Essay: What I could not see before The Bluest Eye

Shiwani Dhiman shares a personal essay on understanding colorism and racism while living in India and later, moving out of India.

I grew up in northern India with my sister, whom I will call Maisie. Our parents never treated us differently because of our skin colour. At home, it did not matter. Outside our home, however, people often noticed the difference between our complexions. My complexion was what people in India often call wheatish, while Maisie’s skin was a little darker than mine. My grandmother would say that she had inherited her complexion from our grandfather, who also had darker skin. No one ever told us directly that fair skin was better, but we could see the message everywhere. Shops in the market were full of creams that promised fairer skin. On television, women used these products and suddenly became more confident and successful.

One incident has stayed with me since I was seventeen; we were sitting with our family during a wedding. Someone looked at my sister and said, “Look at your colour, Maisie. You are so dark. You must be an underconfident girl.” Maisie began to cry and went to our mother. I defended her and told the person not to judge a book by its cover. At seventeen, that was how I understood the situation: someone had judged my sister unfairly, and I needed to stand up for her. Similar comments were made to her more than once.