I hesitated to have it spread it on my face. “First, we’ll apply a skin tonic made of bijapura, I mean citrus medica and jayanti, that is to say sesbania seban,” she began. The liquid used to cleanse my skin smelled wonderful, but had a disgusting colour. “What is this stuff?” I asked. “Ay, I told you. Bijapura and jayanti. They’re from India . . . ” “You may have told me, but I’m not sure I . . . ” “Never mind,” she interrupted. I’m not sure exactly what they are. The important thing is, they work. I order them over the internet, and they’re here courtesy of DHL in less than a week.” “Great,” I said. “Shhh! Be quiet. The mask won’t set properly unless you’re completely calm and serene. Don’t get all irritable or it won’t work.” She moved on to the muddy baby shit, and was spreading it on my face with the attention of a microsurgeon.
