The road to surgically enhanced beauty is a torturous one. It began with pulling out my librarian-style spectacles that haven't seen the world outside my bathroom before this. For four days before the surgery, I wore my glasses as I did in school. (They sat on my nose all day and were abruptly pulled off and hidden in a pocket whenever anyone from the neighbouring Campion School was approaching.)

Once that was done, and my eyeballs lifted and lenses restructured by the imperious Dr Burjor Bully Banaji, three weeks of a no-eye-makeup diktat ensued. That was the easier bit, or so I consoled myself.

I was wrong. My best dresses weren't as pretty any more, my snuggest jeans didn't flatter and even though I changed my earrings, no cigar. Beauty is in the eyes of the beholden, and no amount of dressing up made me feel dressed up. I want my eyeliner back.

My pot of gold is actually a little black pot, sold for Rs 36 by Lakme. I have tried several pricier eye liners from hip European labels and trendy packaging, but kept returning to the Indian-made bottle. Even the husband had been given a tutorial on how to apply it on me in case of death and visitors.

Moreover, bold eyeliner is a beauty regiment these days. Deepika Padukone mesmerised with her Cleopatra-inspired eyes in Om Shanti Om. Goth queen Amy Winehouse, she of the beehive hair and batwing eyes, is topping international charts and is the new pop/ rock icon. Does Audrey Hepburn ever go out of style? I just watched the anniversary edition of the Breakfast at Tiffany’s (with my newfound perfect vision, thank you) and fell in love with her doe-eyed slut-with-a-heart-of-gold act all over again.

Like in all times of hardship, maybe there is a lesson to be learned here. Maybe it is God’s way of teaching me to live in penance? That He (couldn't be a She in this matter) wants me to live without something I thought I cannot live without? That the husband will love me even if I grow a moustache? Maybe so.