Skip to main content

More café, not much lait

Café au lait. That's me.
Okay, not really. More of the café, less of the lait, would be just right.
Yep, like millions of my countrypeople, I am, what a fashion mag would call, "gloriously tanned".
But I didn't know that when I was smaller.

I just heard people call me dark-skinned. Sounds so hurtful, so much less glam, doesn't it? Took me ages or rather, years, to come to terms with my colour. If only my face was the light brown that shaded the insides of my wrist, I'd think. If only I looked like my fair-skinned mother. If only. Would I even actually get my knight on a white charger? That was my unspoken fear, fuelled by too many Mills&Boons and seeing college pals happily chirp about this boy or that; getting roses from unknown admirers on Valentines', and even, being shadowed by faithful followers on their way home.

Then boyfriends happened to me. Surprisingly, all lighter-skinned, except for one my mother charitably described as a Rajnikant-type. (She wouldn't have been so blasé if she knew he was more than a friend at that time!). I couldn't figure out why fairer guys liked me.

Then I met big C. Who loved and loves me for the person I am, the way I am. And how I look. Given that he is himself very Aryan-looking, I still am surprised. Maybe, it's because we're literally, total opposites, in every way.

And yes, he likes more coffee, less lait!

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Morning scenes

The wind blustery Skies grey blue A light so muted Birds are quiet too We walkers go Sidestepping Couple-dancing No touching Looking or meeting Glances…Oh no!   Masks dangling From chins Below noses Hanging from one ear Or sometimes Fitting so properly Covering everything So no one can see Or know What we’re really like.   Runners running Soundlessly Iron determination Seeping through So much so   That dogs being walked Know they cannot Wag tails Or even Bark a greeting.   Two men Creating content One breaking into Hair flipping, body popping Dance Faithful friend filming In fits and starts As a security guard Sips his chai Utterly bemused.
Post a Comment
Read more

Wasteland

Something happened over the past two days. Our next door neighbours, or rather one particular family (like all metrizens in this cramped city, we live within literally, touching distance of the others in our neighbourhood), have decided to demolish their home. Fine, so what, you ask. They see how valuable land now is. Who can blame them? But along with their home, they have also decided to kill off the two trees -- a mango tree and a coconut tree -- in their compound. I used to look at those trees from my kitchen window. The mango tree, in particular, was a welcome sight. Bunches of ripe green fruit used to hang heavily from it. Looking at it, I'd think of my home in Kerala -- of the time when I was a little girl in a white petticoat helping my father pluck mangoes as they slowly changed from parrot green to a golden reddish-yellow-orange shade. That was our annual summer ritual, you see. My father plucked mangoes using a long stick with a hook or a 'kokka' (in my collo...
Post a Comment
Read more

Why?

Two times now, I've seen it happen. Twice, I've seen men, ordinary-looking chaps, verbally and physically abuse the women with them. While people around them did nothing. One man was young, he had an identity tag. He wore formal pants, nice stout shoes. I saw him kick the young woman with him, straight in the gut, with those shoes. His companion was in burkha but she seemed young.  The other man was older. He harangued the woman with him loudly and crudely. He spat at her, followed her when she tried to walk away. Shook her by the shoulders, repeatedly. Both men did this at a public park, in full view of dozens of people milling around. Walkers walked, joggers jogged, various men lounged about, sat around. The onlookers watched the two men do these terrible things. And they did nothing. I am not a brave person. In my heart I was terribly afraid--that if I confront them, they could hurt me, find out where I live, hurt my family. But I was ashamed to stand by and watch. S...
4 comments
Read more