It’s not ‘Fair’
The weight of its wetness stretched across the skin of her face, one stroke at a time. Forehead, nose, cheeks. A layer of pinkish thick liquid against her dark brown skin. The aroma was intoxicating. She hesitantly tasted the foundation cream then quickly wiped her tongue against her party dress. Latika flinched when she suddenly heard her parents talk loudly at each other.
“Are they fighting again?” She murmured to herself. She heard pots and pans being thumped over the stove; Ladle moving mercilessly, scarring the insides of the vessels, forever. “Yes, they are.”
She feared her mother would be angry, considering her foul mood, that she used her makeup. The fear vaporized when she saw herself in the mirror.
“I look so fair!!!”. Her dark skin was buried under a thick layer of foundation, she hoped forever. Her friends won’t call her blackboard anymore. Her English teacher –Miss Suchitra– won’t ask her whenever she would enter the staff-room — “Did you have a bath today?” She won’t have to scrub herself in the bathroom till it hurt, to get rid of the blackness of her skin.
She decided to wear Kajal and lipstick. No Twelve-year-old girl in her school had ever used lipstick before. She would become so popular.
She stepped out of her room and froze seeing her father storm out.
“Go!! Go while away!!” Her mother yelled and then laid down in her bedroom switching off the lights and covering her eyes with a thick dark towel. Latika tip-toed towards her.
“Mummy, look at me” she said softly.
“Not now. Migraine” her mother responded.
“Don’t cry then. It will make it worse. Is papa coming back to take me to the school function?”
“No. Walk to school.” Her mother declared without lifting the towel off her eyes.
“Okay.” She felt a little melancholy.
She walked for twenty minutes.
When she entered the auditorium, she was already sweating. Latika’s face had caked up. Her neck and ears appeared to be of a different colour than her face. The unsteady hand of a twelve-year-old could not draw a perfect curve out of kajal. Let’s not even talk about the orange lipstick. Girls and boys pointed at her, laughed at her. She got a new nickname that day — “pink face clown”. Her heart sank. Her steps slowed down. Her eyes welled up.
All the kids were scurried over to the stage for a group picture. Miss Suchitra was annoyed by Latika’s face, which by now had black tear streaks across her caked cheeks. It was simply impossible for Latika to please her.
“I won’t let you spoil the class picture.” She grabbed Latika closer and rubbed a napkin on her face further smudging it with hues of pink, black and orange. Miss Suchitra, now frustrated, gave up. She pushed Latika to the left end of the photo setup. And thus, the annual class picture was clicked -Latika at the far end, her frowning face standing out amidst the smiling ones.
