Let's Be Fair!

The current online Indian matrimonial advertisements surprise me with their adherence to the age-old "Fair & Slim" requirement. Have they seen Bipasha Basu lately, I wonder. I don't mean to suggest that people should set "Dark & Overweight" as their standards. However, I do disagree with the instant labelling of fair as beautiful in Indian society. Over time, I have seen, beaked noses, thin lips, bushy eyebrows, lacklustre smiles and even a slight squint, being dismissed in the face of fairness, quite literally.

When I was eleven years old, browsing through the daily newspaper's matrimonial classified section caused me great anxiety. I was not fair and according to the 'Brides Wanted' column, was probably going to end up an old maid. Everybody wanted a fair bride!

Around this time a supposedly magical face cream called Fair & Lovely was sweeping the classrooms at my girl's school.
Television commercials for Fair & Lovely had led me to believe that my wheatish complexion would not only damage my chances at romance but could even hinder my career. According to the advertisements, being light skinned was a professional credential as well. Alarmed, I begged my mother to let me buy a tube of Fair & Lovely. But my well-established and customary argument of "Everybody uses it" was not good enough for my mother.

She pursed her lips and looked at me from above her glasses as she graded exams.

"Find three things about yourself that matter more than the shade of your complexion and write an essay on them" she commanded firmly, like the teacher she was, even as I groaned my reluctance.

"Do it," she said, "Someday you will thank me"

The following week, I gathered evidence to convince my mother of how buying Fair & Lovely was going to ensure my future happiness.

1. The matrimonial classified section was Exhibit A.

2. A pamphlet of Fair & Lovely that showed a gradual lightening of skin color in a very demonstrative picture was Exhibit B.

3. And of course, a few pictures of Bollywood actresses, were Exhibit C.

One by one, my mother steadily demolished my case.

"The matrimonial section is not the only place to find a groom and besides, that should not be reason enough for you to try and change yourself" she stated in one breath.

Exhibit B was thrown out faster than I could say Fair & Lovely.

"Skin pigmentation cannot be reversed" she scoffed, flicking the pamphlet aside.

Then came the Bollywood actresses. Honestly, as my mother looked at each of their pictures and commented, I felt less sorry for myself and more so for them.

"That", she said pointing an incriminatory finger at one of the pretty faces, "is war-paint!"

I could almost see the actresses' lips begin to quiver and quickly returned them to my drawer.

"I am not beautiful", I bawled, finally giving way to the tears I had been holding back.

"Yes, you are!" my mother said looking genuinely surprised at my sudden outburst, "And you don't need a face cream pamphlet or a classified section for brides to tell you that."

"But I am dark!" I protested vehemently.

"Dusky" she said, raising her eyebrows enigmatically, making it sound so much better than it really was.

A few years later, in the early 90s, Karishma Kapoor made her debut and all everybody could talk about was how fair she was and of course the light eyes were just gorgeous. This was also the year, in which I inadvertently formed my first independent opinion, irrespective of what of my classmates and chummies thought. Unfortunately, Ms. Kapoor, through no real fault of hers, was at the receiving end.

"I don't really think she's very pretty", I announced to the study group gathered at my house.

They were stunned. From the corner of my eye, I could see my mother begining to look in our direction with sudden interest.

"Well, my mother says she is fair and pretty", one of the girls added, in an attempt to influence my opinion.

"I think she looks like Randhir Kapoor without a moustache", I said, a tad cruelly and not willing to back down.

The girls exchanged glances.

"But she is so fair", one of them tried, puzzled by my obvious dismissal of her skin color while assessing her beauty.

I simply shrugged. The rest of the study session continued uninterrupted by the usual banter about films, actors and actresses.

After the girls left, sulking a little, my mother and I sat in our living room, munching on samosas and watching with growing interest as a sultry Sonbai became the object of a lecherous tax collector in Mirch Masala.

"So who do you find beautiful?" my mother asked her voice heavily tinged with curiosity.

"Her", I answered, gesturing towards the screen just as Smita Patil's kohl-lined eyes appeared.

I was over to the dark side.