Being beautiful

She was not beautiful but she always wanted to be. She remembered being considered cute when she was small because of her wide eyes, fair skin and curly locks. She grew out of it and was used to hear her father and mother not saying anything about her appearance. When all of her friends’ parents would take pains to help make their children look their best, her parents would tell her to wear whatever fit. They would get her good clothes but her opinion was never asked and usually she was too thin to do those clothes justice. Most of the time she wore her sister’s hand-me-downs and sometimes even her brother’s hand-me-ups because she the scrawny middle child and her younger brother and elder sister were stout kids and outgrew their clothes really quick.

As she grew older, she felt more strongly that her appearance lacked something. Her mother was beautiful and she longed to be like her. Her father frequently said that neither her sister nor she could come anywhere close to her mother in looks. The sensitive little girl took it to heart believing it to be true. Never could she accept a compliment on her looks without doubting its sincerity even after many years.

She blinked at her reflection in the mirror snapping herself out of the reverie and smiled at yet another memory. This was years later when she was in college. She was out walking with a guy. He hadn’t impressed her at first when she thought he wanted to spend time with her for not quite acceptable reasons. Later, she felt he might just want a friend and she gave the guy a chance and trusted him. He never let her down and grew to be a friend whom she could count on. This particular summer day early on in their relationship when they were walking, things were a little different. She had just bathed and was looking as fresh as a water lily. Her hair was her best feature – it was gloriously thick and reached halfway down her back. She didn’t like it when it was left open because there seemed to be too much of it. She patted at her hair distractedly and hoped deep within that she didn’t look too shabby. They walked on chatting aimlessly and sat down on a convenient rock in one of the valleys that dotted the campus. Suddenly he had this funny look on his face – he opened his mouth, choked a bit and said in a soft voice – “you have the loveliest lips I have ever seen”. She jumped up startled and muttered some nonsense before bolting away. Years later she still remembered this because it was the first time she felt beautiful in her life and the memory always brought a smile to her heart as did her reaction to it at that time. In the years that followed her reactions to other compliments ranged from disbelief to discomfort but never acceptance.

Slowly she came back to the present as she sat at her dressing table. She picked up her brush and stroked her hair and wished that perhaps one day she could love herself enough to feel beautiful.