"Asian women never usually speak back!" Part III

I dully stared into the mirror cut off from the squeals and excitement of the young girls behind me as they fussed and clucked over each other. I wished they'd shut up. More importantly, I wished that someone would bring me something to eat. Deep-fried, chocolate, bland, savoury or sweet: I didn't care, just something real I could get my chops around.

I couldn't move my wrists for shit; chained to the table with glistening cuffs, rings and this messy affair spread to my eyes, hair line, ears and neckline.

Glints of light hit the mirror, all the chaotic finery I had on and bounced off onto the walls, wardrobe and the girls's sleek hair

"I'm back! Right, let's get started!"

I jerked at the voice and looked at a woman with large kohl lined eyes beaming down at me, through pearly whites. I watched her deftly flick her long hair over her shoulder and come towards me with an armful of glossy magazines.

Oh God, what was she going to do to me now? Straightening my hair was a big step, I never normally let anyone touch my hair, but this? I closed my eyes and tried to remember every prayer I'd ever heard.

"What do you think of this look?" Pearly Whites asked me. 

I nervously opened my eyes to find myself staring into a glossy double page spread of a girl with her hands defiantly on her waist, game face on scowling back at my chubby face.

Heavy eye liner framed her burning eyes, some photo effect highlighted her high cheekbones and made an under-nourished, gaunt creature look almost attractive. I felt myself sucking in my tyre, hollowing my cheeks and narrowing my eyes to try minimise my bags. I caught sight of myself in the mirror and snorted to myself. I looked constipated. 

I hesitantly said, "Interesting...what do you think?"

Pearly Whites went off on one (honestly, it went in one bejeweled ear and out the other) and I found myself nodding along not knowing what the hell was going to happen to me.

"Great! Seriously, you're one of the best clients I've ever had!" Pearly Whites exclaimed as she motioned me to slightly lift my face. 

The next forty-five minutes, were what I can only describe as assault. Lotions, potions and powders bombarded my face their scents mingling together to form an acrid smell that irritated my nose and made me feel heady. 

The whole time this went on I heard voices. Hisses, cruel whispers, remarks, murmurs:

"She's a bit dark but she has a good heart! I suppose that matters."

"I thought you said she'd lost weight!?"

"At least she has your eyes."

"Where did she get her curls from? Your other daughters have very nice, normal hair."

"Your eldest looks English but complete Desi!"

I'd cried myself to sleep most nights, eaten myself into oblivion which only fuelled the insults of: "Little miss piggy!" and my particular favourite: "Fatty boom boom!"

I'd seen my weight soar, self esteem plummet only to go on starvation benders, feel nauseated, tired and unhappier than before as I sought comfort in sugary treats. I'd bought foundation and powder that was two shades lighter than my normal skin - I was certain that the girl on the till had secretly laughed at me.
I'd read random things online on what makes someone beautiful, scrutinise images of perfectly poised women with full lips, impossibly flawless skin and shiny smooth hair. And then look at the short, dumpy girl with frizz, water retention thighs and a tummy staring back at me in the mirror. I wasn't a bad person; I just didn't look like these creatures.

"Ma, why doesn't anyone see the good in me?" I remember asking her one night, tears streaming down my face as I sat on her bed. "Why can't I look like the others?"

She'd given me a smile, Ma always looked so beautiful when she smiled at me, which lit up her wrinkled face and made her hazel eyes glitter.  She'd taken my hand in her soft, prune-like one and gently said: "You get your features from me. Look at me; I've never been slim and I was always dark. It's our genetics baby, we can't change it. You remember Bally aunty?"

I nodded as Ma continued: "She was the beautiful one out of us. Very slim, beautiful brown eyes - what you call an Indian beauty. She used to win all our local beauty contests so much so, they sent her to Mumbai to enter the real ones. She never won anything, not even the classical dance round."

"What happened?"

"She was too Indian looking and I remember her telling me that she'd fix that. I didn't know what she meant, I just wanted her to be happy. Then one night she came home without telling us. My ma screamed when she saw her and didn't leave her room for days. Pappa couldn't leave the house without people staring, asking questions about Bally."

"Ma....is this why she...?"

"Yes baby," Ma said hanging her head so that I couldn't see her tears. "A beautiful soul wasted because of her tone. They didn't hear her sing, see her do classical dance or the way she loved life."

Ma's beautiful eyes filled with tears as she held my face in her hands: "You have such a beautiful soul, look after it. You are your Nani, your Ma, your Bally aunty: all of us. We couldn't stand up to the insults because no one told us how beautiful we were as little girls."

Ma smiled at me through their her tears and fiercely told me: "We had to hear it and believe it from others who didn't know or care for us. We didn't believe ourselves and what we saw every time we looked into the mirror. We didn't realise how beautiful our eyes were, our long, rich hair that we braided or the way our eyes lit up whenever we smiled or sang. Don't ever listen to what people say you should look like. You know yourself. That's all that matters my baby."

"Well...what do you think?" Pearly whites asked as she moved me to face the mirror. I sat in silence at the transformation.
My curls had been tamed, pulled and tied into a complicated bun fastened with a red, diamante-studded clasp at the top of my head. My Ma's hazel eyes sparkled back at me through kajol brimming with love and belief. My lips were a light shade of rosy pink and for a second, it felt like I was staring at an old photo of Bally aunty. All those years and thoughts wasted on unknown faces of women I had tried to copy; I'd finally realised there was no point.
I had my Nani's chin, Ma's eyes and eye colour, her elegant nose, ears, my Bally aunty's lips and forehead and my Pappa's generous smile. 

For the first time in the months of hectic preparation I smiled and said: "Thank you. I- wow- I don't know what to say...I mean...I didn't even recognise myself."

Pearly Whites smiled back: "Why? You didn't even need a lot to be very honest!"

We heard voices downstairs and the girls ran back in the room squealing: "Come on, come on! You can't keep him waiting!"

I smiled at them and hugged a couple of them as they helped carry flowers, the heavily embroidered hemming and linked their arms through mine as we walked towards the front door where my pappa stood smiling at me. I kissed my nieces' foreheads and gave my squirming nephew a kiss on the cheek. 

Ma was right; we were all reflections of each other. 

"Your Ma would be so proud to see you today," Pappa said after kissing my cheek. "You look so much like her and Bally."

Around him aunts nodded and comments of praise, approval and smiles could be heard as I stepped out of the front door towards my future.