apropos of anything

Last night, when I cut my nails, I removed the last bit of henna from my hands. Back in December, when my cousin’s daughter Saba first did them, my hands looked like this: (click on the image for the larger, uncropped photo that is less artistic because at the bottom you can see my shoes and unpedicured feet, but you can also see the complete mehndi design, so it’s kind of a trade-off)

Aasif took this photo at the wedding, one day after the henna was first applied.

I love henna. I love it so much that I can’t stand to have it done badly, which means I often go without since I can’t bear to shove the kids out of the way to get to the mehndi-walis who do it well. It’s okay, though, because again, I would rather not have it if I can’t have it well, and I love seeing the children so happy with their designs.

Whenever I go to India, Saba makes a point of doing my henna. Traffic in Mumbai is horrible, and my cousin’s family lives in the suburbs, but Saba always comes, first to visit, and then to do my henna. I am her youngest khala (mother’s sister), only a few years older than her, actually, and she knows good mehndhi is hard to find in America. This is something she does for me, without fail, and look at how beautifully she does it.

The trip before this one, over three years ago, she was seventeen years old, and as she did my hands, she said, “Khala, when you get married, I’m going to come to America to do your mehndi.”

She’s older now, and she knows better what that would entail, so she doesn’t say it anymore. Also, my Saba has grown up. She’s graduated from college and works a full-time job. I can see the changes in her so clearly, but then, it’s easy to notice changes when you only see a person once every few years.

As long as I had some of the henna on my hands, I was still “just returned” from India. I would see that bit of orange on my nails (because your nails never get any darker than deep orange), and it would remind me of Saba doing them, of Khalid talking to me while she did so I wouldn’t fall asleep (we landed in Mumbai two days before the wedding, one day before the women all had their henna done, so I was still a little jet-lagged), of Shakira hiding behind Khalid because she was too shy to talk to me herself, of the general chaos involved in making sure seven women and two girls got both their hands done, front and back. We’d hired two mehndi-walis, but neither had Saba’s speed, and Saba herself had committed to doing mine. And then there were my other cousin’s girls, who had to go to school the day after the wedding and couldn’t get their hands done because the school didn’t allow henna. They sat and watched and pretended they didn’t mind that they couldn’t do it as well.

Three months later, though, my henna is gone (and the parasites are DEAD), and I am one hundred percent home. It’s good to be home. It was also good to be in Mumbai, and I can’t wait until I get to go back.