Fickle Fanfair (Pt. I)

I truly believe that the Saif-Priyanka-Neha ads have taken the usual Fair n Lovely regressiveness to newer heights. They just remind me of a piece I had written for my Advanced College Essay class about the Fair n Lovely ads controversy a couple of years ago. Its sad to see that the essay is STILL relevant. (Please don't mind the overly essay-ish language)
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I have terrible news for all the ardent devotees of the Indian television. While some of you may have already figured this out, some might still be wondering where the much-hyped Fair and Lovely commercials have disappeared. If you are already missing them, buck up, because you won’t be seeing them for a very long time, thanks to the recent ban on these ads by the All India Women’s Association. One of the ads featuring two young women sitting in a room having a personal conversation has become an integral part of the Indian television routine over the years. The woman with a fair complexion has a boyfriend and, obviously, is happy. The darker one, without a partner, is not. Her friend’s advice: use a skin-whitening cream to get rid of “the dark skin that is keeping men from flocking” (Indian Women Criticize Fair and Lovely Ideal).

This is one of the many commercials that helped Hindustan Lever Limited (commonly known as HLL) dominate almost eighty percent of India’s skincare market, which is valued at about $150 million a year (India Fatally White). Interestingly, the company is the Indian subsidiary of UniLever PLC, based in London. To some, the commercial may seem cheesier than a typical Bollywood flick and particularly offensive due to its discriminatory connotations. But, to the Indian eye, it is a reply to long hours of prayer. Fair and Lovely, the savior from dark-skin, is an embodiment of the deep-rooted Indian desire to be fair.

The ad attacked by the All India Women's Association shows a woman, “whose father had lamented not having a son to support the family, landing a well-paying job as an airline attendant after using the product” (Indian Women Criticize Fair and Lovely Ideal). According to Brinda Karat, the general secretary of the association, the ads are “discriminatory on the basis of skin color” and “an affront to woman’s dignity,” because it shows fairer women having greater job success based on their skin color (A Fair Way of Advertising). The ban propelled by her association has been imposed all over the country and the ads have disappeared. In short, the market has worked. So, what makes me dig up this old controversy from its grave?

Last week, a quick trip to a nearby Indian grocery and the sight of shelves stocked with the familiar pink and white boxes made me realize that the ads may have vanished, but Fair and Lovely is far from disappearing. I held up the box and read the bold label’s bold claim: “The World’s No.1 Fairness Cream now gives you unmatched radiance in just six weeks.” Industry analysts estimate that the 25-gram tube of cream priced as little as Rs.23 or 50 cents draws in $60 million annually for HLL (Fair Color as a Cultural Virtue: Creams for a Lighter Skin Capture the Asian Market). In such a scenario to state that the market worked because after several years of struggle two advertisements were banned, “long after HLL had generated considerable revenue by pushing the message that lighter skin equals happiness seems a bit disingenuous” (The seduction of Fair and Lovely). The controversy has seemingly ended but this is not the resolution I had envisioned as the problems associated with the product continue to persist. After all, how can the All India Women’s Association with its 7.6 million members, which only account for 0.01 percent of the Indian female population, represent the wants and desires of the whole of India

The desire to be fair is traditionally rooted in the Indian psyche and is manifested visibly in cultural ceremonies and rituals. According to a survey, it can be linked to the “colonial standards of beauty” (Fair Color as a Cultural Virtue: Creams for a Lighter Skin Capture the Asian Market) and is a reflection of Indians aping the west. But, research shows that the fairness fetish is not a mere colonial hangover and dates back much longer, echoing even in Hindu mythology. Many of the ancient Hindu texts such as the Upanishads laud the most beautiful maidens and goddesses for being endowed with skin ''cast out of white marble'' (Fair Color as a Cultural Virtue: Creams for a Lighter Skin Capture the Asian Market). Popular Hindu Gods such Krishna and Shiva are craftily described as blue-skinned, a euphemism for being dark-skinned, lest one hurts their sentiments. On the other hand, demons such as Ravana are stereotypically depicted as dark-skinned even today in most mythological comic books.


All of the above help HLL shun away any criticism that comes its way by a simple response: “we did not create skin-color bias in India.” In the documentary, “The Dark Side of Fair,” which focuses on the issues of skin color and discrimination in India, HLL argues that the company has simply responded in a pragmatic manner to an existing demand for skin-whitening products in society. Discrimination on basis of skin-color ought to be condemned, but how can one stop millions of consumers making an “aspirational purchase” based on the notion of the superiority of fair skin. In this case, the consumer is making a rational choice....

Stinky Soy Eggs

A Kylie Kwong recipe - thought I'd give it a try. Turned out to be quite interesting - must warn though : It's an acquired taste!

Ingredients:
2 generous tbsp light soy










2 tbsp brown (demerara) sugar







3/4th inch ginger (cut into fine slices)








2 eggs








Method:

1. Prepare a stock using the soy, sugar and ginger. Simmer till the sugar dissolves completely.
2. Hard-boil 2 eggs for about 7 minutes. Peel off the shell.
3. Now, add the eggs to the stock and simmer for 20 minutes (make sure the stock covers the entire surface of the egg)
4. Turn off the flame. Let the eggs rest in the stock for 5 minutes.
5. Cut and serve with Sriracha or Plum sauce.

Zhug Zhug Gadi

So just a week ago, I had my first proper experience of traveling in a Mumbai local. Of course, I knew it would be chaotic, unruly and rather memorable but I wasn’t prepared for the insight it gave me into the mind of an average Mumbaikar.


A grain of sand in a bottle of water that had been given a vigorous stir. But what I find fascinating is that there is something refined in all of that muddled movement. As the train paces between stations, passengers glide gently, squeezing gracefully through huddled bodies and ducking elegantly under smelly armpits to reach the doors. And then things sort of reach an equilibrium (like when all of those sand grains settle to the bottom of the bottle). That is until the next station arrives. A vigorous shake. The ballet continues over and over. And in the theatric atmosphere, I notice this kid giving his shot at the tugging and pushing, his dad inspecting carefully and scrutinizing every move. After the exodus, the boy’s performance receives an appreciative pat. “Next time thoda aur jaldi jump marna.”

The everyday Mumbaikar hones a peculiar skill set of which hanging onto the train runs in the DNA. The need to develop, sharpen and pass on these fundas comes somewhere from an inbred mindset of scarcity. Well of course, scarcity exists for real and it’s blatant in the lack of infrastructure, but I feel it is overstated by the tugging and pushing in the railways, the rickshaw’s frenzied movements and the piercing honks of the city. But really, as PuLa once said, all of these things bother people outside Mumbai more than they trouble the Mumbaikar.

I wonder how an assal Mumbaikar would react if his dingy local were replaced by a sophisticated Metro system. Would he breathe freely in those smooth-sailing vaults or secretly mourn over the loss of a tradition that has come to define his identity.

A Furious First

So now it’s established. Fury is fodder to the writer’s mind. A swarm of words riveting the head and zillions of flying sparks causes a rise in temperatures and an occasional outburst of words. But some, like Nietzsche, would say that art is a mere vent to the oppressed soul and reduce my writing to a lamb’s final quivers. But then who isn’t oppressed these days.

That aside, another reason for me to start writing has simply been to develop a more fluid writing language and the hope that this fluidity lends its texture to my thoughts. For too long, I have been an overly cautious writer, carefully inspecting, internally deliberating, picking, choosing, and rationalizing before typing. But what good is a writer who cannot listen to the whimsies of his soul, who feels with his head and writes, should I say ... sensibly.

I need to learn to use and abuse the freedoms words gift us, make some mistakes and tear all sensibility apart. This structure, or lack of, of writing is going to take some getting used to. I have worn the manager’s hat for ages, measuring and balancing. Now, the chef’s hat beckons me, instructing my intuition to take over and guide me, a little bit of salt, some sweetness perhaps, something sharp and of course a hint of acid.

I think a blog is a nice way to start. A public diary of sorts. Less personal, and slightly more pretentious. Or it’s just that I am simply not used to seeing myself torn into bits and bytes, quite literally.