specie were bound to escalate into recriminations and tears on her part and much stuffing of one of my Winnie-the-Pooh days-of-the-week handkerchiefs into my trap (look, it was hilarious to me that in this day and age, one could be so … stupidly parochial for lack of any other way to describe it) on mine. Thankfully, my good-sense emerged out of its hiding place (where did you go?! I missed you so!!), and a swift change of phone numbers stopped the unnecessary pseudo-bonding.

I also obeyed, dutifully, instructions from my Surgeon-Uncle all of 10,000 miles away to consult with medical personnel of the “lobotomising” sort, as repeated onslaughts from various regular church-goers who do not seem to practice what they purportedly espouse, brought about physical chest pains, asthma attacks of colossal proportions (such that I had not had since I was a child) and anxiety attacks (such that I had NEVER had before). Thankfully, I promptly lost all the appointment letters.

But the prevalent tag-line was – Sunita you got to PAMPER yourself! Numerous suggestions were mooted, the prevalent one being some sort of edification by route of spa-ification (sigh, look if I could rhyme or write poetry in any form this would have been some sort of poetry blog ok? Just go with it – will ya? On that note, I will take this opportunity to do a shameless plug for my much-talented, much-prettier and loads-smarter poet-sister’s blog. Please do pay a visit to http://nebulasquill.blogspot.com).

And so like a lamb to the slaughter, I went to the spa/beauty parlour.

Although, I could probably decant my spa/beauty parlour experience (henceforth consistently to be referred to as “spa-ification”) into a chapter-long hilarious piece of prose worthy of a Pulitzer (or God forbid, A Man Booker!), in the interest of the sanity of my sparse and meager public – I will heroically desist. Instead I will merely let slip that after 6 hours of being poked, prodded, scrubbed, varnished and fleeced, I emerged with disgusting red-hued nail polish, (whenever I do deign to wear nail-polish it is NEVER any shade of red, I believe my last colour was green. Am a nail-polish rebel and proud of it!) and RM$300 poorer. But most of all, I was utterly disgusted that I had wasted a day that would have been better spent with my little niece, Isabelle, learning the words to Rihanna’s Umbrella (Isabelle would teach me as she is practically word-perfect. Am thinking of getting her started on “American Pie” next, in preparation for a Battle of the Cool Babies with Sol’s Gabby).

Thankfully, though the spa-ification was undertaken in Malaysia so I did not need to beat myself up over the moolah - an equivalent treatment would have cost me a pretty penny in Singapore, although Malaysia really needs to know how to do ‘em Brazillians properly. As is, I felt that ‘em prisoners tortured and deprived of their rights in Guantanamo had it better than an Indian girl with an excess of …

Anyways, it took a little more while of listening dutifully to various parties (Forgive! Forgive! intoned my other Uncle, only 3,000 odd miles away, or so I gathered from his long, rambling several-hour long pontifications. Aside: forgiveness is not an issue, I cannot keep a grudge to save my life, try as I might. Hence the frequent shoe-marks on my person as people take me for granted and utilise me as a doormat), before it hit me. Literally.

A book dropped and hit me on the head.

I was going about this thing in the wrong way. Yes, I was traumatized but not as much as all that. And yes, I needed to pamper myself but I had NEVER considered spa-ifications to be comforting or edifying in any way. At best I thought it a necessary evil to partake in so as not to appear like a descendant of the Yeti (have you seen my eyebrows in its natural glory?) and scare off potential clients. So why was I indulging in a form of torture in lieu of pampering myself?

I picked up the book - I believe it was When We Were Grown-Ups by Anne Tyler (said book that had fallen on my head –duh. Keep up with my rambling will ya!)) and since that day I have not stopped.

I generally am a pretty voracious reader but now I am practically inhaling books. On Fridays, I hit Kinokuniya in an orgy of book-buying Before the week is out, I am done. Lately, out of desperation I have resorted to going to the bookshop on Thursdays, yet even so I run out of books and re-read the millions I already I have.

In my defence, my hermit-like behaviour caused by the said so-called traumatic incident did not last for very long and I have ventured out briefly to catch movies, catch-up with friends over coffee or on a rooftop, even a party or two! Nevertheless, the self-imposed partial-exile in aid of the book-ingestion continues. Heh, at least I will never be constipated :-p You know books are made of paper - a form of fibre. I said I am ingesting said books...OK OK Crappy Joke. I Geddit. Enough with the rotten tomatoes already.

Anyways, I know I have to eventually stop and emerge out of the pile of books I have buried myself under but really I am kind of having a great time right now.

Now, if you will excuse me I just got these 4 books from Kino…