<p>My maternal grandmother, nani to us, kept three packages of loose change as alms in Nivea boxes. It was a regular practice for us to hand over coins to those who came begging through windows when the elders weren’t around. We were probably well-behaved, as our elders trusted us enough to leave us at home and go out to do their chores. My eldest cousin, didi, then seven, would be in charge of my younger cousin and I, less than five. And we went about our business of playing mischief.</p>.<p>Our mama, my mother’s brother, and his shaving ritual was something we couldn’t resist spying on. What fascinated us was the white paste on his cheeks, the brush and the white bottle of Old Spice, the contents of which he splashed on his face. The smell of the after-shave captivated us, making us oblivious of everything else. We had to try! A Nivea box along with the smooth white jar of Old Spice were within our reach anyway, at the dressing table. </p>.<p>The next time we were left alone, we sneaked into the bathroom, stood on the edge of the bathtub to get a glimpse of ourselves in the mirror, just like our mama did while shaving. We had seen him pick something from the cabinet over the washbasin. Toothpaste? We found a shaving brush. In no time, our cheeks were coated white. </p>.<p>We knew mama used a black razor, which he kept in the cupboard by the mirror. The knob was higher than our combined height, it seemed. Not the ones to give up, we decided to climb on the washbasin, open the sideboard and pick-up the razor. We were also careful to wipe the washbasin dry and then proceeded with the plan. After some trial and error, I stood on the tub, didi on the basin, and my other cousin guided us. We grabbed two packed razors without blades and a pack of blades from the top shelf. The foam was drying. We were smart enough to know the blades were sharp and dangerous. Hence, we used only the razor to remove the dry paste. It felt coarse.</p>.<p>The razors were a useless waste of time. We reapplied the toothpaste and used the rear side of the toothbrush. Toothpaste and toothbrush should have been obvious! So, one after another, we “shaved” with a single red brush.</p>.<p>We washed our faces, tapped our cheeks dry with a towel and then proceeded to remove all evidence. We kept the razors, blades, towels and toothpaste back in their places. It was a perfect crime. We finally ascended the dressing table, stood facing the mirror, and splashed the lotion on our faces, just like mama did.</p>.<p>It smelt surreal; bewitching. Our cheeks, though, were on fire like Dettol on a fresh wound. We eventually found solace in talcum powder and the blue box of Nivea. Grown-ups seemed to indulge in painful acts!</p>.<p>Shaving to us girls still seems an ordeal, but the lure of the fresh aroma lingers.</p>
<p>My maternal grandmother, nani to us, kept three packages of loose change as alms in Nivea boxes. It was a regular practice for us to hand over coins to those who came begging through windows when the elders weren’t around. We were probably well-behaved, as our elders trusted us enough to leave us at home and go out to do their chores. My eldest cousin, didi, then seven, would be in charge of my younger cousin and I, less than five. And we went about our business of playing mischief.</p>.<p>Our mama, my mother’s brother, and his shaving ritual was something we couldn’t resist spying on. What fascinated us was the white paste on his cheeks, the brush and the white bottle of Old Spice, the contents of which he splashed on his face. The smell of the after-shave captivated us, making us oblivious of everything else. We had to try! A Nivea box along with the smooth white jar of Old Spice were within our reach anyway, at the dressing table. </p>.<p>The next time we were left alone, we sneaked into the bathroom, stood on the edge of the bathtub to get a glimpse of ourselves in the mirror, just like our mama did while shaving. We had seen him pick something from the cabinet over the washbasin. Toothpaste? We found a shaving brush. In no time, our cheeks were coated white. </p>.<p>We knew mama used a black razor, which he kept in the cupboard by the mirror. The knob was higher than our combined height, it seemed. Not the ones to give up, we decided to climb on the washbasin, open the sideboard and pick-up the razor. We were also careful to wipe the washbasin dry and then proceeded with the plan. After some trial and error, I stood on the tub, didi on the basin, and my other cousin guided us. We grabbed two packed razors without blades and a pack of blades from the top shelf. The foam was drying. We were smart enough to know the blades were sharp and dangerous. Hence, we used only the razor to remove the dry paste. It felt coarse.</p>.<p>The razors were a useless waste of time. We reapplied the toothpaste and used the rear side of the toothbrush. Toothpaste and toothbrush should have been obvious! So, one after another, we “shaved” with a single red brush.</p>.<p>We washed our faces, tapped our cheeks dry with a towel and then proceeded to remove all evidence. We kept the razors, blades, towels and toothpaste back in their places. It was a perfect crime. We finally ascended the dressing table, stood facing the mirror, and splashed the lotion on our faces, just like mama did.</p>.<p>It smelt surreal; bewitching. Our cheeks, though, were on fire like Dettol on a fresh wound. We eventually found solace in talcum powder and the blue box of Nivea. Grown-ups seemed to indulge in painful acts!</p>.<p>Shaving to us girls still seems an ordeal, but the lure of the fresh aroma lingers.</p>