It was just a regular day at home when some guests arrived.
This one is fair, how come this one is dark?
—------------awkward silence—------------
Oh! She drinks a lot of tea and hence the complexion.
—------------------
This is one conversation I remember from childhood. And Mother’s occasional, “yes yes drink all that tea and keep getting darker”. When I would complain about being dark, she would point out that I was “wheatish” colour and not dark. Somewhere along the way I understood that my skin colour was all wrong. I didn't bother to check that I was actually my mother’s colour.
My colour problems started very early in life. I wouldn't have had this problem if not for my sister R1 who, like Father is fair. And most people who met us never failed to comment on the difference in our skin colour.
All around me I saw fairness as the minimum criteria for getting ahead. All the class toppers were fair. There were non-fair toppers in other classes but my observation set was limited to my peers. I saw the non-fair achievers as anomalies rather than “colour does not matter” figures. I also observed teachers being partial to the fair ones. Or maybe this is what my small mind chose to see at that age. The only arena where colour didn't matter was sports. Unfortunately sports and I weren't made for each other at that stage in my life.
So I arrived at a decision, my children will not face this ignominy. I will marry a very fair man and my children will be the fairest ever. And no one will ever question them on their colour. During a weak moment in my teens, I mentioned this to my friend S and like all good friends she has ensured that and I don’t hear the end of it.
I was so affected by my colour that I would say things like.
A’s complexion (A was not fair) really suits her. And A’s sister H, three years younger than me, said “everyone’s complexion suits them. It’s not a choice”.
How can he and she be a couple? He is so fair and she is not. H again corrected me that complexion doesn't matter in love.
It didn't strike me as unusual that Father and neighbour uncle were both several shades fairer than their respective wives. I guess our minds look at what we want to, leaving out things that don't go with our narrative. In my mind colour was everything, the woman had to be fairer than the man. But, this didn't stop me from my imagined pursuit of a fair husband. The “Fair & Lovely” advertisements on the television didn't help my cause at all. It had to be true if they said on TV that fairness was everything.
Thankfully even though I had a big problem with my skin colour, it was never a good enough reason to stop drinking tea. I was stupid but still practical. Being dark was my fate, I couldn't sacrifice drinking tea just to be fair. Fair & Lovely was out of question as Mother didn't approve of beauty products, especially one that promised to make one fair. When I managed to sneak some from a friend it gave me allergies making me neither Fair nor Lovely. About beauty products Mother would say “velukaan thechad ppaandu aayi maarum” loosely translating to “one applies something to become fair and ends up with leucoderma.”
So there I was as brown as can be and ready for marriage. Remember my plan, well that didn't work out either, all my dreams of white/fair kids were dashed by marrying a man as brown or browner than me. I did not spare a moment’s thought to the fact that even if I marry a fair man, the children may not inherit the colour of his skin.
The colour problem continued to live with me as I made a new life in Bangalore. My son was referred to as “Poona colour” (I am from Pune) as he wasn't the right shade compared to his cousins. As he grew, I dumped all my baggage on him by referring to him as my “karath muth” (black pearl). Playing sports would tan the boys and I would say stuff like “they have lost their colour”. Slowly, thanks to the boys, speaking about colour became taboo at home. Mummy you are not supposed to say this, not supposed to say that, this is not important, that doesn't matter etc.
Meanwhile life got so busy that being of the right colour was the least of my problems. I was never vain to begin with, so the mirror got to see me only to ensure that the bindi was just in the right place. Moreover, the spouse used to and still thinks I am the most beautiful person in any room. Thankfully I got wise with age at least on this matter as I realised that “beauty is only skin deep.”
Cut to my forties, I discovered running and since then my skin has been getting darker and darker. Mother was rather happy about this as running helped alleviate my struggle with allergic bronchitis. Now, I worry when people tell me “your face is glowing, you have lost your tan.” This usually means that I have been sick or missing running due to other commitments. Recently I started swimming as well and now my skin is the darkest shade it has ever been. If anyone talks about my tan, I proudly narrate all that I do to keep it that way.
It has been decades since the marrying the fair guy plan went awry, but I still get to hear “tu to gore se shaadi karne wali thi na” (you were supposed to marry a fair fellow, weren't you).
PS: This article is just to express my struggles with accepting myself as I am. I don't blame Mother for anything. She mentioned my colour only when we were little and it just stayed in my head. And importantly I don’t think tea has anything to do with the colour of your skin.
Oh wow Rakhi!! This is awesome! So well written! I will do my version of growing up black, inspired by you!
P.S keep up the beautiful pictures :))