U B FAIR

Squatting on the commode,

I look at an advertisement

that dangles on the backdoor of the toilet.

It proclaims - ‘India’s first skin lightening cream, FOR MEN’

‘The world isn’t fair, so U B FAIR’

U B  FAIR - is the latest

alchemic agent of self-transformation

in the inherited legacy of discrimination

passed down generations -- in myths, fables,

poetry, idols, songs and sermons.

‘The world isn’t fair, so U B FAIR.’

My (s)kin, the Dravidians, they are called.

On attaining puberty, they gift girls aspiration

packaged in tubes of white, pink, and

all shades of pastel.

Made for 45 crore women -- brown, black and

all shades of darkness.

Conditioned to feel incomplete

unless they turn translucent.

‘The world isn’t fair, so U B FAIR.’

She rubs her chin, upset at the stubble

stubbornly interpreted as masculine.

She rubs her crotch, tugging at her itchy balls.

She wishes for three holes where her legs meet.

Her skin, a sponge, soaks up

insults, slurs, snickers and glares.

The outlines of her anatomy,

categorize and repulse her into a binary.

But her skin, also a shell, cracks, peels and

crumbles under the weight of conformity.

‘The world isn’t fair, so U B FAIR.’

Meanwhile, he who is deemed ‘lower’

by virtue of his birth,

rummages through your dirt,

Numbing his skin and sensation with

The only fairness he knows;

A handkerchief soaked in whitener liquid.

‘The world isn’t fair, so U B FAIR.’