Fair and Lovely

 "Chai, Chai, Chai.. " Chotu meandered his way in the crowded collector's office. Piles of files adorned the fading desks and cupboards. Old or new, complete or incomplete, each file had to be maintained. Each file had a story of someone's loan, someone's land, someone's home or some other's shop. One officer had been alloted many such files. So each desk the files sat smugly, waiting for their pursual. Chotu's call for chai used to be just another futile reason to continue the neglect hammered upon the files. The Babus continued to discuss the last night's cards game.

"Waah, what a game it was!" Reminisced one.

"Good for you. Walked away with a hefty sum." Fumed another.

"Whatever you say, the pakodas were mindblowing!" The third butted with his spherical belly.

The tea was long over, with the flies too licking off their share, but the men continued whiling time. The chaprasi dusted the files in disgust. His mask, was just a veil, to stay away from the storm of dust. Chotu came in with second round of tea and to collect the empty cups. His penniless pockets told the story of 'write it in your register', system. He only wrote, the babus only boosted, how they would leave an ancestry for him. Both the chaprasi and chotu gave foul looks but dared not utter a word. For among thousands of files, two belonged to them too.

Oh, Godly people but our story isn't about the Babus, or the chaprasi or the Chotu. It's about Veda who is soon to become part of this Chai Chai Chai patriarchal routine. To my patient reader, she is far away from this musty office, scratching her head on logistics and statistics. Political science is still better, she thinks. In the dreamy city of Mumbai, Veda has dreams soaring like the skyscrapers. Not an inch more, not an inch less. At 22, lean athletic body and sharp intellectual facilities, she aims to crack the IAS examination. 

*****

"Veda, Veda.... how many times I have told you not to burn the midnight's lamp. Beta, you will develop dark circles. Imagine what will the boy's parents say. They will be here next week." Mothers are perpetual torchbearers of anxiety. Do l need to even divulge this? So Veda's mother has always bore the burnt of giving birth to a wheatish-complexioned girl child. 

"Dowry. Heavy dowry. Only solution to your problem, Veda's Ma." The colony gossip mongrels would offer their unsolicited solution. Poky noses and boneless tongues, these issues are severe than several political ones. Freedom of expression dragged to freedom of unnecessary expression, another clunk of nonsense. 

Me and my spooky views, rather opinions. Don't get them in the way of the story. One,two,three.... back to track.

"No, no she isn't dark. Just a shade here and there."Veda's Dadi would cover up. Later, only to give a earful to her mother,"How many times I had told you during pregnancy don't drink tea, don't drink tea... But you school certified girls, your senses are too loaded to listen to sensible advice. Poor girl now suffers."

Determined Veda's mother made sure, Veda was metamorphosized to a milky white if not pearly white complexion, till she was of marriageable age. No tea or coffee, plasters of Fair and Lovely, Santoor to Dove, everything was tried and tested on the guinea pig called Veda. For all better known reasons, this country believes fair to be lovely and wants dark to be lonely.

"Veda, no neon colors. You look a shade darker. Opt for something dull and camouflage." Her friends too were no respite. 

The day finally arrives when the first boy to decide her fate is to arrive. Jalebis, samosas, chocolates and barfis, the table is laden as if Emperor Akbar was to feast on it. Veda drooles at the sight of delicacies, for many a times she is a mute spectator to them, courtesy to her not so healthy skin. Tea is served and, Veda sips lemonade. How she wishes, she would grab a samosa and relish it uninhibited. But those aren't etiquettes of a good upbringing. 

So she simply sits for the boy to inspect her with X-ray vision. The parents are busy matching her skin shade to the lighter photograph her mother has sent.

"Is she the same?" The creature called Boy's mother whispers to another sloppy creature called Boy's father.

"Possible." Maybe the docile man is used to monosyllabic answers.

"They said she is fair to wheatish. Here, she looks absolute mud!!" The word mud falls on Veda's ears like a thud. She is used to being called savli but mud is an outrageous insult. The boy too has a look of dissatisfaction, could be majorly because of constipation after having samosas at the cost of many muddy girls. Veda scowles at him and he breaks into a "Mummmmy!!"

"How dare you?? You filth of mud! How dare you look at my gorgeous, able-bodied son that way!" The creature called Boy's mother picks up the spineless amoeba called Boy's father and the trio trots their way out.

"What have you done Veda? After several attempts, they had agreed to see you in person. Most of the boys reject the photograph itself." Veda's mother slouches on the sofa. She slaps her forehead in desperation. But our Dadi is too hopeful, "Veda tonight I will apply multani mithi to your face. Then see how you glow before the next boy comes."

Veda stifles a laughter in her throat. MULTANI MITHI TO CURE MUDDY COMPLEXION. She muses at the irony. Tit for tat. Complexion may not untangle complexities but capabilities should, her thoughts were never muddled.

Back to her logistics and statistics, she finds her solace.

****

Why harass the girl more? Let's go back to our Babus. A hell is about to break loose in their life. How? Come on, let's go to the dusty, musty, office but after a leap of five years.

Five years, Chotu has received some renumeration. He is now a Bada but once a chotu, always one, even after you have chotu chotu babies(jokes apart). Few files are burnt in a short circuit, so space for new files paves way. The chaprasi is now nearing retirement and the mask an integral part of his life, thanks to the pandemic.

'Chai, Chai, Chai, ' Chotu as usual comes with the cuttings. But look, what the Babus are upto. Literally, at their respective desks, immersed in the files, sniffing from God knows what- dust or gust of sudden overload. Chotu directly enters the collector's cabin with two piping hot, adrak-elaichi tea. He knows that is her favorite. 

"Here,chotu" She points at a spot on her desk.

"Madamji, don’t drink so much tea. My mother says girls turn dark if they drink too much tea."His innocence is like the freshly brewed tea. Savoring the inhibited cup, the collector sighs, "Irreparable damage already done. Blame it on my mother who drank cups of it when she carried me." She winks at the flummoxed Chotu.

"Leave it. Go call the Babus for an urgent meeting!" Without a scowl, she plainly orders.

As Chotu leaves the cabin, to summon the babus, the brown initials on the nameplate adorning the door shine- District Magistrate- Ms. Veda Sharma.