Chocolate or Vanilla? Complexities of the Complexions!

  If the pen is picked up purposefully after more than a year, one tends to take one cautious step at a time. In a desperate pursuit of a flow. And the hope, that once it’s found, the results will leave them awestruck and humbled. Hope is what keeps us mankind going, isn’t it? Its hope that keeps a mother from slapping her nasty tongued son that one day, the tongue will mellow down. It’s the hope of not being caught that terrorists hold on to when they hatch another lethal plot. And hope again that 2012 won’t really happen that lets movie stars sign films premièring in 2014. It’s all connected to something so simple, and yet so mighty.

  Speaking of might, my mind currently happens to hold a mighty dispute within itself. Something I keep gnawing at and then tossing away, unfinished. So suddenly, I feel the need to vent. Let me be more specific. Recently, I heard of a distant cousin being rejected by a family because "She was south Indian dark!" That statement left me fuming. And disturbed. It’s horrifying that this mentality still dares to exist amongst the seemingly educated public. In this time and century, when inter continent marriages hardly raise an eyebrow and Katy Perry sings passionately about supersonic aliens. What I’m trying to say is that something like the COLOUR has been trivialized to the extent of not mattering at all.

  Or so I very naively assumed! But a little bit of TV sent me tumbling into a staggering reality, which was suddenly all around me. I am referring to this absurdly persuasive tendency people seem to possess. The Inappropriate Glamorization of the Fair Skin. Look at the heaping cosmetic commercials. The putting of ‘fair’ and ‘lovely’ or ‘white’ and ‘beauty’ together. There’s “white perfect” and “natural white” and “fairever”. We didn’t even stop at that and actually came up with a “fair” and “handsome”! And trust me, these are just a few known handful. And they are rapidly catching up. Fairness creams and face packs actually have a market of a whopping 2,000 crores in our country.

  It’s preposterous. How a certain mentality compels one to be ashamed of being dark and strive towards perfection which is somehow synonymous to being fair! A director suddenly notices a girl after she’s glowing with fairness. A random girl lightens her skin tones and wins beauty pageants! I mean. How? We also have soaps about the woeful story of a dark and a fair sister where the dark one undoubtedly has to face a horde of hardships. A bizarre victimization, if you think about it. Of a perfectly normal human being. 

  Fair skin was considered superior before. That was gotten rid of. But it just keeps seeping back in. Like a tea stain that refuses to leave an otherwise perfectly functioning shirt. It’s like a craving that refuses to be exhausted, a fetish and an obsession that threatens to devour one gullible mind after another. The media seems to be hell bent on accelerating this epidemic. And our country has around 36 million TV users. A seemingly innocent commercial that holds roots in one’s mind. Its perplexing how most people will stop at nothing but pure white marble. There have been incidents where girls as young as 6 have inquired about fairness treatments. The woman’s complexion is specially taken into consideration so that the couple may have fairer children! It bewilders me how one can even think of sorting equality within religions, classes, castes etc. while we are still stuck with something so ridiculously insignificant.

  Meanwhile, the color discriminator’s son did finally find his piece of the moon. While my smart, very educated cousin with a respectable bank job, a delightful sense of humor and slightly more Melanin pigment remains matchless…waiting…hoping.

This one was actually supposed to be published in my college newsletter. But the issue got delayed and it was too stale by then. Hence, here goes.

Being New

Portfolios were done. Interviews gone through and a long holiday was spent with anticipation of what was in store. Things had been heard, assumed and hoped for. Amidst tearful parents and rooms that reeked of freshly done pest control, we had arrived. At MitID. The river was discovered and Raj/ Green Hut/ Red Chillies were determined as the possible mess backups. Noisy breakfasts and lunches made us aware of our huge number. It was picture perfect when suddenly; back breakingly hectic courses woke us up, and kept us awake. Still do, in fact.

Then came the seniors, and with them, interaction sessions. One couldn’t help feeling strangely intimidated by people who were just a year or two older! Though the fact that they’d gone through this turmoil AND had emerged victorious, did add a whole lot of respect and wonder. Mavshi’s and Kaka’s were introduced. People, slowly and steadily, began to vanish from class. The tuck shop now had a whole new, ever hungry crowd. So did the stationery shop with the hassled old man and chatty lady. Corridors filled up with us, foundationers struggling to straighten out the crooked pillars of  similar looking passageways. 

This is when frustration started setting in."Redo" became a dreaded word, doled out generously. One would be seen marveling at the brilliance of someone else’s drawing while at the same time feeling annoyed at not being able to get it right. Weekends would see people galloping away while the mood at the institution (as we’re to call it) was somewhat gloomy. People began to lose weight. And some of them even had second thoughts! Cribbing began, giving way to regret in some cases and strong will power in others. Coffee was grimly sipped and eyes were kept wide open. We were finally working.

And now, we are quite a few courses old. And have learnt the ways of this place, somewhat. The night is suddenly the savior. Its like a time of the day that was never utilized correctly. Till now. Of course, there are times when I feel like blinking for a long time just to catch a few winks (literally) of sleep or the shoulder beside me tries to lull my sleepy head during those tedious lectures but oh well! It’s just business as usual. And I still end up at the tip of the backlog iceberg, which, just like the nauseous smell hovering around the roads, keeps floating around my brain! The hostel never sleeps. Might be people slogging it out, or people on the phone strewn across the corridor with one leg on the railing, talking dreamily in hushed tones. There are also the adventurous kinds who watch movies even when they have their own icebergs. And then there are rooms that invitingly keep releasing Maggi/coffee aromas. Just like the tuck shop, but here, the aromas are of a deliciously varied kind and you can actually go have the treasure within, with sugary words and a hungry face! 

The feeling of alarm when you’re told that “the warden has called you”. The relief when you finally clear all of the design drawing submissions. The rhythmic calm I feel when people play the guitar during night permission and in the hostel. The inward joy I got when the beats of the dhol resonated through the building and the happiness with which I clapped my clay covered hands after the Malyali ladies did their Onam dance. The laughing and getting creeped out together while watching thrillers and How I met your mother episodes. The horde of comments that landed up on a single Humble Plea for a lost wallet. The musical high experienced during navratri with the whole session of getting ready for it. The annoyance at seeing the evening snacks menu. And. The missing of all of this when I go home on the weekends. And this, is just the beginning.

Now, I may have miles (piles, rather) to go before I sleep. Staying up might turn me into a puffy eyed zombie. And my nose might wilt away and die, courtesy The Smell that has even reached the hostel now. But, slowly, steadily and somewhat willingly, this place has now become my home, almost.