A young Bangladeshi woman in her mid-20s, Parul works at a nail salon in Queens, New York. I met her in January during a weekend trip to New York City. My childhood friend and I went to a nail salon for a relaxing treat and that was where I met Parul.
Parul was my nail technician. That’s a difficult-sounding name for a task apparently as simple as manicure. But the reality is, one has to take nail tech classes and get a certificate before they can start working for a licensed nail salon, because manicure now involves way more than just clipping, filing, buffering, and pushing cuticle. Clients of manicure now go for nail enhancement, nail art, and they also want to wear long-lasting gel nail polish, a kind of polish whose application and removal generally requires a professional manicurist. In short, manicure has reached a whole new level!
Parul, who came to the USA nearly five years ago after winning the Diversity Visa (DV) lottery, has called Queens her home ever since. She puts in 10-12 hours on her job each day -- summers are busier than winters. She has been working at a Chinese nail salon for 2 years now, she moved here from a Bangladeshi-owned nail salon, where she started her career as a nail technician.
I had a long conversation with Parul as she worked on my hands and feet. I learned that she hailed from Narsingdi, a district in central Bangladesh. She was a first-year college student when she won the DV lottery. Her DV application was submitted by an “agent” on behalf of her -- she didn’t even know her “confirmation" number! When the agent found out that she won the DV lottery, he demanded money. “My family spent almost Tk.15 lakhs to send me to America,” she said.
Young Parul came to New York alone. She felt lonely and scared in one of the biggest and busiest metropolises in the world. And even after having spent nearly five years in NYC, she says she is still too scared to travel alone. “I have been to the Times Square only 2 or 3 times, I am scared to go anywhere alone. Sometimes I wish to go back home,” she said.
“Maybe I will return once I get my American passport. Life is tough here.” she added.
I was very satisfied with Parul’s work -- it was a relaxing treat. But when I tried to tip her, she vehemently refused to be tipped. She said she couldn’t accept tip from another Bangladeshi because it didn’t look right. The warmth in her words touched me, but then I knew that most of her earnings came from tips.
It was past 9 p.m. and I was still in the salon with my hands under a manicure fan so that my nail colour would dry faster. Parul was around, tidying up the manicure table -- she was exhausted after a 12-hour shift and was eager to call it a day.
Before leaving the salon, Parul came up to me and asked me for my phone number. And as we exchanged our phone numbers, I forced the tip into the pocket of her jacket -- she refused again and again, but I didn’t listen. I will always remember kind-hearted Parul and may even call her next time I’m in New York City.
By Wara Karim
By Wara Karim
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