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I don’t know whether it is because I crossed 30 a couple of years ago, or because there are more ads than ever out there – but all of a sudden, I am noticing a super-abundance of advertisements trying to scare the hell out of me.
Some of them tell me that invisible to my eyes, my skin has already begun deteriorating; that it is darkening (gasp!) and acquiring blemishes and ‘sun-spots’ at an alarming rate. That, if I don’t do something about it rightaway (the something involving walking up to a store pronto to buy their expensive fairness product), I am doomed. As for hair, there is dandruff, hairfall, colour damage, weakening of roots, greying – any number of things to spend one’s life worrying about, and any number of products to help miraculously vanish all of those problems.
How is it that we’ve bought into the myth of the fragile human body that can only be succoured by a cabinet full of petroleum-based concoctions?
When I was growing up, I remember the family cosmetic cupboard usually containing a bottle of coconut hair oil, a container of talcum powder and perhaps some multi-purpose cold cream. Shampoo was occasionally bought in sachets – only for days when one was in a rush. Otherwise, my mother insisted on us using sheekakai that had hibiscus petals and herbs ground into it. The only other things in the cosmetic trove would be my dad’s shaving stuff and mom’s compact and a shade or two of lipstick.
Our bodies were none the worse for it. I don’t recall my mother’s face breaking out hideously after she turned 30. Her hands which had no benefit of hand cream stayed as soft or rough as they had always been. Housework or the lack of it, does more to impact hands than the most expensive cream. My mother’s hair began greying as she approached 30 – like that of her brothers and sisters. Neither the sheekakai that I used in my childhood, nor the fancy shampoos I have tried since then, can prevent my hair from following this genetic destiny.
The solicitousness with which we are constantly asked to approach our bodies is the reverse of what we were taught as kids. When growing up, I was always given to understand that what went into your body was of critical importance – hence the importance of eating fresh food, cooked simply and healthily. Traditional food rules play an important role in enforcing good habits in most Hindu communities. For girls as well as boys, the importance of having a strong body was emphasized – “Stamina” was a word I heard often. The unstated messages always were that adult life involved plenty of work, and the body had to be well-prepared to do it. However, nowhere did I hear that the body was a fragile thing, demanding indulgence and the support of products.
Today, we’re moving to the other end of the spectrum, where we believe that we must first take care of the outsides of our bodies, and anything wrong with the inside can always be corrected with medication!
One of the strangest manifestations of this approach is the injunctions against towel-drying your hair. Ads for every hair product (and content in women’s magazines – since there is often little difference between the two) implore one to treat one’s scalp ‘delicately’ and not dry it vigorously – your hair might fall out! As for me, one of my fondest memories from my childhood remains that of having my hair firmly towelled dry by either of my parents, while in a pleasurably half-sleepy state.
(I am tagging a few friends that I believe might be interested in the topic – Lavanya D, IHM and Uma – and of course, anyone who has thought about these things – do share your views and pass on the tag if you like!)
Founder & Chief Editor of Women's Web, Aparna believes in the power of ideas and conversations to create change. She has been writing since she was ten. In another life, she used to be read more...
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Rajshri Deshpande, who played the fiery protagonist in Trial by Fire along with Abhay Deol speaks of her journey and her social work.
Rajshri Deshpande as the protagonist in ‘Trial by Fire’, the recent Netflix show has received raving reviews along with the show itself for its sensitive portrayal of the Uphaar Cinema Hall fire tragedy, 1997 and its aftermath.
The limited series is based on the book by the same name written by Neelam and Shekhar Krishnamoorthy, who lost both their children in the tragedy. We got an opportunity to interview Rajshri Deshpande who played Neelam Krishnamoorthy, the woman who has been relentlessly crusading in the court for holding the owners responsible for the sheer negligence.
Rajshri Deshpande is more than an actor. She is also a social warrior, the rare celebrity from the film industry who has also gone back to her roots to give to poverty struck farming villages in her native Marathwada, with her NGO Nabhangan Foundation. Of course a chance to speak with her one on one was a must!
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The arrays of workstations were occupied by people peering into their computer screens. The clicks of keyboard keys were punctuated by the occasional footsteps moving around to brainstorm or collaborate with colleagues in their cubicles. Most employees went about their tasks without looking at the person seated on either side of their workstation. Meenakshi was one of them.
The thirty-one-year-old marketing manager in a leading eCommerce company in India sat straight in her seat, her eyes on the screen, her fingers punching furiously into the keys. She was in a flow and wanted to finish the report while the thoughts and words were coming effortlessly into her mind.
Natu-Natu. The mellifluous ringtone interrupted her thoughts. She frowned at her mobile phone with half a mind to keep it ringing until she noticed the caller’s name on the screen, making her pick up the phone immediately.
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