It never failed to amaze Ayesha how easily her mother could kill her self- confidence. She had arrived home after a 6- month gap to attend her cousin's wedding. One look and her mother had pronounced her fatter than she had ever been before, meaning, unattractive, undesirable. "How do you hope to attract any attention at the wedding? How will I ever find a match for you?"
Ayesha knew from her previous experiences that a wedding was the perfect place to showcase your marriageable sons and (specially) daughters in hope that someone would suggest a suitable match. What better way to present your daughter, all glamorously decked up, for everyone's approval?
Ayesha accepted that she had put on a few pounds. Working behind a desk all day long, only option for food being the greasy road side fare and having no time for any physical exercise, she had gained some weight. But was her outer beauty all that mattered?
Ayesha knew she was reasonably pretty. Her school friends and pronounced her so and she had complete faith in the judgement of her classmates in the IInd Standard. One day when she was about 15 and looking at herself in the mirror, (as girls that age are prone to do), her mother commented, " Your facial features are all right, but your bum is too big". Needless to say, that comment did not work wonders with her confidence. But worse, it gave her an inferiority complex which always made her make the wrong choices in life, thinking that she did not deserve any better.
In the 24 years of her life, Ayesha never once remembered her mother praising her looks. She knew that she would never win any beauty pageants, but she felt that with a little touch of kohl, she could make her eyes look deeper and brightly coloured lips really went with her complexion. She had a little sense of fashion and could carry herself well. But under that smart working woman lurked a little girl who craved for a little praise, just once.
Ayesha didn't know whether she would ever get to hear those words. But if she knew something, it was her mother. She knew her mother belonged to that school of thought where praising your own child is considered conceit. Even if she had nothing to criticise about, she would definitely find some reason to do exactly so. Realising this, there was only one thing for Ayesha to do. Ignore her mother's baseless criticism and be content with herself. She couldn't let her mother or anyone else do this to her. She was beautiful, if in no one else's eyes, than in her own. Standing at the wash basin, she looked into the mirror at herself and smiled. Without conceit, without a complex, without any anger, without any traces of narcissism, she thought, " Yes, I am beautiful the way God made me."
