“I believe in spontaneity—in acting and in beauty. Health is beauty,” she says, dressed casually yet radiating an inner glow. Her voice lowers, her words rich with memory. “My mother and father were my first beauty gurus.” She speaks of her father’s daily mantra—“A clean stomach, plenty of water, and psyllium husk for digestion”—and her mother’s relentless campaign of bitter brews and homemade pastes. “Chirata, thankuni, bitter gourd juice… I hated them all. And kalmegh? I’d run and hide! But now, I thank her every day.”
As our conversation grows warmer, she smiles, brushing back her thick hair—still luscious, she tells me, thanks to her mother’s weekly oil massages. “Back then, her hands would hurt from combing my hair. Now when I oil my daughter’s hair, I hear my mother’s voice again.” These rituals—ground orange peel and milk cream masks, flour and tomato juice scrubs—aren’t relics. They’re her reality. “My skin still reacts best to them. Ice cubes on my cheeks, power naps instead of expensive creams… it works.”
But what about the industry’s harsh lights and harsher expectations? Rituparna’s answer is as bold as it is soft. “We didn’t have sunscreen then. We’d cake on makeup to avoid sunburn, then rush home to scrub it off with homemade packs. Still do.” She doesn’t rely on 10-step Korean skincare or exotic serums. “Just moisturizer to remove makeup, then a gentle face wash. That’s all. Less is more.”
And what’s her one golden rule? She leans in, voice playful yet firm: “Don’t let your mind rot. Mental peace shows on your skin. No alcohol, no smoke—just love, naps, and old-school care.” The room seems to pause, the scent of nostalgia mingling with something spicier—something enduringly sensual. Just like Rituparna.
