Editorial Viewpoint
Darkness at noon
Dear Editor
I am a middle-aged Parsi woman and uptil now I have had no problem in my marriage. But about two years ago my husband was transferred from his Kalbadevi office in South Bombay to the company's factory in Navi Mumbai. As the factory is some distance from the railway station and the bus stop, my husband has to walk in the hot sun. This is alright in the winter months but in summer it's really hot. As a result his complexion has darkened.
At first I thought his skin looked darker because of the inadequate lighting in our flat. We use a 40 watt bulb to save on electricity. I then had a tube light installed and was shocked to see how dark he looked. At first when neighbors and family and friends would stare at him I used to fib and say we'd gone to Goa for a holiday and he had tanned there. (I've never been to Goa but know a little about the place because we once had a Konkani cook. For our holiday we normally go to Devka. It's a nice beach but since I'm not used to walking barefoot like other Indians, the sand feels rough and hot against the white skin of my soles.) But when his skin remained a chocolate brown people would mockingly say, "Paachhaa Goa gaya k‚ soo (went to Goa again)?"
Then I started to tell people he had some problem with his liver and hence the darkened complexion but everybody thought he must be drinking excessively, "saalo bevdo (damn drunkard)!" they retorted so I stopped relating that excuse.
As you are aware, amongst us Parsis a fair complexion is a prerequisite for acceptance. I don't want people to think I married a non-Parsi (there are so many intermarried couples these days!).
Things really came to a head at my uncle's brother-in-law's nephew's marriage when for the first time I heard the 'D' word in reference to my husband! Somebody commented, "Dogdo ni saath aie kaun muo dubro chŠ (Who is that dubro - menial, underprivileged local - with our Dogdo)?" I could have died! So great was my embarrassment that I didn't sit with him in the second paat (dinner sitting) as I always do but said I had an upset tummy (they served saas ni machhi that night and to forgo such a dish is a heresy). We are ordinary people so we don't get so many invitations. And since we have to a give a parikoo (cash gift) we only accept the invitations after inquiring about the caterer and the vanis (dishes) to be served.
That night when I got home and took off my embroidered georgette sari, my pearl necklace and gold earrings, I told Tehmul (name changed to protect actual identity) he should use some skin lightening cream or change his job. He agreed to try the cream. (Poor fellow is also quite embarrassed about his coloring. First they used to call him dudh pau - milk and bread - or dudh puff - milk puff - because he was so fair. Now they refer to him as Coca-cola or Cadbury - how heartless people can be!
I realized the creams were not working when on our biannual pilgrimage to Gujarat a SAPI (Save Parsis from Intermarriage) volunteer first eyed us suspiciously. We said our kusti prayers and entered the fire-temple but Tehmul was stopped by a group of fair-skinned SAPI members who pointed to the sign "Admission only to Parsi Zoroastrians." I at once explained Tehmul was a Parsi Zoroastrian. He was instructed to remove his shirt and recite the kusti prayers as proof of his Parsiness. They noticed, however, the skin on his torso was fair because it was not exposed to the sun and permitted us to enter.
They also thoughtfully suggested Tehmul apply the rakh (ash) all over his face to temporarily lighten his complexion otherwise the dharamshala might deny us lodging.
Crestfallen we returned to Bombay and I told Tehmul I couldn't take the humiliation anymore. Even if he quit his job the damage had been done. Even the census enumerator had refused to count us as Parsis but ticked the 'other' column.
So Tehmul and I went to a marriage co
I am a middle-aged Parsi woman and uptil now I have had no problem in my marriage. But about two years ago my husband was transferred from his Kalbadevi office in South Bombay to the company's factory in Navi Mumbai. As the factory is some distance from the railway station and the bus stop, my husband has to walk in the hot sun. This is alright in the winter months but in summer it's really hot. As a result his complexion has darkened.
At first I thought his skin looked darker because of the inadequate lighting in our flat. We use a 40 watt bulb to save on electricity. I then had a tube light installed and was shocked to see how dark he looked. At first when neighbors and family and friends would stare at him I used to fib and say we'd gone to Goa for a holiday and he had tanned there. (I've never been to Goa but know a little about the place because we once had a Konkani cook. For our holiday we normally go to Devka. It's a nice beach but since I'm not used to walking barefoot like other Indians, the sand feels rough and hot against the white skin of my soles.) But when his skin remained a chocolate brown people would mockingly say, "Paachhaa Goa gaya k‚ soo (went to Goa again)?"
Then I started to tell people he had some problem with his liver and hence the darkened complexion but everybody thought he must be drinking excessively, "saalo bevdo (damn drunkard)!" they retorted so I stopped relating that excuse.
As you are aware, amongst us Parsis a fair complexion is a prerequisite for acceptance. I don't want people to think I married a non-Parsi (there are so many intermarried couples these days!).
Things really came to a head at my uncle's brother-in-law's nephew's marriage when for the first time I heard the 'D' word in reference to my husband! Somebody commented, "Dogdo ni saath aie kaun muo dubro chŠ (Who is that dubro - menial, underprivileged local - with our Dogdo)?" I could have died! So great was my embarrassment that I didn't sit with him in the second paat (dinner sitting) as I always do but said I had an upset tummy (they served saas ni machhi that night and to forgo such a dish is a heresy). We are ordinary people so we don't get so many invitations. And since we have to a give a parikoo (cash gift) we only accept the invitations after inquiring about the caterer and the vanis (dishes) to be served.
That night when I got home and took off my embroidered georgette sari, my pearl necklace and gold earrings, I told Tehmul (name changed to protect actual identity) he should use some skin lightening cream or change his job. He agreed to try the cream. (Poor fellow is also quite embarrassed about his coloring. First they used to call him dudh pau - milk and bread - or dudh puff - milk puff - because he was so fair. Now they refer to him as Coca-cola or Cadbury - how heartless people can be!
I realized the creams were not working when on our biannual pilgrimage to Gujarat a SAPI (Save Parsis from Intermarriage) volunteer first eyed us suspiciously. We said our kusti prayers and entered the fire-temple but Tehmul was stopped by a group of fair-skinned SAPI members who pointed to the sign "Admission only to Parsi Zoroastrians." I at once explained Tehmul was a Parsi Zoroastrian. He was instructed to remove his shirt and recite the kusti prayers as proof of his Parsiness. They noticed, however, the skin on his torso was fair because it was not exposed to the sun and permitted us to enter.
They also thoughtfully suggested Tehmul apply the rakh (ash) all over his face to temporarily lighten his complexion otherwise the dharamshala might deny us lodging.
Crestfallen we returned to Bombay and I told Tehmul I couldn't take the humiliation anymore. Even if he quit his job the damage had been done. Even the census enumerator had refused to count us as Parsis but ticked the 'other' column.
So Tehmul and I went to a marriage co
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