Thursday, February 14, 2008

under the knife. sort of.

I am in mumbai visiting a friend, Jordi, and it is almost like being back home in NYC. the city is probably the most westernized place I´ll see in india -- I can walk around in tank tops with my hair down and men don´t care, and there are loads of indian women in western clothes. not to mention the bars and restaurants -- I went to one of the most beautiful rooftop bars I´ve ever seen where I paid 500R for a drink ($12), then proceeded to eat a hamburger with gorgonzola and caramelized onions. there are beautiful people and general flash everywhere so I figured, hey, it´s valentine´s day and I´m seeing my fiance in a day and a half, not to mention hanging out on beaches for all of next week -- let´s get a brazilian! mumbai will probably be the best place in india for this, right? uhhh . . .

now I´m used to fairly basic parlors -- my favorite place in NYC was run by severe russian women who served free wine in the fluorescent-lit waiting area. I don´t need ambience and I don´t need someone to baby me through it. the experience started out benignly enough -- Jordi once got a facial at a salon located in an upscale part of mumbai, and said that it was clean and probably as good a place as any to get waxed. I walk in and it is bumpin, and in a matter of minutes, I´m being whisked away to a back room.

the first thing I notice is that the wax is in a regular kitchen pot. like the kind I use for making couscous.

whatever, I´m sure it´s fine, I think to myself.

the second thing I notice is that the woman has a butter knife. and she is dipping it in wax and coming toward my vagina with it.

the third thing I notice is that the wax is a little too hot. noting my discomfort, the beautician is blowing on it to cool it down before applying it to my skin. I have to laugh, because this random woman is effectively blowing on my genitalia.

and just when I think I can calm down a bit, she asks if I would like my landing strip trimmed. I say, sure. she brings out a huge pair of kitchen scissors. like the kind you use to debone a chicken. I hold my breath and pray that her aim is good.

if I had closed my eyes, it would have been just like any other brazilian I´ve ever had. unfortunately, that wasn´t the case and the beautician kept having to remind me to relax. yeah, you try relaxing when sharp metal objects are hovering around your clitoris.

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