Lipsticks and little girls


It was a sweltering day, many years ago, when we had the naming ceremony for my baby girl, who was only 3 weeks old.  My mom’s home was teeming with aunts, uncles, cousins and little nieces and nephews, all of whom had come to bless and welcome our little bundle of joy.

I received hundreds of tips on being a mother, and hundred ‘must-know’ things about child rearing, and a dozen versions of who my baby resembled in the family. It was a normal, Indian family celebration.

I was a little tired by the afternoon, and when my mom caught my eye and realized that I was tired, she signalled for me to go in and take a quick nap. I slipped away, unnoticed.

I went and lay down, my eyes closing involuntarily. While still asleep, I heard something. I opened my eyes and realized that one of my nieces was in the room, before the dresser mirror.

I could see her reflection in the mirror, as she made faces at herself, and then tried on one of the lipsticks. Gently opening the tube, she used her finger to apply a dark maroon lipstick on her lips. I could imagine how good and beautiful she felt. After sometime, she quietely slipped out of the room.

Image courtesy – Shutterstock

I laughed, fully awake by then. I remembered how, as a little girl, my favourite game was to play ‘teacher’. The role demanded that I have long hair, and that I wear lipstick.

The hair problem was easily resolved. I found a piece of black cloth from my mom’s sewing kit and tied it around my hair, allowing the black cloth hair to fall over my shoulders to  the front. My students ‘had’ to see my long hair.

The lipstick posed a problem. My mom did not use lipstick, neither did my aunt. But my teachers at school wore lipstick, so I needed to wear lipstick to look authentic. Then I hit upon the idea of using the red liquid that Indian women use to wear bindis (the dots on the forehead). This was available in abundance, so during the afternoons when my gran, aunt and mom napped, I applied generous amounts of red on my lips and taught and educated many children every afternoon.

Lipsticks and makeup were forgotten till high school and university, when my mom gifted me my own lipstick for my birthday. I still remember its shade, copper brown. I still wonder how my mom knew what would look good on me! I used that tube till there was nothing left. 

After that first tube, lipsticks became a part of my life, and over the years I have tried many shades, and have settled on a few that suit me well.

A few years ago, when my son had his school concert, the little girls in his class were all dressed up like pretty dolls and fairies. However, a few girls had their lips in a weird kind of pout. On asking their moms, I found out that the girls had worn lipstick for the first time, and that they did not want for it to go away. I remember how much I laughed that day.

Now, my daughter grimaces when I talk about makeup or lipstick or accessories. She is ‘at home’ in her jeans and tees.

I smile as I look into the future, when my daughter will want to try on lipsticks and makeup. She just doesn’t know it yet!

The Reunion


The school building had stood there for slightly more than a century. Thousands of children had passed through its portals; to meet life and its various challenges.

The school itself had changed with the times, having been strengthened with new blocks, coats of paint and refurbishment.

The school smiled as it thought of the little children in Grade 1, in their new uniforms, afraid to leave the security of their mothers’ hands. The echoes of small and happy action songs echoing off its walls.

The school sighed at the furrowed brows of the Seniors as they solved difficult papers. The school laughed at the din in the canteen during recess.

The school remembered with fondness the first crushes of teenage, and the tricks children played.

The school heard the thunderous applause and hoarse yelling, when important matches were played.

The school saw young teachers, fresh and bubbly, who had loved the school and grown old with it.

The school remembered the graduating batches as they embarked on a new journey, away from its safe harbour.

Today, the school was awaiting the arrival of its old students, who had graduated 25 years ago.

At 10 am, the school watched them arrive. Little girls in pigtails, now transformed into confident young ladies of poise and grace, mischievous boys now wearing formal blazers, and looking debonair. Children who had grown up together, shared their lunches, giggled and fought with each other…..now looking at each other with love and joy and reliving the delightful rush of memories.

The school watched as they visited every classroom, remembering and recalling – voices from the past, their successes and failures, the small joys and misunderstandings. Every class brought fresh memories. As they walked down the wooden staircase, they sang their school song with gusto and moist eyes.

They sat in the classroom and caught up with each others’ lives.

They realized that ‘life had happened’ to each one of them, in many different ways. They shared slices of their lives, both good and bad. They saw grey hair, bifocal lenses, and searched for their childhood pals, in each others’ faces. They laughed a lot, with so much abandon.

One day of each of their childhoods, relived again. Pure bliss!

The school welcomed back her children with happiness and enjoyed the day with them, before they went their separate ways.