The Indian Beauty Parlor

Dear dedicated reader,

So recently, I took a trip to the Indian Beauty Parlor.

The band of 7th and 8th standard girls that cling to Priya whenever we walk out into the bazaar and gave us our first tour of Kadod guided us into this new adventure. Divya, one of the girls, explained to us that her mother runs a beauty parlor and since Priya was anxious to have her eyebrows threaded and I was anxious to try this peculiarly Indian method of eyebrow upkeep, we told Divya to tell her mother we would be along after school sometime this week.

The beauty parlor is run out of the upstairs room of Divya’s house. Her uncle is a tailor and sews in the downstairs room which leads out to the street. On our arrival, the mother warmly welcomed us inside and showed us upstairs. The house was built long and narrow, with thin rooms merging together. Upstairs, the bedroom and the kitchen were one.

Of course, in India, an appointment for a simple eyebrow threading is so much more than the impersonal delivery of services and receipt of payment. The mother motioned for us to sit on the edge of the bed and sent Divya out to get a 7 up from the store. We protested, but she insisted. The house was modest, a little dark, but very clean. The mother began to explain that Divya’s father had died, so it was just her and Divya and the uncle. The uncle came upstairs excitedly to sit, interrupting the sober mood that this news had created to swing his leg over an empty chair and announce, “I learning English in South Africa, three years!”

Startled, I nodded, raising my waiting eyebrows to show I was impressed. “Wait, I get my passport!” He dashed off. I stifled a laugh.

He quickly returned with his crisp Indian passport and handed it to me. “South Africa, three years,” he said again, gesturing that I should open it.

I did. Inside were visas to Mozambique, Botswana, Malawi, and South Africa. “Wow,” I said, truly impressed. “What were you doing there?”

“Import, export. Tailoring,” he said, proudly.

“All three of us have passports,” Divya’s mother added in Hindi, brimming with pride. Family photos were produced to share the trip to South Africa to see Uncle working in his export shop and pictures of Divya when she was little. Divya’s aunt also lives in Toronto, apparently and postcards were produced as proof.

“You like monkeys?” I was asked suddenly by Divya’s mother.

“Um, I’m very afraid of them,” I replied in Hindi. The family motioned for me to come out onto balcony. Across the street were two, small black faced monkeys. The uncle began to throw them chapattis from the balcony and all three took delight in my obvious terror. “Don’t worry,” the mother said, “They don’t come here.”

After this short diversion, it was time to get down to business. She gestured that I should sit in the chair she had appropriated for this sober purpose. She pushed my head back by the forehead and guided my hands to hold my skin taut so that she could begin her work with precision.

Eyebrow threading is a South Asian art form – it is like waxing, except that it is done by taking a sewing thread and folding and twisting it such that a triangle is formed. One end is held in a mouth and the other two ends are held in either hand. The triangle is then slowly closed by pulling on the ends around the offending hair and then yanked to pluck it out. Despite the violent movement, it is surprisingly painless and in less than 2 minutes, she was finished with one of my overgrown eyebrows. She held up a mirror so I could admire her work. I laughed as I eyed my uneven eyebrows, one caterpillar looking and the other slick and smooth like that of a Bollywood film actress.

The other was summarily dealt with, also in less than 2 minutes, and the mirror was again produced so I could verify my pleasure with the results. I was really happy, though a little embarrassed that something like the state of my eyebrows could have an effect on my emotional state.

Apparently, Divya’s mother does all kinds of things, like mehndi (henna), arm waxing, and facials, though Priya carefully instructed that if I were ever to get a facial I would have to ask for no bleaching, as skin whitening comes as part of the package. Like I need to get much whiter…

After Priya’s eyebrows had been similarly taken care of, we sat on the floor of Diyva’s house and chatted happily with her mother as the girls worked on their homework around us. Before our departure, I asked how much we owed for the service she had provided.
“Oh, nothing!” She replied.

Priya made a face and said, “Please don’t do this with us. How much do we owe you?”

She laughed. “10 rupees, only”. (43 rupees = one dollar).

Priya again insisted. “That can’t be right,” she said. Divya nodded expressively and told us that yes, this was the customary price.

Unbelievable. This year will be the most my eyebrows have been ever cared for, I feel sure.

Best,

Cat