Sitting among 23 women in a small, tiny dress room is quite scary. These women are preparing for their Nepali performances. The event is for the Nepali New Year, which is now 2063. I’m here to see G perform her dance. She’s a great dancer.
The mothers are painting their daughter’s faces with blush, foundation, mascara, and all the other extra crap that goes on the face. They don’t look comfortable, wearing the heavy jewellery and the multilayered outfits. Some have to wear Saris. The Sari is difficult to wear; it has many layers that go in certain directions. I watch a woman put it on but I can’t follow her quick hands.
So I’m sitting there on a chair, staring at all the bright colors of pink, red and yellow. I love how colorful the dresses are. If a person were to come in, he would easily spot me because I have absolutely no resemblance to those women. I’m wearing a black coat with a sweater underneath, no makeup, no hairdo, simply natural. But I’m happy because I’m pretty comfortable.
I realize then that women can be quite annoying. They talk incessantly the entire time and I’m beginning to feel a headache.
Finally the room is quite. I think they are tired of talking. They look beautiful and their beauty isn’t fake. They have so much talent and motivation that I feel incompetent among them.
One by one, they leave the room. I’m left to stare at my unkempt self in the mirror.