There’s this
object I own
An artefact,
of sorts
Rather plain
to look at
But the envy
of lots
Don’t be
fooled by its name
It’s not
just a mirror, you see
Because it
only shows
The very
best version of me
The kind I
want to be
The kind I
want to look
The kind for
which in my dreams
I am often,
mistook.
And it’s not
just me
My friends
feel it too
One feels
fairer, another, thinner
And one
swears her breasts even grew.
And we stare
at it for hours
Lost in a
state of bliss
Because
without that image
Everything
feels amiss
Try and make
us step aside
And you’ll
see a state of despair
Because how
we dream to look
Is all that
of which we’re aware
We were
told, after all
Since our
very first birthday
That we want
to look beautiful
And beauty
only looks a certain way
So why would
we bother
To even try
to look otherwise
To be happy
with ourselves
And treasure
our bodies – what a vice!
To actually
listen to that murmur
That’s
coming from deep inside
Urging us to
step away
And actually
open our eyes wide
And see that
what’s in the mirror
Is actually
just a trick of a cloud
Blurring the
image that is real
Of the one
we should’ve been proud
But our
response is outrage
Calling out
the murmur on its lies
And we
continue to gaze happily
While we
drown it out with our cries
Because
there’s a small secret, you see
That I
haven’t shared with you as yet
We actually
know all about the cloud
It’s kind of
like our safety net
We put it
there ourselves
To bring our
ideals nearer
So we
wouldn’t have to cringe each time
We decided
to look at the mirror
Because each
time we step away
Is a
reminder of who we are
That we’re
not good enough this way
That the
journey ahead is far
And so we
keep going back
To gaze and
gaze all day
Because in
that clouded image
We feel like
we’re okay
Because the
mirror doesn’t just show
The very
best version of me
But the
version the world’s convinced me
That shows how
I ought to be.
I entered a
writing challenge this week, wherein I was given a word that I had to weave
into my writing. But the thing is, I knew what I wanted to write about long
before I saw the word, because it’s something that’s been nagging me for a few
weeks [*cough* years *cough*] now.
Acne.
Yea, I know.
In an age where we’re faced with countless global problems encompassing
humanity and our planet, the thing that’s been bugging me lately is the little
pimple on my face. Okay, fine, it’s not really little. And neither is it singular.
More like a break out. The kind that’s in [on?] your face. And a little hard to
ignore. Because of the incessant pain. And also because it…you know…doesn’t look so nice.
So, for a
little context – I’ve had acne problems well since my teenage years. It’s the
kind of phase you realize isn’t actually a phase in your case – more like, a
perpetual state of being. A partner in crime, if you like. A shadow. An
incessant pest. The kind of friend you just can’t get away from. Okay, you get
the picture.
And an
occasional hazard of having such visible pimples on your face is that it comes
up a lot in random conversations:
Me: Hi! How
have you been? It’s been so long!
Other: Oh
you poor thing. What happened to you?
Or
Me: Alright,
let’s order some food?
Other: You’re
getting a lot of pimples, you know?
While a lot
of people limit themselves to random exclamations of pity combined with a look
of being in pain themselves, some others feel that it’s their duty to give you advice
on how to deal with acne: like that kind gentleman in Bhopal who stopped his
scooter to ask me for directions, before sprouting advice on how to deal with
the scarring; or the taxi driver in Mumbai who made me take off my ear phones
so I could hear his remedy; or the fellow customer of a grocery store waiting
at the counter line who thought it would be a nice way of passing time to hand
out advice to strangers.
Hey, I’m not
complaining. I live for this stuff – it keeps me laughing for hours afterwards.
But see, the
thing that a lot of people don’t realize is – telling someone a remedy for
getting rid of the acne is also, in a way, telling them that they should strive
for skin that is acne-free.
No, wait!
Before you go all ‘duhh!’ on me, think about it. Yes, people should try to have
clean skin, but most people who are prone to acne actually wash their faces far
more often than others to strive for that cleanliness, which kind of takes away
from the whole 'healthy skin' line of argument. So when you tell someone they
should try everything possible to get rid of their acne, you’re really telling
them – you’re not good enough the way you are.
Have you
tried this product? It works really well. You’re
not good enough the way you are. You’re going for a wedding? Make sure you put on
some foundation and concealer. You’re not good enough the way you are. Hey did I tell you about this friend who managed to
get rid of all their marks in just a few months? You’re not good enough the way you are.
And somewhere
down the line, the person starts believing you. They stop looking at mirrors. They
avoid posing for photographs. They’re afraid of drawing any kind of attention
to themselves, because they think that the first thing others would notice
about them is how hideous they look. Eventually, they’re even hesitant to be
seen.
Basically,
you can be sure that their self-confidence takes a major hit.
All because
of bloody pimples.
Sounds a
little ridiculous.
But it hit
me these last few weeks, when I had the worst break out of acne I’ve ever had, and
I reached a point where I cringed if I saw a picture of myself, and even
considered backing out of a sports tournament because I didn’t want people
seeing me. That was next level. That, and a question my friend posed to me: “Well, as long as the pain goes down, that’s all that matters, right?” And I couldn’t respond –
couldn’t say out loud that while it should stop mattering beyond that, the fact
is, it doesn’t.
And that’s
kind of when I realized how messed up it is to live like this.
Granted, sometimes I myself go around asking people for advice, or seeking sympathy for my condition, but unfortunately, I'm a product of this bloody world too. But these last few weeks have convinced me that at least now I know that this isn't what I need in my life. I need to
not care about the marks. I need to be okay with how I look. I need to stop
striving for an ideal of how I’m supposed to be. I need to just start being happy with who I am.
Okay, that
one really does sound ridiculous. It’s ridiculous that being happy with
yourself should be anything but a perpetual state of being.
But I’ve
been having a lot of conversations with friends lately about physical looks,
and whether it’s possible for us to not care about them. Fact is, I don’t think
I’ve ever come across someone who isn’t conscious about some aspect of their
body, or else doesn’t care at all about how others look. But I’ve met enough
people to inspire the hope that it’s possible to get closer to that ideal. And that’s
a place I know I want to strive towards – the place where I’m beyond caring
about how I look, or how others look at me; the place where my confidence isn’t
controlled by every little dot on my face, or flab on my thighs, or the tan on
my skin.
Basically,
the place where I don’t care.
