My Magic Beans

Courtesy: contrarymom.files.wordpress.com

”Amma, I don’t have any friends in class… what do I do?”, I remember asking my mom when I was in kindergarten.

“Friends?!? You will get plenty of them my dear, don't worry…”, my mother consoled me with a smile.

Back then, I didn't know how she knew it; I believed her, nevertheless. And it came true...

When I look back, I am grateful that I had friends at every phase of my life. A recent forward that came on my phone beautifully expressed how God gives us different kinds of friends. Whether they come for a moment or for long walk in your life, they all enter your life for a certain purpose. When you look at all your friends through that lens, all of them seem so special.

When I turn the pages of my childhood, I remember two gifts given to me with great care. One was the dial of a broken watch and another a broken piece of a glass bangle, wrapped in a torn piece of ruled notebook paper. The excitement with which I took that home is an evidence of the sacrifice my childhood friend made when she gifted it to me. That episode of my life has never failed to make me smile.

I am thankful for the naughty bunch I was part of in high school. I believe the innocent pranks we played, especially the crank calls, have added much to the creative side of my brain. I always think of that bunch with so much of warmth. Today we are all not much in touch. But they will always be there in a very cozy corner of my heart.

At this juncture, when I am walking over troubled waters, I am so touched and feel extremely special that I have so many people. The dimensions that friendship holds seem endless.

A friend can be a parent who hugs you and says I am there for you. I will not let anybody force anything on you. In those words and in those eyes I saw how valuable I am. It had the courage and the resolve to stand by me, no matter what! Parents who keep repeating relentlessly that this is a phase and that this too shall pass. Parents who say I don't care what society has to say – you are what matters most.

A friend can be someone whom you haven’t called and talked to in years; someone with whom you have had issues with, in the past; yet don't mind lending a helping hand when you decide to ask for help.

A friend is that extremely courageous one who takes up the initiative to be even talking neutrally on your behalf when she lives among people you oppose.

Friends can appear as lost strength patting you and reminding you to be strong and do what you have to – making you believe that you have the right to certain things and a right to happiness.

Friends remind you that respect is but a two-way bridge that cracks when misunderstood to be one-way. A friend is someone who says she can't speak at that moment 'coz she may wake the kids but insists that you chat - just for you.

When you seem at the end of all hope and stop praying because you know not what to pray for, only a friend can tell you - I am there to pray, you concentrate on healing. "I am praying for the best and the best may not fit the description we have for it today", she said. Friendship can leave you amazed when you hear and see your friend feeling the way you feel, thinking the way you think; taking the effort to think for you because you would have lost the capacity to do so. A friend can make you feel worthy by telling you that you need to move on because anymore she can't recognize your voice. It's a great source of respite to hear, “I need to hear and see you the way I know you.”

A friend can retrospect for you, forecast for you and be your solace in the present state of affairs. She can remind you of things you may have overlooked and things you may regret later.

I am privileged to have a friend with whom I may have just spent probably only a few hours with, face to face. Yes, we did strike a chord. But to have that going even when I was out of the system I knew her from. The encouragement that comes that way startles me.

Friends offer to spend the night with you when you are dealing with bad news or because you have had a rough day or simply as a God sent reminder that you are fun to be with. Friends can offer to go to the movies with you just because you haven't seen one in ages.

Friends can be siblings who tell you that you are special; who surprise you with your first valentine's gift ever. Siblings who have confidence in you and make you realize that your opinion matters; that you can be their voice when they can't speak out. Siblings who come to you for advise even when you feel you are a failure.

Friends can be long gone from the face of this earth but yet manage to make you laugh when you think of the joyful times you have spent with them.

A friend can even be a TV sitcom that you are certain can lift your spirits, make you laugh or take you away to some other realm on a weary day. I was watching one of the very early episodes of F.R.I.E.N.D.S the other day. It touched my heart when Rachel says about her friends, "I've got magic beans". 

Whatever I have today or I don't, in whichever state I am in, I feel blessed and extremely rich when it comes to the many friends I have. They are such a treasure! It is on purpose that I haven't taken names in this post. I am sure when each of them reads this; they will know which part of it is dedicated to them. The instances quoted here are just a few compared to the very many things friends have bought my way. This comes to say how much you all mean to me. Each of you are and will always be extremely precious - thank you ever so much for being my magic beans!

The Dark One

Courtesy: www.darrol.com

Flashback...  In the 80s and 90s – my growing up years

(Excerpts from an old conversation in the kitchen, while on vacation at my ancestral home)

Housemaid (to a barely 4-year-old): "Taste this – it is beetroot."

4-year-old: "I didn't like the taste, aunty"

Housemaid: "If you have beetroot, you will get a fair complexion"

All the other ladies in the kitchen with a put-on excitement, in unison: "Yes! Yes!"

4-year-old: "Oh… ok."

In my memory that was probably the first time when it actually hit me that I was dark. It was my introduction to racism, I guess. Though it didn't really hurt at that point in time, it did convey the message that it's not a great plus if you are dark. The 'strive-to-be-fair' code sets somewhere in your brain.

Everyone has growing pains. The one assigned to me was titled skin tone. You counter advices and opinions for everything. Only authorized shades make it to your wardrobe. And in the wardrobe there are certified champions. Yellow was a one-time champion. The trophy passed on to peach a few years down the line. To think of it now, the comedy lies in why only a few colors could make it to my wardrobe. The other colors made me look dark! Well, ain't I dark already?

Home remedy beauty treatments was my worst chore. Curds, turmeric, milk cream, saffron, honey – the list was quite exorbitant. To be honest, the beauty masks give you a lot of hope while you are in it. However, washing the face mask rarely provides any kind of job satisfaction. You are still dark – fresh looking, but yet, dark.

I have and always will cherish my hair. The compliments it fetched were like brownie points to my self-confidence meter. But it had its own limitations. Though I had silky smooth hair, I wasn't really allowed to leave it loose, in my teens. "Mukahthu vettam veezhatte. Athangu ketti vekkunnatha kochinu cherunnathu" ("Tie up your hair. It'll help brighten your face.") Those were the times when I pictured my hair and skin as rivals.

The worst probably was when I overheard that I shouldn't drape a sari because I was dark. For a teenager, that surely hits the jackpot.

As I grew up, I indulged in fairness creams, face masks, bleaches and what not. The umbrella was my bodyguard. It was a never ending revolt against my skin tone.  Light-hearted comments on the lines that I seem fair on an odd day would put me on cloud 9 because the effort behind it was tremendous and in a way, strenuous.

Every struggle gets to a turning point for the good. Mine kicked off with the answer my friend once gave me when I asked her how I looked that day.  She said it with such warmth and a lot of understanding. She looked straight into my eyes and said, “You look good Bis. But, if your question meant to ask if you look fair, the answer is no. That, probably, will never be.”  I just smiled back. I honestly felt caught doing something wrong. 

The rest of the story is not filmy. The face masks and fairness creams didn't jump out of the window the next instance. Things took time. God, in His bounty, gave me dark skin. The brain, however, was bright enough. I was blessed enough to take that advice positively. It was very gradual that I began looking at myself differently. Yes, to some extent I could brighten up my face but the fact remains that I am dark. The sooner I accepted it the better. After all, if the society merits the fair, it is because the dark ones exist.

Today I have moved on and beyond my strike against my own color. Believe me, I feel absolutely confident and great, now that I have simply accepted the fact that I am dark. Some colors make me look a shade lighter and some a shade darker. No more bleaches or fairness creams for me. God gave me more than one serving of melanin and I am proud of it. I love all colors and tend to try all of them. The society remains the same. They have their opinions and suggestions. I nod to all of them and continue with my experiments.

I hope this post comes through as an eye opener for those of you who pass comments (unintentionally or otherwise) to your fellow beings. More importantly, this post, I pray, lights up those who are looking for happiness behind a façade. It may be your height, your weight, your color or your voice. For a start just keep telling yourself that that is what you are. Talk about it and joke about it. It's best to accept and enjoy things you just can't change.

Let me stop on a lighter note. Here's a comment I got from many during my motherhood. (I am glad it made me laugh, rather than offend me):

Society: "Thank God Alexi (my son) has not got his mother's color. And thank God it's a son. What a risk if it were a girl!"

My inner voice: "Boy! Dark mothers shouldn't have girls? Talk about risks… I don't ever want to know what I or my mom would have heard when I was his age.”

The social drama never stops….