Fair or unfair?

"What's your idea of beauty?" I asked my fair-complexioned cousin, Tara. With her light eyes and milky white appearance, Tara looked Caucasian.

"I think Kalyani is beautiful", she mused. "Kalyani!" I was pleasantly surprised. Kalyani was our mutual cousin. She was tall and slim. With her almond eyes, smooth skin and slender features, Kalyani was fine-looking no doubt, but I was amazed at Tara's choice.

Kalyani was dark complexioned. Her deep tan made her noticeable, just the same way that Tara's light skin made her stand out. I was amused that someone as light complexioned as Tara should appreciate Kalyani's looks.

When I called Kalyani to convey Tara's compliment, she was surprised, too. I asked Kalyani how people reacted to her looks. She had delicate features, yet did our colour-obsessed society commend her about her good looks?

"People are so different in their reactions," Kalyani pondered. "When I was a child in a school in Delhi, I was called 'kaali'. It was so regularly reinforced that I would turn around knowing it is me if someone called out 'kaali' from a distance!"

"Once, when I as a teenager," she said, "I was walking on the streets of Purani Dilli and a rickshaw puller passed me. In India, some men have a habit of turning back to see the face of a girl, when they like the look of her from behind," she explained. "So this rickshaw puller who rode past me, turned back, made a revolting face and then spat on the road in disgust."

Kalyani continued as I listened, stunned. "And then, there was another time when a guy who hadn't met me before, wanted a favour from me and spoke to me a few times on the phone. He had formed an image of me, like we all do, from my voice on the phone. When he finally met me, he couldn't help a shocked look and he remarked, 'But you are black'!" "Even my mother's friends would compare me unfavourably with my fair complexioned sister. I forgot about these incidents with time, but deep down, I grew up believing that I wasn't good looking and had come to accept it," said Kalyani said in a resigned tone.

"But let me tell you how some other people have reacted," she said looking at my shocked face. Kalyani was now thoroughly enjoying herself. "I was in my twenties when I visited Italy to do a course at the University of Perugia. Imagine my surprise when a fellow student of Art, a French lad, said he thought I was beautiful and wanted to paint me!"

With a smile on her face, she went on. "I was visiting the chapel of St. Francis at Assisi, admiring the paintings in the basilica, when a row of nuns walked in my direction. Assuming I was blocking their way, I moved aside only to find that they moved towards me again. 'bello Bambola, bello Bambola,' they said, smiling at me."

"What's Bombola," I asked my Italian friend who was within earshot. "A gas cylinder," he said grinning. "Why would they call me a gas cylinder?" I exclaimed in despair. They didn't call you a 'bombola', my friend corrected me, still grinning. They called you a 'bello Bambola', a lovely doll!"