Photo courtesy: Jmitra 1 — Wikimedia Commons
My once husband was Indian. For those from North America, I’m not referring to the mistaken name given to First Nation peoples. I’m writing about the REAL Indians from India.
I had three daughters during the marriage and no one could or can guess where they’re from. If one or the other is in Italy, they pass for Italian; the same with Spain. Even in India, people find it hard to believe their heritage unless they wear traditional clothes. And when they spend time at the beach, they quickly develop a golden tan that is the envy of their friends.
On one of my daughter’s recent trips to India, she went to a beauty clinic tanned. When the beautician pulled up her sleeve and saw her pale shoulder she asked,
“How long will it take you to get back to this colour?”
My daughter told her three months and the woman clicked her tongue as if she thought her crazy to let her skin tan.
Fortunately, my girls were never exposed to the colonial hangups that permeate India. They never read the wanted ads men place when looking for a wife demanding a pale skin. They never heard or saw advertisements about skin lightening creams, the way Indian women suffer.
I think it’s time Indian women and men got over Colonial colic. Stop belly aching about the colour of someone’s skin. Start complaining about Bollywood and it’s misrepresentation of the population.
And finally, (though I promised in an earlier post I wouldn’t mention his name again) haven’t you seen Dhanush? He must be about the most handsome man on the planet!