You're worth it!

Why it is worth investing in the small luxuries of life

 Luxury is such a loaded word, isn’t it? To some it evokes images of lavish suites in exclusive hotels; to others it means expensive ingredients served up in eight-course meals in three-star restaurants. To some it means designer bags and jewellery; to others it is exemplified in private-plane travel. 

 

Everyone has a different definition of luxury. For me, the greatest luxury in the world is that of time – that is, time to oneself, that you can spend on self-care without feeling guilty about not fulfilling one responsibility or the other. But, of course, there are a thousand other luxuries as well that go towards making life worth living. The test, of course, is which one of these could I absolutely not live without.

 

I spent some time thinking about this and came to the conclusion that it’s not the big stuff that I would sweat; it would be the small, even negligible, things that I simply could not bear to give up. Here are just some of them, in no particular order of importance.

 

·       My morning cuppa. This has to be perfect if my day is to start off on the right foot. And the only way it does is with my particular blend of Fresh Brew capsules (made from Indian coffee beans). The moment that beautiful aroma fills the kitchen, all feels right with the world. I am now so addicted to this that I even travel with a sleeve of capsules so that I never have to go without that particular caffeine buzz.

·       Rice, rice, baby! Ever since my diabetes diagnosis, I don’t eat rice very often – and then, only in small quantities. But there is no compromise on the rice in question. It has to be Kamini rice (very close to Gobindobhog rice – but even better!) that I buy in bulk whenever I visit Kolkata. In my view, this is the king of rice and works well with almost any style of cooking and cuisine. Or you could just add a pinch of salt, slather with ghee and enjoy on its own.

·       Fresh flowers. I don’t have a garden and my balcony is too small to grow too many, so the way I cope is by making a weekly visit to the neighbourhood flower shop to buy the blooms that are in season. My favourite is the nargis, but that has a tragically short season, so I often have to make do with tuberose, roses or lilies instead. But so long as they are colourful and plentiful and all around me, I am happy. 

·       News and entertainment. As a news junkie, I probably spend way more than I should subscribing (online) to foreign newspapers and magazines. Add to that the subscription costs to all kinds of OTT platforms and the bills sort of add up. But no matter how much all this amounts to, I can’t bear the thought of giving even one of my subscriptions up. I guess this is my version of FOMO!

·       Vanity. I don’t really care too much about make-up, but skincare is an entirely different matter. My husband is always shocked by how much I am prepared to pay for a night cream. And no matter what, I have to get my hair coloured professionally. As the adage goes, I am worth it!

 

Hair today, gone tomorrow

Vanity belongs in a pre-Covid world – there’s no place for it alongside the Coronavirus

You know what I miss most about my pre-Coronavirus life? No, it’s not going on holiday, or eating out in restaurants (though, of course, I long to do that too). 

What I miss the most is visiting my hairdresser.

In the days before Covid struck, I would visit my neighbourhood salon at least once a week. Sometimes it was to get a trim, at other times a root touch-up, at others it was to put in a few highlights, or even sneak in a quick manicure or pedicure. Most often, though, I headed there to get a shampoo and blowout – my one indulgence, as I frequently told myself, as I tried to justify how much I was spending – leaving with an extra bounce to both my hair and my step.

Nothing feels quite as luxurious as having somebody else wash and condition your hair, and have a professional blow dry it, leaving you with a sleek style that no amount of mussing and fussing can spoil. And over the years, I must confess I got addicted to this luxury.

And then came the lockdown. Now, not only did I have to wash and blowdry my own hair, I also had to colour it every month and trim my fringe every few weeks. After six months of this, you would think that I have become a dab hand at this sort of thing. 

And you would be entirely wrong.

My hair is now an overgrown mess, because I am too scared to even venture out for a trim. Having experimented with various shades of dye over the months, my head currently sports at least three different shades of brown (and that’s not counting the auburn highlights that still linger on a few strands). And my fringe is now growing out messily, after I decided to give up on that particular battle, and let nature take its course.

Does this bother me every time I catch sight of myself in the mirror?

Well, truth be told, it bothers me less and less with every passing week. And that may well be because I have finally come to terms with my new reality.

And that new reality is that vanity is so last year. Or, shall we say, so pre-pandemic.

Now, as we try to negotiate a world in which we have to co-exist with a virus that could easily kill us, it seems silly, even downright frivolous, to worry about how we look. And in any case, how do appearances even matter in a world in which everyone has to wear masks when they venture out into the world?

Yes, I know there are those pesky zoom calls that are the plague of our existence. And you do have to comb your hair and slap on some make-up for them so that people don’t realize how feral you have become. (Though if you frame yourself just right, you still don’t need to wear trousers for these video encounters.)

But for the rest of the time, you can slob around in the house. You can stay in your pyjamas all day if you like, or just wear a tatty T-shirt with shorts. You don’t need to bother with lipstick (though a dash of eyeliner may be a good idea if you are venturing out in a mask and want to look pulled-together). You don’t even need to brush out your hair; just pull it into a ponytail or a messy bun.

In one sense, it’s a relief to not to obsess about how you look, or even worry about what other people make of your appearance.

And yet, whenever I think of what I would do if the virus vanished tomorrow – maybe thanks to that ‘miracle’ that Donald Trump keeps promising us – the first thing I can think of is a visit to my hair salon. I dream of settling down on a squishy armchair, trashy glossy magazine in my lap, as my hair is cut, coloured, coddled and polished to a high gloss.

So, I guess there is some vanity left in me, after all. It’s just lying in wait for when normal services can be resumed. Let’s hope that’s soon.