“Fairness Cream”

Image Courtesy: Volkan Olmez, Unsplash

You stand at the department store aisle, wedged between a Garnier and a Neutrogena, wondering which product to use to bring a freshness to your deeply tanned skin. You tan easy, as easy as you fall in love, and for the first time, you decide to do something about it. You have just met him about two hours ago and with each conversation for the past three weeks, you feel less certain about yourself. He is fair. You have dated fair men before. The only difference is that his fairness accompanies a brilliant mind. The tattoo on his left arm fascinates you. It looks brighter, bluer against his fair skin. You have one as well, on your upper left arm, but it fades away in soft greys against the burnt brown of your skin. The tan from all that sea-bathing hasn’t yet been addressed. You normally don’t go for de-tan treatments. You like having remnants of a nice vacation cling to you. But this time, you are not satisfied with just a de-tan routine at the neighbourhood parlour. You want something stronger, something that will peel this upper layer of skin off your heart-shaped face. You have always felt you have an ordinary face, brown, with round, brown eyes that turn a shade lighter in the sun, and sparkle when at sea, even teeth behind full lips that break into a smile, giving your face a momentary beauty. You know people find you approachable because of your smile and use it freely to forge friendships. You listen. You care. You are lonely. Is that why you find him so irresistibly attractive? Because you sense his loneliness? Tapping your feet impatiently, you reach out for the fairness creams and try to read out their ingredients. None of them make sense to you. You feel too lazy to google their effects. So, you pick out a small tube, unsure of committing yourself to a higher price point, expecting some miracle nonetheless.It has been a week since you have been using the cream. It spreads on your face with an unnatural white tint that you almost immediately, forcefully, rub off. The cream peels off in small white shreds that you imagine takes off a bit of your skin with it. You look at your tanned neck and arms in exasperation but it is the middle of the month and you don’t really want to get a bigger tube until you see how this one does. It makes you confident all the same. Do your selfies come out better now? Without the AI making your skin magically smooth. Most of your conversation takes place through texts. You somehow feel more emotional, you somewhat sense the conversations going downhill. You meet him today. You are unusually happy and radiate that strength of feeling onto his direction, where his blue shirt collar meets his long, fair neck. “I hope you are not serious with this love shit? Aren’t we old enough to not fall for such nonsense? And please, don’t look at me like that. It's creepy.” His words don’t hit you like a tidal wave. They travel slowly, tentatively, as if you are walking across gravel. You nod politely, come home, pick up that tube of fairness cream and squeeze it all out. You cake the thick white cream onto your face, keep rubbing it in circular motion vigorously, then rush to a tap, scrape your skin off in tepid water. You look at your skin now red in shame. You look at yourself for the first time in a month.  

The Pine Cone Review, Brown Identity Issue, May 2024

https://thepineconereview.wordpress.com/fairness-cream-rituparna-mukherjee/