No, no, you dirty mind you, its not what you’re thinking. Its the face. Every square centimetre of which seems to have suddenly decided to erupt huge white tipped pustules, much like the Himalayan range of snow capped peaks. No, not a nice analogy. The Himalayan peaks are cool and pleasant to the eye. These make me want to get into purdah. And strangely enough, it is only the left side of the face that is so afflicted. And painful. Ever felt the throbbing pain of a humungous pimple gathering up pus and bad things under the dermal layer, and becoming invincible to meagre weapons of assault like Acnil and Clearasil and Retino A and all that I might dare apply to quell its intensity. The left side of the face feels like it is on fire. The child looked at me in the night and screamed in horror, seeing the dotted landscape. The anti pimple daubs are working better than any birth control could ever hope to. The husband is keeping an arm and a leg’s length away from me. Maybe this is the solution of all population problems in our country. Ask all the women of fertile reproductive age to put on pimple cream in spots all over their face.
After all this dotting and daubing of remedies and application of multani mutti face packs exotically called koalin earth and rose water combines in green jars from a company that has made a dame of an environmentally conscious beautician, and peel off enzyme masks from humbler companies with no environment consciousness, just a lot of bottomline consciousness, which is also a very relevant consciousness from the point of view of those employed there, the situation doesnt seem to have got much better. This morning I awoke to find two mounds grinning cheekily at me near the temple, and the biting pain that makes me wonder if the entire face is just falling apart.
I now have visual evidence that not only is my mind still stuck at age 16, my face is too. Never mind the body. Maybe, this is a regression that goes downwards and the body will follow suit. Ofcourse, would kill to get back to the sixteen year old self, which in retrospect was divine, compared with the triple stomached, diagonally challenged hipline and gravity inclined bustline one has been reduced to now.
What could be the explanation for such a furious spate of acne encrustations suddenly afflicting my hitherto clear skin? Them polycystic ovaries could be going haywire on some hormonal overload. That could be one. Am not even going to get myself back to the gynaec, have had enough of three holes being poked into self to drill and cauterise them, only to have them sprout right back again. The second explanation could be the very sad situation of being compelled to travel by public transport, in this muggy weather where sweat is pouring by the gallon down from the forehead and congealing in pools in the sockets under the eyes. But then that begs the question, why this preference for the left half of the face. A simpler explanation might be the side I sleep on. But I sleep on my back, and if I am called into put your arm out and hold me (for the offspring not his progenitor, wouldnt have an arm left in the first place, should it have to carry the weight of his head through the night), I turn to my right.
Anyway, having beaten myself to a pulp trying to find explanations and remedies for this strange affliction that seems to be striking me in my middle years, I have given up. And just trying to find a cure for it. So here I am, sitting in the office with daubs of Lacto Calamine dotted all over the left half of my face. I am nothing, if not shameless. And ultra vain. And yes, the stray dogs were yelping in fear and leaping out of my way as I made my way up here.
If all this fails, might just have to veil that face, and become mysterious and alluring and exotic. And very very scary. Miss Havisham, you think?