The ‘blackness’ of cream #IWD2019

Today is March 8 – the day people around the world commemorate International Women’s Day. I’m not especially thrilled that WE need a day to recall our greatness and celebrate our femininity. But I suppose, we share a man’s world and it does take a visual exhibition (most times) to get noticed for stuff already due to us. Having recognised this, I’m saying: why bother! 

Dear woman -- be comfortable in your skin – literally, first.

Some months ago I was in Accra, the capital of Ghana, and I saw the most amazing hoarding on the walls of a market-place building. It said very simply: ‘Get back the skin you were born with’ – it is the nicest thing I have ever read. Can we even dream of a cosmetic corporate in India thinking-up a campaign like this, ever? I don’t think so. The ‘Dark and Lovely’ branding captured my attention, especially since I have had, and still continue to have questions put to me because my skin is too light for a ‘South Indian’. Usually, these clarifications come from curious adults (who should know better), but when I was asked by young children, it upset me. Is ‘fairness of one’s skin’ a discussion topic among the young school girls too!? 

I was in Madurai -- the famous temple town in TamilNadu, and we were shooting for a global documentary film on food security. The team was from Germany, and I was the stringer for the India part of the film – their location assistant -- helping out with location, translation, interpretation, etc. It was November, but the Sun was still sharp and I had on a bright red cap to keep the afternoon glare from hurting my eyes.

The Director of the film, the DoP (Director of Photography) and the Boom Operator climbed a ladder to the Corporation school terrace and were busy setting-up the drone for some exclusive shots. I could have climbed the precarious ladder to join the rest, but it would have turned out embarrassing if I developed last minute jitters while climbing down. Instead, I volunteered to remain near the van for any assistance the team might need.

It was a Saturday; the school was closed. The two-roomed building wore a festive look though -- Banana trees tied to each doorpost and decorative palm-mango leaves strung together running across the door mantel. Guests were dressed in glittering finery – all smiles, and straining to hear each other over the loudspeaker volume. The Tamil cinema song va va va, kanna va filled our heads -- the engagement function was happy, and there was a sumptuous lunch waiting.

A group of school-going girls, curious to find out what the firangs were up to on their school terrace building, walked up to me. Girls, the ages of 13 to 17 years, are usually gusty and enjoy the attention their actions receive – it is a wonderful age! I remember my teenage years fondly – bold, when I rebelled at almost everything. They asked the expected questions and in English: Who are these people? What they are doing? and so on. We got talking, and I spoke to them in Tamil, and they were surprised.

‘We thought you are from some other country or at least from North India’ – one girl says. ‘Why,’ I ask.

‘You are fair aka (elder sister),’ another responds, ‘you have reddish-colour skin; not like us.’ I’m translating the Tamil word literally here: they meant light-coloured skin.

I smile – ‘I am from Madurai; I was born here,’ I tell them.

Then a little girl – she was the youngest in the group, not more than 11 years -- says to me: ‘What soap do you use aka?’ The question threw me off-guard; no one had ever asked me that before.

‘Why do you want to know?’

‘I want to be fair like you, so I will buy the same soap,’ she responds without hesitation.  

Disappointed that a child would think that colour of one’s skin mattered so much, I explain: ‘I was born with this skin colour; it has nothing to do with the soap I use.’

She looked straight at me, and I could see she wasn’t buying my answer. So instead I tell her: ‘You look beautiful; what soap are you using?’

 She is shy, ‘Ordinary soap only.’

‘Don’t change that! Your skin is perfect.’

This couple-of-minutes exchange happened in 2013, but the relevance will always be important to me. As long as women do not appreciate themselves for who they are in the present, the little girls of the future will not be able to do that either.

‘I am Dark and Lovely’ is not a brand or a campaign; it is a feeling.  Congratulations on another March 8. 

Journalism and three lessons for life

Journalism is not a mere profession to involve words and genius storytelling. I believe, it is a discipline that sets your brain to an absorption mode for life-long ingenuity.

I've moved on from the adored profession, nevertheless, 'once a journalist, always a journalist' - I distinctly remember an editor-speaker say this at the World Editors' Forum 2009. Awestruck I was when senior editors made clear how the journalism discipline works. There was no magic; just simple, basic rules. "You don't need a journalism degree!" an editor-in-chief told me once, "just a nose for news and decent English to get by." He was speaking more about print, than the glamorous electronic media.

The wordcloud has been created using content from this blogpost

If you've been following television and social media news out of India very recently - there was so much willingness to unanimously 'sacrifice' news anchors at the borders in exchange for a well-respected package. Sad. Very true but. The journalism I once knew is becoming a rarity; the sheen is now gloss; investigation is now in tune with interrogation; moulding public opinion is now blast freezing for shelf-life.
I could go on, but it is rather depressing. Instead I would tell you the three lessons I have picked up -- engraved in me so deep, they've become the rules with which I lead my routine life. Should this not bring back a flicker of hope for the esteemed profession? Perhaps the time is ripe to build a castle in the sky for journalism.

Lesson No 1 - never assume, always ask. Assumptions are the mother of all fuck-ups.
I must have taken this a little too literally, because I ask (too) many questions, and people don't have answers most times. Silences speak too, and the pauses -- pick up on these and you will gain much more insight than the words reveal. You can't report all that you sense, and it is definitely these 'extra' things you gather in the profession of writing that broaden your perspective of the world around you. As you see it -- or, rather -- as you think you see it: is the best form of education one can hope to receive, in my opinion. I remember the sudden awareness that came to me when I began writing - an overnight feeling actually, a quick bloom at first and then gradual opening up. My mind's eye saw clearer -- the world of connected dots became obvious just like how John Muir - the 19th century mountaineer, observed: 'When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the universe.'    

Lesson No 2 - stories surround you. Everyone has something to say about everything.
Lucky journalists we are! Everything, absolutely anything can be told and retold several ways and with a variety of mediums. We simply need to use our discretion. Easy indeed. The audience -- your readers, listeners, viewers -- are paramount. They trust you, and thus tend to see the world through your mind. Listen to everyone and watch everything, only because you are surrounded by fact and fiction, mostly woven into thinner fabric than you could have ever imagined. I've been caught in this fabric of fakness a couple of times. It feels rotten when you find it out; guilty that you didn't apply enough caution; but grateful that it came to light before causing much damage. Gosh! The responsibility weighs heavy for those who choose to stick to principles and not dramatise every time the curtains part. Who would have guessed that the pressure of sifting propaganda from journalism could turn out to be an exquisite art in the 21st century! Fakeness now engulfs your stories more than ever -- the need to be genuine has never been so much in demand, I think.

Lesson No 3 - never be married to your words. The editor knows best.
'A journalist can be a journalist only to the extent his or her editor allows' - read this someplace and it has stuck in my head ever since. My first copy was thrashed - I've told you the story. A subsequent news report was reduced to three lines -- it carried my byline, and I was totally embarrassed. I learned slowly and rather painfully, not to be attached to my copy -- the words that I took a couple of hours to put together as a cub reporter were precious, but editing in the end did make my story look much better. I suppose it is the same thing for anybody learning an art form for the first time. A cub painter (don't know if they call them this in the artist world), must love the strokes he or she creates, must be very attached to the canvas of the first decent piece of work according to him / her, must want to believe that it is a master-piece until of course the 'master' walks in and trashes it. The point is however, not to drown in disappointment but to reach higher and perform better by learning the ropes. Building 'castles in the sky' after all is about trusting in one's ability to dream bigger and better things, keeping in mind that there are good souls in this world -- they mean well even if they are rough around the edges.