Life is about Make-Up

As kids we'd done it.

No sooner did Mum and Dad get dressed for their evening party, of which there were plenty in the Indian Army, my sis and I would get cracking on our plans for the evening.

We loved that feel of chiffon, that sophistication of the pearl string, the whiff of the eau de cologne, the puckered pink lips.

Each time they stepped out my Dad was handsomeness all round, Mum perfection personified.

We wanted that look oh so badly. The minute they put their feet firmly into their two-door Black Standard, reminding us to be good and get to bed early we'd be happily saying goodbye.

Those were the days without television. Even when it arrived, the only entertainment was Krishi Darshan.

Yes, reading books was an option, though not as attractive as making a go of Mom's dresser.

We'd perch ourselves on the stool, staring lovingly into the mirror before starting off with the pressed powder compact, followed by the Kajal. Though the look would be incomplete without the lipstick. We'd pull out one Lakme after the other, paint our cheeks pink, followed by our lips. We'd then pull out one of Mum's many gorgeous dupattas from her wardrobe and make some real efforts to drape it like a saree. Then we'd strike some poses before scrubbing the paint off our faces.

It was all going perfectly according to plan, till one day, Mum and Day decided to head back a good 20 minutes after they'd left. Mum had forgotten her purse. As she unlocked the door of the 63/1 Bharuwala barrack and almost tip toed her way into her room - what does she see?

Two faces, definitely not pretty in pink. Not an amusing sight when you've been guarding your make-up as a national treasure.

Mum was livid and as the shouting began, we nervously tried closing the lipsticks, smudging four beyond repair in the process. We just didn't have time to roll it back before putting the lid on.

That effectively marked the end of our brush with make-up. For the next two weeks, we had our punishment meted out army style. It was being locked in the back seat of the Standard Herald, while our parents went to their dinner dos. Not that we minded that even. We loved the car which called for pulling of seats to step into it. We loved curling up in the back seat with our favourite razais.

Now, our kids do just that. Their pillows, comforters, stuffed toys, cars, Peter Rabbit take up half of the Nissan Latio, effectively robbing it of its sporty touch. That's not all.... each time I as much as attempt to step out of the door for a night out, there are broad grins "Bye Mamma, have a good time."

I thought it was all for TV, till I went to use my lipstick the other day.

A brand new Body Shop buy, it had been squashed in the case. It was beyond repair.

I should have been livid. But all I could do was laugh when Aneesha told me about not hers, but Dhruv's creative brush with my make up.

"He took that stool and painted his whole face brown."
"You did that, Dhruv?"
"Yes, can I show you again?" he beamed, brown with pride.