Like every other Indian young lady, even I wage a daily war with pimples. I cannot indulge in some funky make-ups, my favourite desserts- gulab jamun, and cheese cake, stay out in the sun for long, shop in dusty/traffic areas, or skip a beauty routine, and I always need to stick to my diet and regime to keep my face spotless and sparkling.
So forget frequent partying, long drives, trekking into the wild and heights, those tempting make-up trends and all the fun things in the world. In short, I too can never live my life free and dauntless. But one incident that really had me in tears and cost me dear happened very recently.
It was my cousin's wedding last winter and I had a live interview for an airhostess' job just two day's later. I could miss neither as the bride-to-be was my favourite cousin, almost my soul sister; and I had put a lot of effort and dedication to reach this juncture work-wise too. It was only a matter of proper planning and time management and I was an expert in it. But one disaster turned it all topsy-turvy.
We all know how grand and gala big- fat-indian-weddings could get. This wedding was no different. Throughout the whole preparation and arrangements my diet went flying out of the window (though I swear I tried to keep it under check as much as I could). The shopping in heavy traffic, the quick-bits of street-foods, staying up late in the nights, the damp weather, the heavy make-up that went to hide all the stress and tiredness evident on my face, and hardly any time for all the beauty-care I usually pamper my skin with, were only biding their time to unleash their terror on me. Add to them all the oily, masala and irresistable platter of mughlai and indian cuisine on the menu everyday for every ceremony lined back to back. I was rendered defenceless.
When the first Big day arrived, I woke only to be greeted by these tiny tiny pink and proud zits mocking at me in the mirror. I could have screamed but the panic and gloom that hit me only had me eyes welling with tears and me hitting the shower to scrub them out and praying it was only a nightmare.
Half an hour later when I could dare look into the mirror again, I was spic and span like a fairy-tale princess, but with those nasty pimples still rooted strong and prominent to give me my reality-check.
My next prompt plan of action had me attacking each one of the tiny intruders by pinching them out and dabbing the spots with cotton buds dipped in rose-water. I felt I had won my battle and went back to enjoy the wedding for the relief seemed immediate and satisfactory. But it was one of the biggest mistakes of my life. By noon, after my cousin was wed and we all had had our lunch and were preparing for her fare-well, my skin started itching really bad and people had even started for those dark red spots on my face. Those nasty pimples were back with a vengeance. They had now doubled in number, and taken a killer-red hue than the innocent pink that they were in the morning. Now there was nothing I could do, than surrender to become immortally pimple laden in the wedding footages, and earn the title "cousin with those big red pimples" by all the beauty queens and aunts on the groom's side.
I let my mother tackle the problem after that to atleast salvage my interview. The pimples reduced, but refused to disappear completely and those that complied left tell-tale scars behind. Of all my charms, my facial features could not impress the interview committee.