Creamy Life

No, am not going to talk about the cream layer, education or the toppers of my school and college life. This is all about the tons of creams and layers of foundation to cover the skin and try to look more natural. Yeah, it’s funny. Apply more and more makeup to look as what? Yes, NATURAL. I don’t have to tell you, you already know how that feels, growing up in a typical Indian society with a dark skin, dusky skin and many shades are there before that milky white shade comes.

I am Nisha. I was born with a dusky skin color. With constant reminders of my skin color, I grew up. Don’t get me wrong. I am happy in my life with a successful career, a loving husband and a cute little girl around me. Last month, I attended my best friend’s wedding. Priya, as the name suggests, is a real gem. She is finally married to Gambhir (this one is opposite as per his name), our Gamby or the Gambuz of college days. The whole wedding was a fairy tale affair. A so called Destination Wedding. It was too enjoying and melodramatic at the same time. We all friends met after a long time and needless to say we had a gala time. This one also brought back the Pandora box of memories.

Priya and I had been friends from early childhood, you can say right from birth. Same lanes, same school, and then same Engineering College. We parted ways only after graduation, she went for Business Administration and I went for Masters in Technology. Still we could connect anytime, anywhere and felt like we were never separated by huge distances. Yes, the plug-and-play kind of friendship that has lasted many decades by now. Okay, let me come back. Her skin shade was approved by our Indian standards on the very day she was born, Milky White J

We both will be playing in the playground someday and one of our family well-wisher aunty will pass by and comment, “Your friend is so cute and fair. Why don’t you also apply some ubtan (face pack) with turmeric?” I was very good in studies. I used to score higher than her always but nobody used to comment like “Priya, why don’t you study well like Nisha?”  Rather, the comments will be like, “What is the point of scoring more in studies?  What will you girls do even if you study well? Prepare yourself for weddings and learn how to cook and take care of family. Take care of your skin”. Then and there, started my obsession with various creams and a series of fairness creams came and went.

I saw this ad in the TV and brought it. I thought within a few weeks, I would become a fairy. They provided a shade card also with the tube. After two weeks of applying it twice a day, I checked in the mirror. There was not much change in the skin color. I consoled myself, it may take longer for few people. So, I waited for 8 weeks but realized I did not turn into Yami Gautam after all.

Then sometime during our teenage years, Aniket happened, the tall handsome guy with a dimple. Those were the days when the breeze would move to wherever he went. And, to top it all, he used to play guitar. He enters the class room one day, his gaze roams through every corner of the room before his eyes fall on me and then he gives me a SMILE. I got goose bumps. Oh my Gosh, the devil has noticed me. He comes over and sits beside me. “Hi, Nisha”. I realize every pair of girly eyes were on me. “Hello”. “See, I know. You are very studious kind of girl and do not like to talk to guys. But you can trust me I am a good guy. I just wanted to say I like your best friend Priya a lot and I know if you tell her she will talk to me”. My bubble shattered into so many tiny pieces that I could not count. Hiding my clenched teeth, I finally asked, “What do you want from me?” He responded, “See while you people go to the tuition after school, can you please bring her from the lane where I stay. It is near to the tuition place and I will be able to join you both while going to the tuition and while coming back also. If you talk to me, she will notice me as well”.

Aniket had invited us on his birthday. And the very morning of his birthday, I discovered three pimples on my face. It was earth shattering. Can you imagine, not one, but three? What should I do so that they disappear by this evening? The bad old days had stuck my karma again.

I used neem, turmeric, tea tree oil, and any kind of whatever comes face washes to clean and clear my pimples. I applied skin lightening pimple creams, washed my face 7-8 times a day to stay clear of the oil. I applied my Grandmother’s stinky ubtans (face packs) also as suggested by her. It used to go and appear again. I was only born with a bad skin L

Teen age turned into twenties and then thirties. I grew up, got married, had a child but still I could not change my skin color to Milky White which can be approved by ISC (Indian Society Certified). Now, it’s time to go to bed, I should not compromise on my beauty sleep.

“What? Who is calling at this hour? What time it is?” Oh, it’s 6AM already. But who wakes up at six in the morning on a Saturday. What is the urgency? Let me check though who this early caller is.  When I check my phone, it shows Priya Calling. “Hello, what happened? It’s so early”. “Nishuuu, my life is ruined”. My eyes are wide open now, what has happened? Has Gamby turned out to be a bad guy? Has he hurt her? With a heavily pounding heart, I ask, “What happened?” She replies, “I noticed a wrinkle on my forehead last night. I could not sleep the whole night. First reasonable hour only am calling you. Tell me, what should I do now? My life is ruined, Nish. Help me.”

Garima - Who lived with Pride and Dignity

The flight touches ground, each one of us unfastens the seat belts, take out the hand baggage and impatiently wait in a queue for each other’s turn to get out. I finally take out my head out of the aircraft and take the first sniff of that air. The air that makes me nostalgic whenever I come home.  The crew smile at us and let all of us slog in that bus towards the terminal. We all have no time and are in such a hurry that it irritates us to even visit the wash room. Finally checked in luggage is received and I hop into a cab that will take me home.

When the cab was about to take the turn near our lane, I notice a chaos and too many people at Garima aunty’s place. I had always called that as Garima aunty’s haunted house. That lady who had made a mark for herself all on her own. She would move mountains for woman empowerment, would become the mother for the orphans, would go all her way to take care of the stray dogs. You name any social reform, any service to the society and its people, she would definitely be a part of it. She did not make much fortune but she had won hearts and was respected by everyone in that place of ours. I reach home and ask my mother, “I saw so many people in front of Garima aunty’s place. Is she planning to run for elections, this time?” My mother informs me that she passed away a few days back.

I remember going through these very lanes during my younger days, sometimes walking and sometimes running. And, before I could reach my home, I would see Garima aunty watering her plants in front of that haunted house of hers. She would smile and ask how my day was, how college was, etc. I had always wondered how that smile in her wrinkly face and twinkling eyes always made me stop and say hello and do a small chit chat with her despite my busy, unstoppable running around the clock time table and schedule. I had even told my sister that she hypnotizes me.

I knew I had to make a visit to her place. I knew she was not there anymore but still there was something which was calling me. So, after I freshened up, I rush towards her house to bid her a farewell. I reach her place and see some people discussing about the ceremonies to be held for her death. I also see a man, may be in his fifties, sitting on the floor wearing a dhoti with his head shaved off. Someone introduced me to him as her son. I found out there is a daughter as well. Their spouses were also present and I was even introduced to a few grandchildren. I was appalled to see so many people. I was not only shocked, I was shaken deeply, and I was kind of reeling inside. Where were these people all the while, why was the lady staying alone all her life in that shack of a haunted house? I could not take it anymore, after I exchanged a few pleasantries, I turned and rushed back home.

I reached home and started crying my heart out. I do not know what made me cry like that but I felt as if I was stabbed at my back. My mother looked at my heart broken stance and sat beside me. She started telling me about the woman. Who was Garima and what was she made off?

Those days’ daughters were not considered worthy of education and were never considered equal to sons. Her parents were also not different. She was married off to an older and richer person at a tender age of 16. She bore him children at a very young age too. Her husband used to beat her after getting drunk every day and night and being a rich person used to frequently visit brothels and she was supposed to endure everything without uttering any word. However, due to some unfortunate events, all four of her brothers died one after another, leaving behind her ailing parents. She struggled and tried very hard to look after her parents which was not allowed by her husband’s family as it is inappropriate for a woman to neglect her wifely duties and disobey her husband. After her father died, she could take it no more and left her husband to look after her mother. That day on wards, she was considered an evil for this society. Her husband and his family never accepted her back and forbidden her to meet her children and her children also never tried to see her as she was the one who had left her husband.

I had tears oozing out of my eyes and I asked my mother, “Did she ever miss her children? Why didn’t she ever try to mend fences with her children at least, may be after her husband died? How could she live all alone?” My mother replied straight into my eyes and her words cut deep through my core, “She was happier here”. And, today when I am penning down these words, I can still feel that warm smile and twinkling eyes of my Garima aunty.