Sitting on this rather hard chair, I'm attracting several stares, some curious, some questioning, all unceasing. I can almost see what that crabby old lady at the door is thinking while she impatiently waits for her turn. Her red lipstick annoys me. So does her propreitorial expression as she catches my eye and continues to stare unabashedly, giving me a highly undeserved appraising expression. I know shes thinking darkly about 'my generation'..how badly brought up we are..or where we learnt to eyeball our elders the way I'm eyeballing her right now. I dont care, though. I sit tight, even though the chair is a pain in the ass, quite literally. The air in the small room is heavy with the smell of nail paint, soap, astringent and shampoo, and for a person with a nose my size, it isn't hard to detect traces of sweat and coffee as well in the local brand of atmosphere. I'm the only woman not treating myself to a pedicure here. Although how much of a treat it actually is is a moot point, I think, staring at the twenty odd women cooped up uncomfortably on chairs similar to mine in a room that was probably built to accomodate a maximum of 7 people. The only thing I can say with conviction about the pedicures they're getting (apart from the fact that they will probably cause the women to die of some foot disease or the other soon..the equipment is visibly dirty..) is that they're vigorous. The staff seems to be trying to compensate for lack of skill or hygiene by displaying an undeterred enthusiasm, as though all their dreams come true everytime they scrub a (usually middle aged) matter-of-factly, housewifey foot that is attached to an equally matter-of-factly, houswifey, not even remotely sexy calf. Which, by the way, is 99% of the time. But today is different. Today falls in the remaining 1% of the time. Today, much to the awkward stiffness and visible displeasure of the regular clientele, two unlikely customers, both American women, have walked in in their typically American working class boisterous manner, creating a small sensation in the otherwise mundane world of the beautician population.The easy, natural superiority complex of the former complements the servility of the latter, making for an afternoon of healthy entertainment that I settle down to enjoy.
"Madam, thoda adjust kariye please", an agitated young manicurist (is that what they're called?) requests my nemesis, the crabby old lady, who is blocking the doorway. She shuffles aside, managing to look as though shes doing the americans a favour as they trail into the room behind the owner of the parlour who, in his demeanour and inclination to excited conversation, resembles a tour guide. Four women, midway through their beauty treatment, are displaced from their chairs to make space for the fair and lovely customers, who are then seated with all the ceremony of a coronation as 7 out of the 10 staffers in the room flock respectfully around them, trying to decipher their accented drawl to figure out what they want. Once that is settled with the accompaniment of several determined, 'born to serve' expressions on the faces of the beauticians, the two women sit back to enjoy pedicures and manicures, the likes of which no customer has ever experienced here. Both have one person tending to each hand, and one each for both feet. Other, lesser mortals, who have gotten only one beautician for all four limbs sit gruffly in the background, pretending not to notice the contrast in treatment.
I look on, bemused. Have things changed at all? Is this the effect of centuries of slavery? Or is this an attempt to forge ahead in the hospitality industry? I dont know..
"Madam, thoda adjust kariye please", an agitated young manicurist (is that what they're called?) requests my nemesis, the crabby old lady, who is blocking the doorway. She shuffles aside, managing to look as though shes doing the americans a favour as they trail into the room behind the owner of the parlour who, in his demeanour and inclination to excited conversation, resembles a tour guide. Four women, midway through their beauty treatment, are displaced from their chairs to make space for the fair and lovely customers, who are then seated with all the ceremony of a coronation as 7 out of the 10 staffers in the room flock respectfully around them, trying to decipher their accented drawl to figure out what they want. Once that is settled with the accompaniment of several determined, 'born to serve' expressions on the faces of the beauticians, the two women sit back to enjoy pedicures and manicures, the likes of which no customer has ever experienced here. Both have one person tending to each hand, and one each for both feet. Other, lesser mortals, who have gotten only one beautician for all four limbs sit gruffly in the background, pretending not to notice the contrast in treatment.
I look on, bemused. Have things changed at all? Is this the effect of centuries of slavery? Or is this an attempt to forge ahead in the hospitality industry? I dont know..
