Somewhere in one of my dressing table cabinets lies a pouch that has been almost untouched for the last half a decade. My little one is prancing all around the house. She chances upon this big plastic pouch during one of her treasure hunt sessions- I call them so because during these she becomes a masterful explorer foraging through every nook and cranny of our house, discovering little forgotten treasures. Like a keychain I have preserved as a memory of childhood trip. Or a silver pendant my mother got for me from Agra. Pearl set gifted by my brother from his first trip abroad. One remaining anklet from my favorite pair. A heart shaped pen drive gifted by my one and only which has long ceased to be functional but serves as a lovely reminder of how much I was missed in my absence. My worn out college ID card with an embarrassing photo. A little pocket diary with scribbled notes and to-do lists from busier times in my life whose pages never fail to bring a smile…
My daughter\’s chubby little hands have the knack for discovering those little things that may seem insignificant to anyone else but can cause huge waves in the vast ocean of my memories. During one of these treasure hunts she discovers that plastic pouch full of bottles of nail polish. And you are wondering why am I making big deal about nail polish? Because sometimes seemingly insignificant things like these reveal a lot about a person. Atleast in my case my relationship with this superficial coat of colour has somewhat been a barometer of the person I was at that point of time in life. As a teenager who didn\’t exactly like makeup, nail polish was my only indulgence; probably the only cosmetic found in plenty if one raided my cupboard. I spent great deal of time and energy in shaping my nails and like a bizarre co-incidence they reflected my personality at that point of time; all rough edges rounded off to give a smooth appearance, often painstakingly polished and coloured to give a pleasing vibe to the onlooker, expecting an instant nod of approval. I mostly chose nude and muted colours and they reflected my desire to blend into the crowd rather than stand out. As I got married beiges and mauves were unintentionally replaced by pinks, reds and crimsons- the colours of romance and passion and desire. This temporary phase lasted just a few years as did the naive notion about delicate soft hands with long fingers and glossy well shaped nails being symbol of feminine beauty and grace. As I grew older it was slowly replaced by a mature, worldly wise take on beauty and attractiveness. And things like nails, hair, skin colour or body type had very little to do with it. Superficial beauty didn\’t appeal to me as much as the deep inner beauty of any person in front of me. This was followed by rebellion. I began to view beauty products with contempt and entire cosmetic industry as an evil opportunists; cashing in on vulnerabilities of millions to make a profit of billions. It made me angry why people should spend time, money and effort in enhancing one\’s appearance in myraid ways when natural looked far more beautiful to me. As if to conform to this more realistic take my nails were now neatly trimmed and devoid of all false colour, unpretentious almost mirroring my instincts and beliefs . As life moved on and my kids came into this world, the irreverence towards beauty products turned into complete irrelevance and finally indifference, all thanks to shift of priorities and lack of time that generally comes with parenting. All my old nail polish bottles in varied hues that I had collected over years but had used very little now moved into a single big plastic pouch, to remain there for years to come. A completely forgotten entity not discarded only because they were gentle reminders of times gone by..
My daughter has opened the pouch now and playfully extracted the bottles one by one; the beiges, mauves, reds and purples; Sometimes two bottles of same colour announcing my predictable choices, a lone blue or brown which surprises me and makes me wonder as to when I bought them. She picks up a bright golden colour and begins applying it everywhere. On her nails, my nails,her father\’s nails( as he beams with joy on unusual splash of colour adorning his hands thanks to his over enthusiastic toddler). Soon it is everywhere. Her hands, legs, dress, the bedsheets, toys all covered with a layer of golden nailpaint… Like some fairy has absentmindedly sprinkled magical pixie dust everywhere. After a while my little angel has fallen asleep and I am putting everything back into its place when a bottle of baby pink nail polish catches my attention. How long has it been since my bare nails has seen some colour? Was it at the last family wedding or birthday party? I try to remember but can\’t…
As my daughter wakes up next morning she is fascinated by the bright pink colour of my finger and toe nails. After she has fallen asleep, the teenaged girl, a newly wed, a rebel, a mature woman, a mother have all disappeared into forgotten pages of the past. The one who remains now is a perfect playmate of a two year old… A young girl gleefully indulging in splash of bright colour; not thinking anything in particular and unmindful of rest of the world. My daughter may have dozed off but she has managed to awaken the child within me…
Originally published here:
https://www.momspresso.com/parenting/on-the-trail-of-positive-parenting/article/nail-polish