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The liberatory power of makeup

Lisa Eldridge’s first book, ‘Face Paint: The Story of Makeup’ is a reminder of human social obligations; of wanting to belong and feel accepted This book review/feature was first published for The Hans India "Makeup, as we know it, has only been commercially available in the last 100 years, but applying decoration to the face and body may be one of the oldest global social practices.” London-based makeup artiste, Lisa Eldridge has added another shade to her palette of achievements with her first book, ‘Face Paint: The Story of Makeup’. In ‘Face Paint’, the red carpet specialist with over 20 years of experience in the industry reveals the history of makeup, from Egyptian ages through the Victorian age and the golden era of Hollywood, and surveys the science of cosmetics for what lies ahead in it. She narrates a story tracing the origins of makeup to its development over centuries citing anthropological, psychological, evolutionary and sexual significances as she

A Night Thought

The stone is cold beneath my butt. Yet, I continue to sit on it, outside in the cold. The night has some chill in it. I like winter. A mild chilly sensation is running up through my left butt-cheek. I can feel it. That's a good sign. It's safe to read Wordsworth, now.

A Night Thought by William Wordsworth
















Lo! where the Moon along the sky
Sails with her happy destiny;
Oft is she hid from mortal eye
Or dimly seen,
But when the clouds asunder fly
How bright her mien!

Far different we--a froward race,
Thousands though rich in Fortune's grace
With cherished sullenness of pace
Their way pursue,
Ingrates who wear a smileless face
The whole year through.

If kindred humours e'er would make
My spirit droop for drooping's sake,
From Fancy following in thy wake,
Bright ship of heaven!
A counter impulse let me take
And be forgiven.

William Wordsworth


Oh my! Such envy!

But then, I look up in to the sky. Who wouldn't envy those stars, those celestial bodies, hanging in mid-air? Nothing to worry about. Not a dime to care. Throwing their weight all down, defying gravity. Glowing stars, shining in their privileges. The moon, a paradigm of beauty; no light of its own.

All these constituting the night. The night, the one part of the day that I love. The night that's mine. The night glorified with these - these pompous celestial bodies.

True to be jealous.

Good night.

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