Time to forget skin tones

It seems that we Indians can never steer clear of the issue of colour. We have to stumble, we have to commit a few faux pas — and we wind up alienating not just a few people but entire communities, states and regions!

And we do this calmly, blithely, with a firm and deeply ingrained belief that the slight difference in shade between you and me makes you eligible to hold your head high and force my head down — or vice versa. Because when roles are reversed, when we scratch the surface of even the most diplomatic and cultured among us, some sort of prejudice is highly likely to emerge. But we refuse to accept that term to describe ourselves — and it is almost comic the way we are deeply affronted when our entire country is lumped together as colour prejudiced despite being “coloured”.

Have you ever heard someone in your own group of the supposedly educated say absolutely seriously, meaning every word, and not for a moment realising how offensive they sound: “She is quite attractive even though she’s dark,” or “Such a lovely person — after some time we forget that he’s/ she’s dark,” “He’s/she’s a little dark, but that’s OK. We don’t mind.” As they say all this, they probably congratulate themselves on their broad-mindedness, their ‘tolerance’ and their allinclusiveness and do not for a moment think that they are actually being prejudiced or just plain silly.

Why, I wonder, are we so obsessed with whites and blacks and browns when there is an entire spectrum of other colours around us? When we get together with our friends or with people we don’t know very well, do we notice the tiny differences in shade and hue of our skin or do we notice their clothes, their manners, their words, their deeds? Don’t we care about the animation in their movements, the width of their smiles, the light in their eyes?

Assailing my senses

I’ve always had a thing about colour. Nothing draws my attention more or distracts me better than colour. I may be walking along the road purposefully, concentrating deeply on the previous night’s dream and its significance or a nightmare and its meaning in relation to what the day holds in store for me — and suddenly, from the corner of my eye I see a flash of blue and red or pink and purple — and I have to turn. I have to look. I have to admire. And I naturally promptly forget the dream, the nightmare, the meaning, the significance, and every negative thought that has been assailing my senses.

To our good fortune, the area where we live has become the home of several peacock families. When we are out in the mornings, they are out too, strutting around on rooftops, flying rather awkwardly from one rooftop to the other, calling out raucously — and then suddenly opening up their tail feathers and spreading them out in a display that makes us appreciate why a group of these gorgeous birds is called an ostentation of peacocks. What could be a more appropriate term?

The peacocks and blue jays and tiny bee eaters are not the only birds we see. There are mynahs and koels and a lot more and there are all those other morning walkers who bring so much colour into our lives with their multihued clothes of every shade.

Gone are the days of the “whites” when the “uniform” for morning exercise was white shorts and white Tshirt, white socks and white tennis shoes. Today, every one of those clothing items is multi-coloured for men, women and children.

And we love it, don’t we?

So why can’t we count those colours in our lives and forget about skin tones?

■ Cheryl Rao is a journalist based in India.