MEHNDI...



'25 rupaiye ka haath, bhaiyaji...' Niti looked at the man sitting on the small plastic stool in the busy market of Yousuf Sarai, as other shoppers brushed past them, in a hurry, least interested in the transaction being sorted out.

Bhaiyaji looked at Niti, a forlorn look on his face, then turned that look onto the other 3 girls standing there. I tried to bury myself into my cellphone, messaging intently - I was sure she was going to break into a giggle. I don't know why it happens, but I have this awful tendency to giigle at all the wrong times. And I have a hopeless market sense - and therefore am a very very bad person to have with me when trying to strike a bargain. I am what dealers call a weak target - easy to fool.

Smriti, on my right, turned on her worst 'Oh my God' look - she is awesome at that. 'Bhaiyaji, 20rupaiye me lagvayi thi agli gully se...' Never mind that the gully we are standing in is the last one available to cite, never mind that she has said the very same thing at every previous gully, never mind that the last time any of us had got mehndi put was 2 years ago in Shimla. And that that 'any of us' was me.



Nitika rolled her eyes - she is such a pro at that. 'Arey bhaiyaji, medical se aaye hain, kya fizool time waste kar rahe hain. Paanch haathon pe mehndi lagni hai - jaldi kariye, 7.30 ho chuke hain...'



I don't know how she does it - but thats what convinced bhaiyaji utimately. And he set put stools for each of us, and sent his sidekick, who had been picking at his teeth all this while, to get his partner in mehndi application from the neighbouring chai-shop. Nitika always managed to win things for us. God bless her.

By the way, it was till just 7pm.
AND bhaiyaji also had a watch.



Anyways, we sat down, and stretched out our hands in front of us - Smriti and me the first ones. I wanted mehndi on both hands, everyone else only on one - the left one, for convenience.

As bhaiyaji and his partner in crime started, giving the little vial containing the colour fixing-oil a rough shake before opening it, I crinkled up my nose.
And then crinkled it further as they started the actual application of mehndi.
And smiled.

Smiled mentally ofcourse. Nothing ever comes of smiling at stranger roadside bhaiyajis who have your hands in theirs. Especially since you intend to take it back from them in around 30minutes, and wish those 30minutes to be - well - hassle-free.

It is this very aroma of mehndi that just gets to my brother's nose. And my father's. And my friend's. Ofcourse, all these people refer to it as 'smell'. Or 'odour'.
Their favourite argument - 'Itna hi shauq hai chitrakaari ka to kaagaz pe karle, haath kharab karne zaruri hain?'
And, in my brother's case, this one - 'Kriti, please, mahndi lagani hai to ghar vaapis na aaya kar - mujhe saans aana band ho jaata hai.'
And other such insane logics.
Silly people.

And thats what got me thinking - why do girls want to put mehndi, and guys absolutely hate it? Does the swap of an X chromosome for a Y change mental setup so drastically?
Looking at it objectively, it is equal to drawing on your hands. Which is something I distinctly remember being sent out of the class for, once upon a time. And this is worse, because the colour takes several days to come off.
Ofcourse, we have tradition to fall back upon. And the fact that we have been brought up seeing women put mehndi, and liking it. Maybe because its one of those things like a sari or sindhoor, that sort of feminity. Or maybe because its another of those things that women can do to feel good about themselves (nothing wrong with all that - accepted all the women impowerment lectures, but there's no need to man-ify women, really). Or maybe because it is artistic and delicate, and the more intricate the better...
Maybe its because its one of the things only women are socially 'allowed' to do, and as much as they might want to experiment, no man worth his Y chromosome will put mehndi. Or maybe because, like so many other things, it needs patience to get the results, and women, not men, can stay still for that long. Or maybe because its one of those little joys of life that women discovered, and chose to cherish, instead of discarding.
And men, mentally not quite there yet, and for all the above reasons took the approach they always take - branding it 'silly'.
'Childish'.
'Just so girl.'

Correct. 10years from now, I wouldn't remember when and what sort of mehndi I got put. And for how much. And how long I waited for it to dry. Or how I sat handicapped for hours, unable to touch anything, unable to get up without help.

But what I would remember is Trisha in Shimla, spoon-feeding me rajma chawal, as I waited for the mehndi to dry, my fingers chilled to the bone as the moisture evaporated.

And the pure happiness and thrill on our dhobhi's 5-year old daughter's face as she, clad in an old several generations old dress, scraped off the dried flakes of mehndi, and discovered the glorious pattern in tan-brown her hands bore. And then rushed to her mother, hands held out in front of her, and fell into her lap, both gushing over the result, mother as happy as daughter.

And my mother, making the sugar syrup and lemon mixture to darken the colour my hands would ultimately be, never putting any mehndi herself, so that she could help me make mine beautiful.


And I'm pretty sure these are moments other girls remember too.

Forget 25rupaiye - I would probably give even more money for the mehndi. And so would Nitika and Smriti, I know.
The bhaiyaji, the aroma (ok, smell), the stickiness of the syrup, the incapacitated state of hands, the wait - I'll take it all.
For those moments of unadulterated joy, those memories of things that are nice and sweet, those smiles and laughs - each of which made my life more beautiful - and the sheer simplicity yet absolute uniqueness of it all...

(And to all men - SOUR GRAPES!!)