When I first received an invitation to like the page Dark is Beautiful from a Facebook friend, I didn’t think much of it. I ignored it as just another spam message. But, something led me check it out one day when randomly surfing the net. Perhaps it’s the involvement of celebrities like Nandita Das or perhaps the manner in which the message was conveyed. The campaign instantly appealed to me.
I have for many years now tried to avoid using any products that promise to make me fairer, sometimes illogically shunning even sunscreen just because of the message it conveys. But, the campaign for non-discrimination on the basis of skin colour hits a raw nerve. It is not very long ago that I was considered dark. Growing up, relatives often commented that with this skin time I would never find a suitable boy. A cousin once put her hand against mine and said, “See? Your skin is black. Mine is white. It basically just means you’re not scrubbing hard enough when you bathe. Scrub nicely and you will also become white and pretty like me.” For a 12-year old me, this statement was heartbreaking. The cousin in question was six years older and considered very pretty by my extended family. From then, the concept of fair is beautiful stuck on, much like the grease from a badly-baked cake, that refuses to wash no matter how hard you try.
It took me nearly a decade to get over my complex of being dark-skinned. A decade of feeling inferior and trying to tide over that complex by doing things that my fair-skinned cousins would have never dreamt of doing. A decade of trying to be the best in what I did in an effort to prove that my dark skin was not a handicap.
Nearly twenty years after that incident, I realize that I am worth much more than the colour of my skin. I realize that dark is not ugly and will never be. I realize I was perhaps foolish in trying to overcome what was never a handicap in the first place. But, the memories linger. Today, when I tell people that dark is beautiful, that being dark is nothing to be ashamed of, I am often greeted with the retort, “It’s easy for you to say because you are not dark.” No, I am not dark. I realize that now. But, there was a time, over a decade of my relatively short life, when I spent hours in front of the mirror agonizing about the pigmentation on my neck and the blemishes on my face.
It has not been easy for me to say this aloud. I do understand how people feel when they are called dark and ugly. But, it’s time we stop obsessing about fair skin. It is time we stop linking success and beauty to complexion. It is also time we stop relying of chemical cocktails that promise to make us fairer and lovelier. Fair is not always lovely. And dark is indeed very beautiful.

In the past week, I have heard the term “Single Child Syndrome” at least half a dozen times in relation to someone else. It irritates me unfailingly. Every. Single. Time. If you have no clue what I am talking about, you probably belong to the small minority who believes that your birth order does not necessarily dictate your personality and that other factors contribute equally.

To put it simply, the “Single Child Syndrome” or “Little Emperor Syndrome” suggests that children who do not have siblings, biological or adopted, are bratty, arrogant, bossy, selfish and lonely. Despite several studies that show that single children are no different from their peers from multi-child families, this stereotype just doesn’t seem to go away.

Perhaps one reason why talk of this gets to me is that I have been personally affected throughout the 30 years of my existence. In school, I was often labelled snobbish and introverted because I was not so comfortable talking to people. As I grew into adolescence, this stereotype only grew worse. People who knew me from childhood couldn’t fathom how the quiet and reticent child suddenly became a confident teen. This change was attributed to the imaginary “pampering” I received at home by virtue of being an only child. At college, my general outgoing nature and confidence was often perceived as snobbishness and arrogance. A teacher would often tell me, with the best intentions, that I would lose some of my arrogance only if my parents got me married into a large and difficult joint family and if I was in some way criticized by my in-laws. “Maamiyaar veetla adi vaangumbodhu thaan budhi varum.”

It’s not easy to survive such constant criticism for something over which I have no control. It was not my choice to be an only child and it’s not fair that I must bear the brunt of this situation. Secondly, being an only child in no way presupposes that one must have a difficult personality. As an only child, I often found myself cornered when people around me made statements implying that the lack of a sibling made me anti-social. Frankly, there is no way I can logically counter that argument because I indeed have no siblings and cannot really put myself in the position of someone who does.

Couples increasingly choose to have just one child. If all single children were bossy, arrogant and selfish, the world would be filled only with selfish people. There is absolutely no evidence that children with siblings are better adjusted socially that single children. Can we please stop judging others because their situation is unfamiliar to us or because we presume that they must have enjoyed a privileged upbringing because they happen to be only children. We have no idea what they have been through and we have no right to judge!