- Today’s thinking is not much different. Now we have peasants in Porsches, still mentally anchored to their forefathers’ days of ditch-digging, subliminally ready to bow to lighter-skinned individuals
Vanity is simply a state of being that we all, as human beings, indulge in. I myself colour my hair, use a Vitamin C serum during the day followed by sunblock (come rain or shine!), and am weight-conscious enough to recognise that fitness is not just for health, but also for self-satisfaction. None of these components, as far as I can see, are an issue. Self-care is part of being a balanced being. But when the vanity quotient hits record-breaking highs, when self-love turns into obsessive self-adoration, things can take a drastic turn. I was once accosted at the gym by a patron who had, over the years, been peering at me through every possible reflective surface. She would also do the classic “head-to-toe” scan of me whenever we crossed paths. After many moons of this ritual, she finally verbalised her thoughts and asked me, “You go for whitening treatments?”
01.I burst out laughing, perhaps fortunately for me and unfortunately for her, because I knew the backstory behind this quizzical query. She had happened to be in the next treatment room at a very well-established skincare clinic where I was getting my annual laser hair reduction session. When my therapist stepped out briefly to get me some water (as usual, I was emulating a camel lost in the desert, parched and petulant), this woman had asked if I was there for “whitening.” My therapist had responded, “No, for laser hair reduction.”
Obviously, this nosey nelly wasn’t satisfied with that response, probably chalking it up to professional discretion. So, this was the root of her years of skulking in corners, waiting to ask me. With great pleasure, I showed her pictures of my grandmother Erin Don Carolis and my mother Delerine, and explained that genetics do play a role. I have never done, and never will do, “whitening,” because I do not want or need to. My complexion is down to genes, and for that I’m personally very grateful.
This is just one example, and one in which I was directly involved, of how “social moths” reveal a dangerously desperate need to become someone else, no matter the cost. The skin colour conundrum, which has bathed much of South Asia in a sea of bleaching products and treatments, has now reached both dangerously comical and alarmingly unsafe proportions.
I have opined on this many times before. The obsession with “fair skin” is a throwback to the Indo-Aryan portrayal of “superiority,” as highlighted in historical chronicles including the Mahabharata, where most heroines are described as having “glowing and golden complexions.” This idea mirrored the caste system, where higher castes were considered lighter-skinned and therefore more desirable.
One of the more recent depictions, Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Padmavat, brought to life Maharani Padmini of Chittor, who was said to be so mesmerizingly beautiful that Allaudin Khilji invaded just to conquer and acquire her. A description of her reads, “Rani Padmini was the most beautiful queen ever. Her skin was so fair, that if she had paan, you could see the beetle-nut leaf juice going down her throat.” These sorts of “ivory or golden complexions” have set the beauty standards in the subcontinent for generations, and it is not a psychological precedent that is easily broken.
The merging of Persian and Mughal dynasties further cemented this ethos, reinforcing the foundations of skin colour prejudice. The arrival of European rulers made things worse. This deeply flawed mindset equated whiter skin with the “ruling classes.” With most of these regions having a majority peasant population, the narrative was easy to propagate.
Today’s thinking is not much different. Now we have peasants in Porsches, still mentally anchored to their forefathers’ days of ditch-digging, subliminally ready to bow to lighter-skinned individuals. The difference now is that ancestral lineage has little to do
02.with it. Instead, we see suspicious spas and overzealous beauticians offering everything from IV drips to caustic concoctions in the name of “fairness.” The saddest part is that the patrons who submit to these desperate treatments try to pass them off as “vitamins” and “energy elixirs.” In reality, they could be collapsed in a drain with zero energy, but if they emerge a shade lighter, it is worth every dime.
The scalpel and the syringe have also become solutions for the markedly misinformed and the painfully insecure. Lips are bursting and bulbous, as are dangerously deformed derrières. Cheekbones have mysteriously “grown” on certain faces, as have Pinocchio-like pointed noses and brows arched into the hairline. Tresses put Rapunzel to shame. These desperados must have the richest micro-nutrient diets in existence because their hair grows from lunchtime meet-ups to dinnertime catch-ups. Someone needs to tell them: no one is buying these tall tales and fairy tales. You rarely go from being sun-kissed Jamaican to translucent Swedish. Not to generalise, but there is a reason science has proven the existence of genetics.
As I usually do, I would like to end by saying: to each his or her own. I truly could not care less what anyone’s fantasy is about becoming whatever they choose. That is a human right, and in the 21st century, a huge plus to being authentic to oneself. The only side note I would add is this. Do not imagine that your personal evolution can be passed off as the original or the source. It is not. Move on. Move forward. Soar toward your own flights of fantasy. Enjoy the process and thrive. As long as you are happy, sated, and content, it is your life. So, shine on, and live it as authentically as you possibly can.
