Just the Way You Are Page 6

  I pushed open the glass door and the strong scent of musk pushed its way up my nostrils. A girl stood in the doorway against the portrait of a shirtless chap flaunting his extra-wavy hair and muscles. She was the receptionist and looked quite inviting. ‘How may I help you, sir?’ She had a thick, accented voice. She smiled into a perfect crescent, showing a radiant set of teeth. I gulped. My feet were giving away.

  As I began to speak, I felt my tongue rolling against my palate and ended up fumbling. After a moment of silence I took control and managed to speak, ‘I am here for a haircut and a facial.’

  She smiled. Probably thinking that I looked like another desperate wannabe!

  Then she said, ‘Okay, great! I would request you to wait here for a few minutes. All our hairdressers are serving other customers.’

  ‘Okay.’ She showed me down a well-lit corridor. The walls were pasted with posters of men and women with similar extra-wavy hair and showing the right muscles and curves. I walked to the corner seat lounge. All other seats at the other end of the waiting lounge were occupied with girls. Almost all of them looked the same. Or perhaps it was my eyes. All of them were sexy with glistening legs. I cursed under my breath, ‘What the fuck! What more do they need. Why at have they come here at all?’ It was absurd. All were decked to perfection and looked as if they had already had whatever nose job or pout job was to be done. Honestly, girls in Delhi have nothing else to do and are obsessed with beautifying themselves. At a certain point I did contemplate on falling in love with such a girl who would spend twenty hours of the day in the parlour itself but then maybe I didn’t want that. I was just being desperate; as Gaurav said, I needed to get laid, that’s all. The sofa in the lounge was so soft that I almost slipped into its depths and it made a squeaky sound. Some girls turned around and smiled. I smiled back meekly, thinking that I had lost my chance with any of them. I must be looking like a dumbass!

  When I had had enough of staring at the girls, I lay there sinking deeper into the seat and ruminating like a hungry cow. I had nothing to do at this hour and the line was never-ending. The customers were not ready to move out of their seats. After every facial another pedicure was lined up and then some steam therapy. Spa, yes, that’s what they call it. It was taking an eternity. I tried to pick up a magazine and flip through its pages. It didn’t interest me in the least. Just then a guy came out from inside one of the chambers. He had a chiselled face with muscles cutting into his electric-red T-shirt. His face glittered like ice and for a second I thought that men could be beautiful too. Suddenly I became self-conscious and tilted my head to steal a glance at my own face in the mirror on the side. It was the same boring face, with a lopsided arc for a mouth. I looked dark, with the soot of all of Delhi pasted on my skin. And on top of that, the blackheads on and around my nose made me look pitiable in my own eyes. Seriously, I needed a big makeover. Big with a capital ‘B’. Gaurav was right. Why would girls like me, of all people, when there are such studs flocking around the city wearing ripped T-shirts and zooming off on bikes. I had bad inferiority complex and was sulking.

  I was called after about ten minutes more. I went inside. It was a huge chamber with life-sized mirrors on the walls. The guy who had called me in gestured for me to sit on a large chair. I could almost sink into it and never come out. He started with tying a band on my forehead and pulled it tight. I thought I would crack my neck. But then I saw almost everyone—men and women alike—had similar bandanas tied around their heads. It was so that the cream from the facial would not seep into the hair. He took a thick dab of L’Oreal facial cream in his palms and applied it gently on my face. In the mirror in front of me I could see girls being given similar massages. I had the urge to get up from my seat and join the masseur as his assistant. At least that way I could strike up a conversation with one of the girls. But after a moment I felt like a desperate fool. As if someone had inflated a balloon to its full size and then left its mouth open to a miserable puncture. After some time he stopped the rotating movements of his hands on my face and I could instead feel a vibrating corrugated plate on my cheeks making a strange buzzing sound. It felt as if little insects were nibbling at my skin. I now understood the secret of beauty for men and women alike. It was far more important to look beautiful than to be beautiful.

  After the facial was done, another guy, this time with a silky black apron tied around his waist, came and held my head in the the crook of his arm. He held my chin and cradled it in a different direction to see how ‘hairy’ I was, at least that is what I assumed then. And then gave a click of the tongue as if struck with the knowledge of the secret formula with which he could change me into Adonis overnight. He brought an iPad and asked me to flip through the different hairstyles on offer. But I couldn’t decide on what I wanted. All of them looked alien to me. As if any of those hairdos would suit any Tom, Dick, and Harry but when it came to me it would certainly suck. He then took charge with a sardonic smile and started running his fingers along his scissors. I murmured ‘Bhagwan’ under my breath, apprehensive in case the hairstyle went wrong. It took him over forty minutes to ultimately showcase his talent and flaunt it with utter indifference. After all, it was a trick he performed daily. ‘There you go,’ he said. ‘I almost always know how to make a star out of a cucumber.’ ‘What?’ I asked, thinking I had misheard. ‘Never mind,’ he muttered, and glided like a ghost in black into another direction, merging with the crowd of anxious customers. ‘Never mind,’ I repeated to myself and looked into the mirror. A boy came in with a big brush and cleaned all the hair from the piece of silky cloth that still covered my front. He brushed my neck and blasted hot air from a hairdryer onto my face to rid me of the remaining small hairs stuck to me. Only then could I see my face in the mirror. I looked different, there was no doubt about it. I looked perfect. The sides were trimmed with precision and my sideburns gleamed like sharp blades. My face looked longish. I no longer looked like a ‘bhaiya-ji’. I thanked God while I headed to the reception to pay up.

  I proudly came out of the inner chamber, looking at the girls and passing conceited smiles to them. They seemed to notice me too. My heart did a jig inside and I felt my balloon inflating confidently once again. It couldn’t be punctured anymore. But then there is always one or the other shock awaiting me after a period of relief and comfort. This time it was at the reception table as the receptionist handed me the bill.

  ‘What? 3000 bucks? What for?’

  ‘Sir, you can check our price list. It was for the haircut, facial, bleaching, and massage. We can offer you a 10 per cent discount. Corporate discount. Are you working or a college student?’

  ‘What do you think I’d be?’ I gave her a mocking interrogatory look.

  ‘When you came here earlier, you looked like a working professional but now, you look like a college student.’ I sensed some insult against me.

  ‘What do you mean? I am working. And this is my office card.’ I showed her the card. She seemed satisfied then. Rs 3000 was the only way out at that moment. I felt like digging the notes out and throwing them at her face. That would teach her and her staff some manners. I pulled out my wallet from my pocket and checked the notes in it. It contained only had Rs 200 and some change. She craned her neck doubtfully to look into my wallet. I turned around and flipped out my debit card. I handed it to her and waited at the counter. For a second I wanted to spit in her face. I felt extremely unnerved and disturbed. She, however, swiped my card mechanically and pulled out the receipt. I signed it and stormed out. It was only the beginning, I realized. There was a pit of guilt inside my stomach. I had literally splurged and emptied my pockets! What had I got myself into?

  6

  NOW I HAD TO JUMP into the scene and the scene was to be in one of those pubs that Gaurav had asked me to go to. In the circuit of my friends or my office no one knew much about pubs in Delhi. At least I had not heard any of them discussing what they did over the weekends on Monday mornings. I assumed most of them were
either boring and had nothing else to do in life other than sleep or that they were just as unlucky as I me. There was, however, a guy named Mayank who was friendly with me and he used the Delhi lingo of ‘Wassup dude!’ quite often. I thought of asking him if he knew of such places. I asked him at lunch if he would like to accompany me to the pub. He looked at me wide-eyed and asked, ‘Have you ever been to a pub or, for that matter, a discotheque?’ I gulped uneasily and said, ‘No. Never, actually.’ He smiled serenely and patted my back as if he had suddenly become my guru. ‘Doncha worry, dude. Hum hain na!’

  That night itself we landed up at the pub Q-Bar. All I could see was a long queue serpentining its way to the road. I asked Mayank if we had to join the same queue to which he just nodded and gestured me to follow. I saw girls in the skimpiest of shorts and skirts clinging to big, muscled guys like snakes coiled around a pole. The ratio was funny. The bigger the guy, the smaller the girl. Two bouncers stood like sentinels at the doorway, busy checking the people letting them enter. A nerdy-looking guy stood there too, checking the entries and noting down the names and identities on a clipboard.

  As we reached closer, I looked up at the board hung above the doors.

  COUPLE ENTRY—FREE

  SINGLE—Rs1000/- GIRLS—FREE

  I was taken aback. It was absurd. Couple entry was free and a single was charged 1000 bucks! Wasn’t that preposterous, I asked Mayank.

  ‘Dude, doncha know, girls and couples are supposed to be the centre of attraction of any pub you go to. Otherwise any lallu-panju would be allowed in, you see. And who would come to check them out?’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ I gave a sardonic smile. And these people talk about equality in this country. I was thinking about this when the bouncer suddenly held my wrist and punched a stamp just below my palm.

  ‘What is this?’ I asked Mayank.

  ‘A confirmation that you have paid.’

  ‘It reminds me of brothels in movies where flowers are showered on you when you enter and here is this stamp. Modern approach, huh!’

  ‘Dude, why are you bothering with all this, man? Come inside. You’ll find apsaras waiting for you,’ he said excitedly. But I was more excited than him.

  We walked inside. The loud music was ripping my eardrums and there were flashing neon lights. There were many couples and almost everyone was dancing madly, without any rhythm. Some people were sitting on couches in corners of the pub. My eyes were searching for hot girls and I wasn’t disappointed. The pub was full of ravishing girls who were dancing, some with a glass in their hands. Singles like me were ogling them.

  I could never understand the logic of such dancing. I mean, what fun is it at all? Dance like a sensible person if at all you want to dance. The ‘dancers’ were making lewd, jerky movements as if struck by electric lightning and were gyrating without any rhythm or beat. Was this what was called dance? Was this the reason they all came to the disco—so that they could move so repulsively?

  We stayed on the stage in the centre for some time and then Mayank pulled me towards the bar. He ordered a glass of rum for himself and asked me what I wanted to have. When I said nothing, examining the non-alcoholic drinks menu, the bartender intervened and asked if I’d like to go with a glass of vodka with a shot of lime cordial to ease myself. I avoided his question. I found that even the mocktails were overpriced. I politely refused, patting my back pocket and thinking of the 3000 bucks I had thoughtlessly spent the other day. My only consolation was the fact that I had a hairstyle that matched many of those muscled hunks sitting on couches with the girls. If not muscles, I had hair like theirs. It was a relief! At least the money I had spent did some good. I looked at Mayank sipping his drink and thumping his feet to the music.

  He turned towards me and said, ‘They’re free.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Drinks.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. The entry fee includes drinks.’

  ‘Oh. Great, then I will have a mocktail,’ I said to the bartender.

  ‘Which one?’

  ‘Any of them. Whichever is your favourite.’

  ‘Try this,’ and he started preparing a glass for me.

  ‘Mayank, tell me one thing. I was wondering how these people manage this pub. I mean, Rs 1000 for everything, including drinks! How do they make a profit?’

  ‘Dude, are ya kidding me? What has got into your head? Don’t talk like a bloody lunatic,’ He looked at me disdainfully. His lips were wet with rum and he was almost on the verge of spitting a mouthful into my face. ‘I tell you, you’re one nutcase! Why at all do ya have to bother how they manage the pub or how much profit they’re gonna make? If you’re so interested about calculating their profits, why don’t you join them as their general manager? Or you might as well give your CV to them and they may hire you rightaway. That way you could also ogle girls from the counter and keep ogling them your whole life!’

  I felt embarrassed at his outburst.

  ‘Arre yaar, I just asked generally. Why are you getting angry at me? Okay, sorry. I was just curious.’

  That was really a stupid question and I had just asked the wrong question to the wrong person. I mean, why did it even occur to me? I scolded myself and thought for a moment if I was really the odd one out. I could never be in a situation without analysing its unnecessary details. I must get rid of this way of thinking. I shook my head and started checking out the girls dancing on the floor. All of them were pretty and I was desperate owl. I wished I could turn my head 180 degrees!

  Then suddenly there was a sweet voice from behind me, ‘Hey!’ I immediately turned towards it.

  There stood a lovely, curvy girl. She was clad in a shiny golden skirt and a fawn top which revealed her deep cleavage. A bra strap was carelessly displayed across her collarbone. I wondered why so many girls here showed off their undergarments. Was it an open invitation to men? But I couldn’t risk ruining Mayank’s mood again by asking him this. Also, I didn’t want to lose my own chance with this pretty girl. She wore heavy make-up that highlighted her cheekbones and her lips were painted deep red. Her large, expressive eyes were lined with mascara, and she had mid-length straight hair. Her arms and legs were waxed and glowed in the dim, changing light. She must have taken hours to dress up and would have spent her entire afternoon in the parlour. What else did girls do here except spend their time and money in the parlour. Though guys too spent half their day in the gym.

  The girl extended her hands towards Mayank and I could see an ornate ring glinting on her middle finger. She almost stole my breath away and I felt my chest getting heavy.

  I looked at Mayank. His eyes sparkled.

  ‘Hey, Aleena,’ and he shook her hand. ‘What a pleasant surprise! After a long time.’ It was a pleasant shock for me as well.

  ‘Mayank knows her? What the hell! How does he know such a sexy girl? He doesn’t even look all that great.’

  My reverie broke when Mayank introduced her to me.

  ‘Aleena, this is my friend Sameer.’

  She smiled her killer smile and extended her hand.

  ‘Hi, Sam.’

  ‘Sam’? Whoa, that was fast. But it felt nice. In fact, every word she uttered felt like honey flowing from her lips. I had to secure my chance before the moment passed. I grabbed her hands. I suddenly thought of Gaurav as his ghost hovered in front of my eyes against the walls of the bar. He seemed to smile and I felt his words turning into reality. Beautiful girls in beautiful pubs! Her hands were soft and I could, in that moment, drown myself in her eyes. I immediately started thinking of the future. We would be married and have twenty kids and she would still look as ravishing as now. Though our handshake had lasted not more than five seconds, I had already devised plans with her for eternity. She demurely pulled out of my grip and smiled mischievously. I smiled back meekly and felt like a physics experiment gone wrong.

  ‘Hi Aleena.’ And the conversation stopped there itself while I pondered on what to say further. My mouth we
nt dry. She stroked my shoulders and went and sat near Mayank. They were soon engaged in their own chit-chat and I stood there helplessly.

  What do I do now? How do I carry forward the conversation? Should I ask her to dance? Would that do any good? I thought I was going crazy. But I had never learnt how to dance. What would I do with her? I felt like a fool and as if the wires to my brain were cut midway. I was embarrassed and shrunk within myself like a mole.

  Gaurav, fuck you, man! You just told me to groom myself and go to a pub but never told me what to do after that, how to introduce myself to a girl and what to say beyond a ‘hi’. I was stranded midway. Perhaps Gaurav wasn’t confident that I would be able to pass through the test of entering a pub and meeting a sexy girl. I was busy contemplating on my disabilities and cursing Gaurav under my breath and didn’t even realize that my dreams breaking up just in front of me. Aleena was joined by another muscled hunk, whose shirt, it seemed, would tear any moment if he flexed his arms. She told Mayank that he was her new boyfriend and that they had met just a week back. I felt the same balloon puncturing itself with a small swoosh somewhere deep inside. I felt like running away and escaping into the woodwork and never coming out of it. I felt like a failure.

  As usual, nothing else happened after that in the pub. I felt morose and couldn’t say a single word. It was midnight and I had nothing to do. On reaching home, I looked at myself in the mirror and scanned as many defects I could locate on my face, from the oddly placed mole to the jagged vein running down my jaw. And then, when I grew tired of my self-reproach, I shrugged off my T-shirt and flung it on the and buried my face into the pillow. I felt miserable. And with that misery stinging deep in my heart I went off to sleep.