In our daily read today, a columnist investigates how much of her life she’s spent getting rid of the hair on her body.
If you are an Indian woman above sixteen, chances are you have an elaborate defoliation ritual involving parlour visits, hot wax, lasers, razors, tweezers, bleaches, prayer and a hundred other “promised” cures.
If you are an Indian woman who is on the “regime”, chances are you’ve changed your mind about what to wear at least once in the last month because there’s an unexplained 5’o’clock shadow somewhere on yourself.
That’s why Beejoli Shah’s column resonated so much with us.
Feminism and the patriarchy notwithstanding, I wax, shave and thread myself into oblivion for two reasons. One, we discuss loudly – in women’s magazines, over boozy brunches, and all day every day on Gchat: sex. The other, we don’t discuss because it’s awkward, uncomfortable, and snaps most of us right back to the elementary school playground: without a wax, we risk being openly mocked for looking like a distant relative of the Bearded Lady.
Even the cover image to her piece – that of a unibrowed Kajol- bought back memories of a time when we hoped against hope that being “hairy” will be back in fashion. Alas it was not to be. So onward to calendars and painful treatments then. A girl’s got to do, what a girl’s got to do.
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