FACES

fascinating features have me seeking out stories that form the backdrop of the human face

does a smile tell it all?

even with eyes lowered, his pride is evident- tilt of the chin and an expert smile

Faces fascinate me, always have:  from the hair (which is not strictly part of a face) falling on the forehead, covering the ears sometimes, or not; pulled back and tucked behind them, showing off an elf-like pair; strands that fly onto a beautiful oval, or circular one- to the chin and neck; the human face has held my attention, even captured it enough for me to want to know what makes it appear the way it does.

A fine friendship or two have been struck on my travels with faces and their bodies.

Faces have never failed to tell me a story that have then stayed with me, and sometimes wound their way onto a page, or an entire story.

A pair of eyes, often touted as windows to the soul on a face, and a chin at its edge, which defines so much more than it is given credit for are intrinsic to a face. Faces come in an infinite number of shapes, which have no names. I do wonder how each face finds a spot in the mirror and doesn’t always know how beautifully intriguing and fascinating it is. Each one is beyond strict definition, ever-transforming as it is- albeit subtly, over the years after it appears in this our world.

their eyes bespeak deep love & affection

Who did you meet? I once asked my daughter, and she surprised me with this description, ‘You know that lady with a pointy nose and empty eyes, the one who says YES, when her eyes say NO! Her mouth is always so sullen.”

what do I say? Do you really want to know? - her eyes beseech.

I instantly knew who it was. It requires a steady gaze, and a locking of eyes to truly know what a face brings forth, and clearly my daughter had observed more than I thought her capable of. How hard must it be to sketch one, and why is that? Yes, you guessed it, because it defies capturing. The artist inevitably casts a face in her own mould- as she perceives it.

It’s not the only one though- it’s just the one she sees.

I have peered closely at faces in the metros I’ve ridden, although it has been a secret pastime of studying closely the human mind via the outer shell. I’ve travelled in various metro cars all over the world- from London, to Prague, to Chennai and Delhi and Bangkok of course! The longest time spent has been in the Bangkok sky train. The time from start to destination has nurtured my eagerness to observe faces. People no longer stare at each other, do they, slyly or otherwise? Having gotten terribly busy hunched over their little mobile screens; entertainment in the form of visual stories seem more stimulating- while the real world with its anecdotal potential whizzes by, outside the windows.

Ample opportunity to observe the human face is an undeniable gift, and unless I’ve spied identical twins, no two faces have ever been alike in their detailing. Each one tells a story- a unique narrative that bespeaks of its troubles and its joys in unequal measure. And so much more. Most of my short stories have found their seeds in these moving vehicles, in faces and their histories, as my fertile and storyteller persona spun yarns. I have continued finding faces that silently passed on their lives, on long promenades as well.

happy to be here!

I recall an incident where a young white couple, whose language my ears strained to catch, was travelling with their two young children. I became certain they were Russian as their words flew toward my strained ears. I didn’t want to appear to stare, so I looked ahead, over their heads and beyond, but my eyes sought the girl child’s unfixed expressions, as she communicated with her loving father. She spoke haltingly, but her bright, beady eyes said so much more than her words. The father responded in rapid bursts, a handsome young man, I hasten to add. I noticed that their mouths were shaped exactly alike. Tanya he called her, and I fascinatedly found her watching her father’s mouth and mimicking him. The little boy child, on the other hand, quietly observed the city passing by, pointing out whatever caught his fancy, to his mother, who was following a map on her phone. Although distracted she responded lovingly to her son. Their eyes would lock and the love that these four humans shared, reached me palpably. Their eyes constantly sought each other out. When their destination arrived, I felt I had lost four friends.  I suddenly felt alone in a carful of passengers. I must have connected to their saga. If one stares too long at eyes, there is a connection that establishes itself. I’ve seen it happen all too often. 

so many faces, varied lives with diverse narratives

DREAMS

I’ve often dreamt up faces I might’ve unconsciously grazed over with my vision, which was captivated by a pair of eyes, or an aquiline nose, or a. puckered mouth. It has never ceased to amaze and excite me, the fact that we are all endowed with a pair of eyes, a nose, a couple of ears, a mouth and a chin, a forehead and a head- unless deemed otherwise by the good Lord at birth- and yet, we remain distinct. How does this happen at every birth? Yes, we bear resemblance to our parents- the genetic pool we are from, but even so. I’ve repeatedly and unfailingly drawn up characters in my mind – sewn them into my stories, and conjured them up in my dreams. They are all vastly unalike- a feat that is possible because my focus has been the Face. All my faces bear the mark of beauty in some form. They are all lively and interesting.

If one were to say, one must have a fine nose, it adds or detracts beauty from the overall mark of a face- I disagree. Fine or not, a nose is a nose and adds character.  The people in my dreams have all sorts of noses- and some are mere stubs, and they are the unforgettable ones.

Features

A fine mouth? Yes, I’d say, a large mouth might have an effect that might be deemed, uh, ineffective in portending beauty, especially on a small face- yet I’ve seen some wide lips set in a face, that have lent character and intelligence. Doomed, when opened though, to end the illusion of beauty. Words can mess things up when in disharmony with what might expect the mouth to spout.  Sure happens!

My ears and yours- a feature that seem to have more of an impact on folk with short hair, when this pair of flappers (when larger than proportionately considered aesthetic). We need these, and we need them to fall in line with the rest of the face. For women and men alike, they bear the weight of adornments and are certainly a feature that draws. Personally, ears have a penchant for listening in, especially when the going is unfavourable.

Eyes: those I’ve dreamt up are out there somewhere. They haunt and hypnotize and stay for the longest time in my waking hours, especially after I’ve been pierced by a look that says, ‘watch it, coz we are watching you!’.  A pair of eyes are the most remarkable and prominent feature of the human face and are the ‘tell-all’s.

The eyes on a face, carry all of its history, unconcealed and inescapable. Large or small, bold or shy, reticent or dreamy and worldly, deep or limpid- the eyes tell you whatever you seek to learn of the person. It is, to my mind, exceedingly difficult to conceal one’s truth, if one cares to look into a person’s eyes, because the whole person is clearly visible in the eyes, that spontaneously reflect first, and then deflect. One quick glance, and one knows what is, and what isn’t.

Tell me Your Story

I remember once, I was hanging out of the car window on a Delhi Road, the interiors of the vehicle having begun to resemble a hell-hole, with less than effective air-conditioning. I was the driver. The window had been rolled down and an arm hung out. A day in the sultry month of July, and a beggar lady strode up to me, a large red bindi centrestage- of her forehead, adding to her strikingly pretty face; a brown saree frayed at the edges on her body. It was as if I were watching a theatrical performance being staged.  The quality of her voice served to push this idea forth. She had me look right into her as her reddened mouth spouted her story. I stared unabashedly at the stained mouth that addressed me, and was unsure whether it was lipstick or betel that had stained it. When she asked for a hundred rupee note, I asked her why. I wished for this conversation to continue and so did she, it appeared. The light at that crossroad stayed red for a long moment. She recounted her family situation, with four young children and a factory-worker husband who barely earned enough. She and her kids were part of some begging nexus, which wasn’t news to me. If she didn’t take back enough money….and I didn’t believe her. That afternoon, it struck me that I was yet another gullible and a rich woman, to her mind, who should fall for this sob story. I handed her a two-hundred rupee note pretending to have fallen hook, line and sinker. For I had, after all, fallen prey to those eyes, that barely hid the pain of the indignity of poverty.  

Even if she had rewritten that tale several times over, with alterations here and there, the fact stared me in the face: she was under-privileged and poor. Her stories could no longer be held as untrue, because within the fabric of every tier of the multiple narratives she spun, there lay the naked truth- that of human faces atop bodies that needed nourishment of all sorts.

My children have those eyes, that I have been unable to resist the lure of, their innocence or their vulnerability, always readily on display. I am a sucker for batting eyelids, limpid pools of innocence, eyeful of tears, large irises, long eyelashes, you name it! The eyes have always won me over, or simply repelled me, the latter being a rare occurrence.

life spouting through comic faces & role playing & our children

The Face of Me

Let me tell you, that I was once asked to stare at my face, especially into my eyes and tell myself that I am beautiful, that I am loved and that I deserve it all.

I began tentatively, this experiment on myself.

The first time I looked at myself in the eyes, I wept and how! Why such copious weeping?

I found in myself a certain vulnerability I had not known. It was as if I was seeing myself for the very first time- and as I peered, I watched and saw my daughters, my sister, my nieces- I saw them all in me- their pain, their joys, their absolute, naked beauty and their deep connection to my soul as it were. Undiluted affection came welling forth from those eyes, in the form of tears. It was cleansing and enlightening all at once.

A face is not just a face- it is a life, and a lifetime of carrying both the burden of the smiles and frowns- and lines that begin to mark and transform it. It is all an experiment to add force and character to the face that we are born with.

refusing those downs to sink & flop my ups

I am loving the journey as I figure out my ever-changing demeanour- especially its reflections on my face. I closely watch that spot in the mirror that awaits the locking of eyes, often resulting in sniffles and cries that both the reflection and I unashamedly share.

It’s a face, like yours, that has seen many a day, and will continue to as long as the nostrils breathe in and out, flickering life that has been bestowed upon it.