The Manicurist

The first time I saw Emma, she was twisting a pearl white lace hankerchief around her fingers. Even as a kid she had long and shapely fingers. They say, love is in the eyes, but I, fell in love with her hands.

I was an apprentice with the manicurist at the salon which Emma's mom preferred. Warming the water basin, handing out fresh towels, getting tea or water for my guru, my days were always busy. Guru never allowed me near his clients. I was the background boy, expected to melt into the surroundings, but always alert for orders. My eyes soaked in every stroke of Guru's fingers,the masterful application of pressure, the gentle kneading of the hands. Each finger of a client was Guru's masterpiece. 

Emma often accompanied her mom to the salon. A charming kid, she had created a soft corner in everyone's heart. She would sit swinging her legs on the twisty chairs, sometimes twirling it a full circle and laughing at her own mischief. Guru's usual reticent facade often slipped as he smiled at the ray of sunshine, which Emma was. He would often paint her tiny nails during holidays, school days being a strict no-no with her mom. Emma had a fancy for a shade of white nailpaint. It was the colour of crushed rose petals in milk. White with a hint of passion.

I slowly graduated from the background boy to a full fledged apprentice with the passing of years. Days when Guru took a leave, or was a tad tired, he allowed me to hold fort. Such days began with a long list of dos , don'ts and detailed instructions about how to handle his precious instruments. His regulars hesitated before giving their hands in mine, such was his mastery over his craft. I gazed in wonderment at his now wrinkled hands, filing and buffing the nails of the gently wrinkling fingers of Emma's mom.

Guru loved his sweets. His gruff manner prevented us from stopping him satisfying his sweet tooth, even when he was diagnosed with diabetes. We worried, but then, he was never the one to take kindly to advice. The disease started eating him up. My days at the salon became increasingly busier as he took to the bed often.  His regulars slowly became mine, and Emma too joined this group.  The disease claimed Guru's eyes first and eventually his life. His nails, chipped and brittle, as I laid his frail frame on the bed the one last time.

My work became my tribute to my mentor. I would shine and polish my instruments as if they were made of silver. My work area was surgically spotless. I studied designs and enrolled in a distance programme on modern nail art. Though, all my ambition and sense of purpose became a mushy gel when I held Emma's hand in mine. I lost sense of time and space, the only tangible thing being her long white fingers in mine.

I hid away her favourite nail paint shade so that no other customer could use it. Kept the best and the softest towels for her, made sure that the water was the right temperature before she dipped her hands in it. The jasmine shrub from which she inhaled with eyes closed on entering the premises, always missed a bud or two , because I added them to her water basin.

My best feeling about Emma was that she never played with her phone or turned the pages of any silly magazine while I worked. She spoke to me. Often asking me how my life was going and sharing tid bits of hers with me. I never once raised my eyes to look at her while I worked. Chancing a glance only when she wasn't looking.

Often laying on my bed , I would wonder if I would ever be good enough for her. After all, she was a bright girl and was studying to become an accountant. Would my dream of my own nail art studio materialise quickly enough for me to ask her out ? I tormented myself with such thoughts almost every night.No one noticed the subtle sprucing up I did whenever Emma made an appointment. 

When she called me the day before, to confirm her timings for today, a small candle light started burning in my heart. After all, I had saved up enough to venture into my own business . With luck I had found a mentor and an investor in my landlord for my nail art studio. I had even laid the down payment on a small shop in the basement of the new mall. I wanted to tell Emma. Would she now consider me worthy of her affection ? The tiny flame became a raging fire by the time she walked in for her regular manicure.

I hoped she would notice the vase of roses and jasmine blooms which I had placed next to her seat. Would she also notice the strange mixture of thrill and anxiousness which coursed through my fingers today ? I was more quiet than usual, as I settled into the familiar routine with her hands.

I noticed that Emma was quiet too. She was lost in her thoughts. She was wearing a delicate silver chain around her neck. This was a first. Emma had a fine long neck. I had often glanced at the hollow V at its base with wonder. Today the chain drew my attention again and again as it dissappeared at a top of the modest pink top she wore.

As time flew, I became more and more anxious. The key to my shop weighed heavily in my jeans pocket. I wanted to give it to her, asking her to come and inaugurate my dream. What if ?....But I didn't want to delve into 'what ifs' today. I had done so, forever.

Gently, I asked her to select the nail paint, knowing fully well which shade she would settle on. Emma surprised me by picking out a ruby red colour. As I looked up startled, her hand reached up to unclasp the silver chain around her neck. Dangling at its end was a brilliant ruby and diamond ring.

"Let me wear this before you paint my nails. I assume the red colour will go fine with ruby. After all, it's not everyday that a girl gets to show off her engagement ring ! Don't you agree ?" These were the last words Emma spoke to me before I let go of her hands.

Well, if you are feeling sorry for me, don't.  There are countless hands in mine and someday, when I find the perfect  hand, I will not let go. I will never let go.