FAIR AND LOVELY? DARK AND UGLY?

I wrote this article around two years ago because I was really angry with those fair and lovely ads and one of my classmates who said, "shut up, i'm an aryan, you're a dravadian. we chased you to south india. i'm far more superior to you because i'm white and you're dark."

when I read my article today, I thought it was really sweet. I liked my strong opinion of things then, which shows that I'm growing up to have a mind of my own. This usually gets me into fights with my dad who thinks I don't listen to or respect of other people's opinions. well, I do listen to, and respect opinions from others, but that doesn't mean I have to agree to what the majority think or what he thinks [ his idea of respecting opinions is agreeing with them]. like I said I have a mind of my own........

My name is Rheaa Rao. I’m an eleven year old girl studying at Dhirubhai Ambani International School. The article you are reading now is not about me. It is about my biggest problem, people differentiating between skin colours. Always favoring the white and pushing the dark skinned to a corner and making them feel humiliated.

All ads about beauty creams have the same irritating, unfair saga. A dark skinned lady applies for the airhostess post, they reject her because she is dark skinned, a few days later she puts a cream and becomes fair, she goes for her job interview and men jump out of their pants of awe and immediately give her a job. Are these ads trying to say that fair is lovely and dark is ugly, aren’t dark people beautiful or handsome, aren’t the fair skinned ugly?

Why are dark-skinned always meant to be felt small, and of a low caste? And why are the white meant to feel big, handsome and superior? Is it because the British who took over us were fair skinned? Is it because the white were the Aryans who overthrew the Dasus or dark skinned people and pushed them to South India? And what are they called now? South Indians. People mimic the way South Indians talk, but I think they speak good English; they only have an accent that’s Indian and that’s perfectly fine. But what about the Americans? They speak terrible English and mispronounce every word because of their scrawny, airy accent. But they aren’t mocked; they are followed just because they are ‘white’.

White means heaven, white is pure, clean, superior and black is shown as dirt, scum, filth, dust, devil. That isn’t fair.
In addition I don’t think that the ads should put wrong things in people’s heads. They show a dark skinned girl as a poor girl, with a sweaty face, and icky oily skin, dirty teeth and grime, they make the audience feel revolted and swear that they will never give a job opportunity to any dark- skinned person. Then comes the magic cream, she undergoes the change; they show her coming as a fair skinned person, with lovely soft pink and white skin and pearly teeth and lovely clothes and dainty heels and a beautiful smile. It makes everyone want to abandon their teddy bear and cuddle her instead. I don’t think creams should be made to make a dark skinned person a white-showy one; they should instead be made to improve the complexion.

We are Indians, come on, we are dark skinned, that’s our original skin colour, we will earn nothing following the West and behaving like them. Development and progress is good, but on the account of totally trying to cut yourself from your roots; forcibly putting on an accent and desperately trying those useless creams to turn 'FAIR AND LOVELY'.

Come on, we have our own riches, our country, our ways of dressing, behaving, talking, reacting, we have our special Indian accent, our own slang, our own unique personality and most of all, our skin colour. I’m dark skinned, but I don’t care, I’m feel beautiful and intelligent and I’m proud to say I’m a South Indian.

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Adding to this, look at all the sucessful actors and actresses, Kajol, Bipasha, Rani Mukerjee, Ajay Devgan, Arshad Warsi, Johnny Liver, to name a few, who are dark skinned, but very good at their jobs [ and sucessful too]

We're learning 'Roll of Thunder, Hear my cry', by Mildred D. Taylor which talks about a coloured child, Cassie's trials and tribulations in a white dominated society. its a really sad book, with lots of gory scenes and sad truths, taught to tell us spoilt brats how safe and privileged we are in our society compared to the Logans [Cassie and her family].
A must read for all you folks who liked this article.

ATTACK !!

I wrote this story about a year ago. Its about an anthill that exists as a whole new world of its own....

If you ever visit Sanjay Gandhi National Park, you will see rows of ant hills, each with their own unique characteristics. One such anthill was a beautifully designed one. It was like a spiral cone, so the rain drops will just slide by. It was red and green in patches which made it look very artistic, like it was covered with mosaic from head to toe [the secret was fresh and dry leaves carefully stuck on mud and cemented with wet sand.] The ant hill had twelve gates. Six for coming in and six for going out.

The queen of this wonderful palace - like anthill was a systematic ant. She was an ant of many interests. She was a master in interior designing and architecture and the mother for more than one lakh ants, each of them very well bred. The anthill extended more than twenty feet below the ground. This place was used to park their leaves. Each ant had their own leaf to help them get out during the floods. They also stored their supplies for the winter here . Heaps and pile of sugar, bread pieces, snake skin with salt [ methods of preserving] and many other wonders lay there. It was kept a strict eye on, by the Food Department, that was in charge of all the administration [ in matters of food] in the ant-hill.

The upper part of the anthill were filled with tiny houses. A special section for the soldiers, a special one for the workers. The queen ant who lived on the top with her princesses [ tenth set of eggs], sent out instructions through her special scent to the organs of her anthill, [like the brain]. Also there was a small room called the radio department where different channels were broadcasted and would reach any ant, as long as his/her antennas were straightened. The ants were allowed to listen to the radio only before bedtime and during the afternoon. There was also a small party area for the ants [ usually used for the little princesses birthdays]. This whole anthill was like a miniature world.

One day there was an unusual excitement in the anthill. At two a clock, just after the show, ‘ Recipe-o-ant’, [sponsored by the food department] the news channel, ‘ Ant news’ reported that there was a golden creature just five inches away from the ant hill. It had a strange face, with two hands stuck on it. It had twelve –thirteen bruise marks on it’s face. It was injured as it lies motionlessly still and that this was the best opportunity to attack, before the other ants grab it.”

All the ants in the anthill listened intently. The soldiers were all ready to attack. The chef ants put on their caps and got out their vessels. The food department remained alert. How wonderful it would be to have this creature for lunch! They had eaten snake tarts, elephant meat, rat soup, now they were waiting to taste this new dish. It sounded lip smacking. All of them waited for the queens instructions. But the queen climbed to the top of the anthill, looking at the gory scene. The soldier ants from every anthill [ but hers] were fighting for the creature. She sighed. She knew, just when her children described it to her, that it was a golden watch. This war was a complete waste!

In the mean while all her subjects sat as still waiting for her voice. She told them the news. There was a nasty silence….. and then a hearty laugh. A golden watch! Imagine eating that! Soon everything came back to normal. The anthill was buzzing with work again, and then, just before tea, the workers brought in…. snake tarts… yumm! What a feast they had.

an ad about the effects of drug abuse

We are learning about 'DRUG ABUSE' in school as a part of biology. we were asked to make a small pamphlet on drug abuse. here's the zany ad i wrote. i also stuck a picture of a beam balance saying 'LIFE OR DRUGS- YOU CHOOSE' with 'life' on one balance and 'drugs' on the other. i also included a quote by Charles Munger from 'Poor Charlies Almanac', one of the richest men in the world.

P.S- the final result was a lot more colourful!

Flash backs , Crashes of anxiety , fatigue, depression, aroused sexual activity leading to the risk of Aids and Hepatitis, bad, mood and performance , marital problems, disruption, crimes, violence , threats, debts to cover up illegal acts, loss of control, highway deaths, suicides……………………………………………...

Are entertaining when seen in K serials!

But these same scenes can ruin your life… for if you become a juvenile offender in drug abuse…there’ll be no one to cry at your fate except yourself…

So don’t use your hands to take in drugs…use them to write ‘drug abuse awareness’ pamphlets and discourage other teens to from using drugs instead.

“While susceptibility varies, addiction can happen to any of us through a subtle process where the bonds of degradation are too light to be felt until they are too strong to be broken. And I have yet to meet anyone in over six decades of life, whose life was worsened by fear and avoidance of such a deceptive pathway to destruction.”
- Charles T. Munger
(One of the richest men in the world)


Life without drugs will give you a new ‘high’

Flash Fiction- THE MESSAGE

Flash Fiction (also called micro-fiction or short-shorts) presents a simple challenge: tell a story with all the classical elements: a beginning, middle and end, a conflict and resolution, a credible protagonist.. but do so in a very limited number of words. the theme is message and i'm sending it to the Kala Ghoda festival. this is the first time i'm experimenting with flash fiction. the story is ambiguous and strange [ its meant to be]. enjoy!

His floppy ears cocked at the sight of the venomous monster. It made raucous ‘clink!’ noises and flashed its sharp, distorted teeth as it rode past him. A young lad with scruffy hair and dark, flaky skin rode it, with a large bundle flung across his shoulders.
Hari gave the monster a cursory glance and shrunk into his master’s shadow. They were coming for him… the same monster, shadowy lad, heavy bundle…exactly like the ones in lizard-lore…. Another death…. today would be his last night…
A sausagey figure with what looked like cigarette stubs for legs darted towards him. “It’s them!” Hari whimpered. “Run, Tango! They’ve come to get me…or you!”

“Ah!” snorted Tango, with a wild, playful look in his eyes. “I’ve lived two years of my life like a king. I need some challenges. I want to be a human next birth.” he added with a wag, “If you’re troubled, contact the B.O.N.E. for protection!”

“Yeah!,” said Hari, still looking a little troubled. Tango didn’t believe in lizard-lore, so he took the whole situation lightly. And there was Mumbai, brimming with them, those ‘Mauthwallas’! To people it simply looked like a laundry boy on his cycle. But they were monsters. They brought bundles of clothes starched with death and pain. They rang an odd bell on the porch of their next prey….

His master was hapless too. He wouldn’t be able to protect himself from these ‘Mauthwallas’. Hari struggled to communicate this message, but all he could do was cock his ears, twist his tongue and dart home, dragging his master behind him.

“We must try to avoid those cycles, or this dog will never walk properly.” His mistress mumbled.

Hari blinked at his owners and gave them a satisfied sigh. He had managed to convey his message!