Edited by: Lavanya Goswami
I’ve always wanted to dance in a masquerade. Well, participate would be a better word to use, instead of the word dance. I’d focus all my efforts on choosing the mask I’d wear. A black mask with gold-tipped curly horns–I’d be playing the devil, right? Or a lavish ram. A white lace mask with feathered eyes would be a classy choice. I would need a lot of gumption to pull off a leather-steel strappy contraption. A mask makes everything so much more intriguing and adds a hint of masala to the mundane. The idea of mask-wearing is very seductive: a pair of eyes hidden behind tasteful fabric tracking every move a person makes. Voyeur much?
As it turns out, wearing masks is not that fun. It seems fantastic in my head but goes topsy turvy in real life, as usual. I can’t make dark, mysterious moon eyes at people; I want to sneeze because of the weird outer edges and a nose clip that pinches too hard! It’s difficult to breathe through the face masks I wear these days. I fear that if I inhale too deeply, I would choke on the little fabric fibres of the mask.
The material is rough and scratchy, no matter what type I wear – even soft, cotton ones get unbearable after a while. I have to wear these masks, my new normal. They aren’t the fancy masquerade ones I longed for so much. These pieces of cloth conceal more than half of my face. I can’t speak through them. I have to pitch my voice higher and sound like a teen going through puberty. I come back to my room with a sore throat a lot. I rip the masks off at times, just to feel a clean breeze on my skin. It gets too much.
My old masks have weak elastic threads, not strong solid metal chains. They slide down my nose, and I toss my head like a horse to make them slide back into their proper position. I’m not doing a chin-lift, wassup-bro greeting; I just need to fix my mask without using my sanitizer-less hands. I see deep red creases on the skin of the faces of the cautious. Their masks always stay on; I’ve forgotten what they look like. Then again, they look entirely different in certain ways too.
Some people look mysterious as their strands drift around their masked faces. I’m reminded of the paramours of the Italian mafia. They have great tragedy in their dark eyes and great luxury in their lonely lives. Some people look like tired predators of the desert. Their eyes peek out above the edge of the wrinkled mask fabric, while grit settles in the lines of their faces. They would gladly snarl at someone who takes too long to walk across the corridors.
Some people wear N95s every day, which are somehow always white or grey. They’re in a rush, with a coffee and a touchscreen in their hands. Some wear basic black that heats up too quickly in the summer sun. It looks like a heavy beard to the distant viewer. Some just look dangerous, no matter what mask they wear. Their eyes are animalistic. They’ve pulled off an all-nighter and they will verbally tear you apart if you ask them a single question about college.
These not-so-magical masks make me notice things about people I normally wouldn’t. They have a black mole right beside their second ear piercing. Their hair curls just at the edge of their mask, like grapevines over a black wooden railing. The black of their kohl makes their eyes stand out more and the mask does not allow me to look further down. Their mask crinkles when they smile–I assume it’s a smile. So I smile back and wonder if they have a dimple. They take their mask off by pulling it over their head. It’s a strange way of removing a mask. Their lipstick and foundation always make a mess on the inside of their mask; why do they still wear lip color underneath the mask in spite of the mess it makes? These masqueraders glide around me. I am one too. I use my hands a lot to speak these days and I always have them in front of me. I gesture and gesticulate. I don’t know if they’ve heard me. I work on minimum social cues. It’s hard to maintain the conversation if I don’t know why their eyes have grown smaller. Are they disgusted, confused, or happy? I don’t know. I don’t know what they feel about me because of the mask they are wearing. Yet, will I ever know what they feel about me? In any case, wearing a fancy domino mask won’t endear me to them. Wearing unflattering facial masks won’t do that either. But at least they won’t get COVID from me, so there’s that.