The Color Black

I was nine. I didn’t know much. I knew when I bowled, batted, or stood in the field playing cricket, things were perfect. I didn’t consciously think they were perfect, but cricket centred me like smoking hash & stealing babies centres a lot of people. Cricket was my daily orgasm in broad daylight during my summer holidays when the sun was out on a mission-to-kill everyone in May.

Often, when I’d return home, my mother’s face didn’t like my orgasmic face. She’d scream ‘Four hours you were playing in the beating sun – who will take care of you when you get ill & turn black?’ I always stood there like an idiot & moments later rushed for the fridge for cold water.

Now that I recall those moments, I realize I could relate to the first part of her tirade but not the latter. At age 9, I had been ill earlier & I knew I didn’t like it – and my mom had to take care of me & I couldn’t play cricket. Illness was the opposite of the orgasmic experience cricket gave me. But, I couldn’t understand why the temporary change in the tone of my skin made her furious. My skin had in earlier summers turned darker while playing cricket, but I never felt any discomfort – neither did it cause my mother or anyone additional work. Her worries perplexed me & I cursed god why didn’t he make me darker by birth, like many of my friends, so my mom wouldn’t give me crap about turning darker while I played the sport I loved.

At 9, I didn’t know the cultural complexities associated with the color black. And as over the next 2 decades or so I didn’t get lucky to die by getting hit by a marauding Mercedes driven by a licenseless rich teenager, I grew up to understand India’s bitter relation with - The Color Black.

I will be narrating more of my real life stories with withheld names of the friends involved as no one likes truth about them written on the social network — people love their filtered phoren pictures liked by random people they never met but added on their Insta/FB accounts to inflate ‘likes’

An inimitable girl I was dating years ago had the color of skin, I’d dreamed of when my mom would get upset with my darkened skin. Comically, every time she went back to her rustic hometown surrounded by the hills, her family would bemoan the fact that she’s gotten even darker. I don’t know if they had a dedicated mourning day, but it certainly made them weep inside. Indians don't like dark daughters.

A friend who after sifting through 100s of girls for arranged marriage finally liked one & she liked him back, didn’t proceed further as she was ‘darker.’ I asked him ‘Dude, have you been speed-eating Patanjali noodles while speed-reading RSS literature?’ He said he understands my emotion but he did it for his ‘daughter.’ ‘What daughter, dumbfuck.’ I retorted. He then explained ‘Bro, I will get married to her (the darker girl) & we will have kids. I may have a daughter as well. If the daughter goes on me, she will be fair, but if she goes on her mother, she will be darker. Eventually, say 25 years, when she’s ready for marriage, she will not find a groom.’ Now, listening to that gibberish made me want to instantly kick his balls. My dear buddy was worried about an imaginary daughter & believed the Indian Society will be just as primitive in 2041 that the only thing that will continue to matter about a human being was the color of her skin. What scared the shit out of me was that he’s most likely right. Think about it – Has much changed in the last 25 years?

When I went to Ahmedabad in the summer of 2006, I thought everyone was orthodox Muslim or Hindu. All the girls riding Activas had their hands covered with sleeves and faced wrapped with scarves. My ignorance was soon quick-fixed as it was revealed to me by my freshly-minted gujarati-engineering student friends that girls weren’t religious but simply trying to avoid getting sun tanned. Everyone laughed at my stupid assumption as they added ‘The girls, for all we know, must be on their way to make out with their boyfriends.’ Another roaring laughter ensued. I felt hurt not because of the cheeky smiles but because the country I had left for Australia hadn’t left what made it regressive and the boyfriends still liked their girlfriends fair & untanned.

A female friend of mine refused to go to Goa for her final week-long bachelorette trip with her female friends & chose Darjeeling instead. I, who still hadn’t learned from his 2006 Ahmedabad days, asked her if she loved Darjeeling & mountains. She said ‘Fuck no, I love beaches, but dude I’m getting hitched in two weeks – Don't you realize what a massive scandal it will be when I return from Goa all tanned by like a fuckin hippie.’ This was 2016. Ten years had sailed & nothing had changed. This time I didn’t feel hurt – I’m numb now.

It is May 2017 now. About a month ago, I saw a video of a man of African origin getting beaten by a mob in Greater Noida. This wasn’t an isolated incident. These attacks were so brutal that the victims could’ve been maimed or lost their lives. They got thrashed because of – The Color Black. Indian government didn’t publish an unconditional apology. They refused to accept that these were acts of outright racism.

You know what, one can’t fix something till the time one accepts it’s broken. In the19^th century, Britain was hanging people based on phrenology [A science {now discredited} stating that the shape and size of the skull indicate the character and mental abilities of a man.]. They soon realized this was against the fundamental human rights & an insult to human intelligence to send someone to the gallows because of the shape of their skull. When will we be realizing the fundamental ignorance and the crime against humanity for judging someone as a drug peddler & a prostitute for the color of their skin.

It’s May again, the sun is scorching. As I write this letter, somewhere a 9-year-old kid is entering his home with an orgasmic look & his mother is furious because he’s come back 2 tones darker than he was earlier in the day.

Two & a half decades down & nothing has changed. But a bald man once said the change always begins with you. Damn right it does.

Yesterday, I walked up to a person of African origin & said ‘Hey, you don’t know, brother, but I just wanted to say sorry for each time you’ve had to face discrimination in my country of birth. And if I ever become a father, I promise to you that I will never raise kids who discriminate people on the color of their skin.’