“Saaf Rang”

“Saaf Rang” in Urdu/Hindi translates to “Clean Color”–in reference to light-colored skin.

I had an interesting thought the other day. If you read this blog, I talk about race quite a bit. Racism in terms of white privilege, racism directed against immigrants, African Americans, and the like. But as I’ve come to discover, the spotlight is a wee bit more uncomfortable when it is directed against yourself.  I’ve had this idea floating around in my head for the last couple of weeks, and I finally decided to go ahead and address it.

It all began a few months ago when I mentioned to someone that I was going to a local makeup store to buy a bronzer.

Me: “I just got this new bronzer. I totally wanna be darker.”

Friend: “But you have the skin tone every Indian girl wants! Why?!”

Ah, the light-skin thing in Indian culture. Something I love to bitch about, except in this case- I’m the one with the privilege…which makes for great food for thought. I’m a “lighter-skinned” South Asian chick (On the “lighter” end of very wide skin color spectrum that exists on the Subcontinent).

White privilege isn’t something limited to the United States. Sure, it takes on a whole new malignant dimension when you consider the ways in which white privilege was written into the law. In India, preference for light skin color wasn’t grounds for legal discrimination–but it has been deeply rooted in our social fabric for centuries. From what I’ve read about the nature of white privilege in the United States, it is the idea that having white skin and being perceived as “white” comes with inherent social advantages. The kicker is, if you were born with this advantage, it becomes so innate and integral to the way you function in society that it is normal and unquestioned. It is something that you simply have never been without.

I didn’t grow up as a “White” person in America. I did, however, grow up as a light-skinned, (in the eyes of others) ambiguously South Asian person. And in the Indian culture, being a light skinned female comes with profound advantages. You’re considered better looking. Wealthier, higher-class. More marriageable. And that’s just in America. In India, it’s another story: “Saaf rang” puts you at a higher social strata, period. Case in point, I remember going jewelry shopping with my mother (who is even more lighter than I am). We entered the store behind a group of dark-skinned women. Who do you think got waited on first, despite being the last in?

I have to admit, this is something that I didn’t really consider until I got into college and was forced to question all of my old ideas. Without even thinking about it, my light-skin was a social advantage in the world I was growing up in–be it in America or India.  I had many dark-skinned friends–Indian, African American and the like who didn’t have this advantage, and many of the South Asian girls who were more “tan” were raised in a culture that devalued them. I had grown up secure in a position near the upper echelon of that social hierarchy, and the thought of losing that privilege scared me.

I wonder, what will the attitudes of second-gen Indians be about this issue? Are we going to preserve the “colorism” hierarchy of our parents, where lighter-skinned people occupy the top? Or does America in its “post-racial” (that’s a huge point of debate!) reality afford us a chance to redo this social construct? I vote for the latter.

Colorism in the media: Check out Beyonce’s mucho-lightened ad for L’Oreal.

India Journal, Day 9-12

As promised! The journal continues…

Day 9/10
We started volunteering at the LifeSpring Hospitals today. The hospital is out in the Boduppal area, which is about an hour outside of the Hyderabadi outskirts. Yaseen and I were assigned to ride with Mahesh, one of the admins at the hospital to go out and promote the opening of the hospital at different community centers in villages around the area. This was the first time I’d been out on the ground in rural India, and the contrast with urban India is startling.

First of all, it was pretty—pretty in the sense that it was green, and free of the tons of dirt and grime that characterize India’s urban center. Second—the kids we saw were ridiculously cute. WE asked to take pictures with them, and we were like instant celebrities. The kids went apeshit when we showed them the pictures we took. The teachers at the schools were the ones we were asking for information. I was a little apprehensive at first, mainly because I know zero Telugu, which is the main language in the area. It turned out ok, as I spoke enough Urdu/Hindi and probably looked foreign enough to excuse any deficiencies. The villages (and villagers) were neater, cleaner than I expected. Unfortunately, till this point I’d always had an image of rural India as backwards, dirty—but it was quite opposite.

The villages were mixed in terms of religion—I noticed Muslim names, Arabic signs on certain homes in the vicinity of Hindu temples. I don’t the state of communal relations in the region, but from what I could see there was that interesting coexistence of very disparate cultures and beliefs that characterizes India.

We visited a few Immunization Centers with Mahesh. The goal was to disseminate information to the mothers who were bringing their children to be immunized. Most of the people at the center were women, including the workers giving the shots. There were a few women here and there. I gave a woman brochure and explained as much as I could in my broke-ass Hindi. It was a proud moment.

The children I saw seemed pretty healthy, a bit on the thinner side, but generally good. It’ll be interesting to get to sit and conduct checkups with the doctors on Saturday.

Day 11/12
Today the “damn I’ve been India for ‘hella long’ feeling is setting in”. A few of the highlights:
-The TB Clinic at Mahavir Hospital. Hyderabad is one of India’s centers for the DOTS (Direct Observed Therapy) Program. It was really interesting to learn that there is a huge stigma attached with TB in India. I guess it has to do with the fact that TB is an easily communicable disease that requires a lengthy treatment regimen and isolation from the family—runs counter to India’s family-based society.

The DOTS Program was extremely well organized. We actually saw a few patients who were finding out that they had TB. One began crying (and being surrounded by foreigners probably didn’t help). The women doctor who was seeing her was very comforting and kept telling her not to be afraid—“darro nahin, is bemaari ka ilaaj hain” –Don’t fear, there is a treatment for this illness. The hospital itself had all these pics of Bill Clinton all over the place because had visited a few years before and foundation donated to the hospital.

I guess the only negative experience was getting pimped by one of the doctors on percussion—which I’ve never been tested on—not awesome! But the moment I remember most vividly was talking to one of the patients who we had observed getting a biopsy done. I remember her looking pretty afraid, probably because she was surrounded by a group of foreign strangers. I spoke to her and asked her name and where she was from.  I told her who we were and then asked a few questions about how she’d gotten sick. It was interesting moment. I don’t think I’ve ever appreciated my ability to speak Urdu as much as I did then.

Friday was all spent on preps for the health camp. Friday is also Jumma, which is the Islamic holy day of the week. I went with Mahesh, one of the assistant coordinators of the hospital to buy decorations. We had to ride on a motorcycle, which in India can be a death defying experience!

But…I was OK. Ha. I got to talk with Mahesh on the way, and he was asking me about Muslims and our prayer practices. I don’t think he’s known a Muslim well personally, which was a little surprising. I asked him about what days he went for pooja and what not. It was interesting—maybe I was able to make a positive impression on him somehow.

One moment I remember distinctly came when I went to offer Jumma prayer at the hospital. One of the front desk ladies, Kasimi, was Muslim as awell and prayed with me. We stood side by side in a dark consultation room on one of the hospital sheets and prayed Zhuhr together. We finished and she bowed to me in the “adaab”—the traditional Indian Muslim greeting. I turned and greeted her back—returning the sign of respect.

LifeSpring Hospitals was an interesting experience. It wasn’t a charity hospital, and it wasn’t a government hospital. Meaning it was midrange, middle class. I really liked getting to know the people there, but I didn’t get the experience I wanted—which is to do charity work for Muslims. But I learned an important lesson: that perhaps one solution to India’s healthcare woes is not to simply give handouts, but to enable to medical institutions  is to be self-sustaining.

“Healthy Profits v. Healthy Americans” (Guest Blog)

Humanist Manifesto: “Healthy Profits v. Healthy Americans”

A ridiculously awesome piece. that cuts through the misinformation and lies and convincingly argues that universal health care via single payer (publicly financed,privately delivered) model is what we need. Written by my good friend and fellow med student Bridget P. check it out!

Picture Day

Picture Day in high school was never one of my favorite days. I hate taking pictures to begin with, and the thought that a photo of my face would be plastered in a yearbook for all eternity.

Picture Day eight years ago was September 11, 2001. Eight years ago, I was a junior taking a picture for some idiot publication- and it was the last thing on my mind.

That morning, I woke to the news that two planes had been flown into the World Trade Center and three thousand people had died in New York. That morning, I went to school as if nothing had changed. But everything had changed, and irrevocably so. I remember wearing my newest sweater and neatly pressed khakis, stretching my mouth into a smile like I had not a care in the world. Inside, however, I was thinking more along the lines of “Shit, we are screwed. I’m Muslim, and from today onward, we are all officially screwed.”

Well, we are still pretty screwed. At least that hasn’t changed. Obama was elected, all the while being “accused” of being Muslim, like it was some crime or disease. Bombs still rain down on Iraq, Gaza, and Afghanistan, with no regard to civilian or non-civilian.

But on the flip side, there is hope. We did elect Obama. The Iraq War has been relegated to lost-cause status. Muslim Americans have found respect and acceptance for the most part. Do we live in a world marginally better than during 9/11? I would say so.

I got to visit Ground Zero last year. The nothingness was striking: in a city choked by skyscrapers, buildings, teeming with human life–the square block was empty, with the stillness and silence to fill it. And I thought back to that picture I had taken eight years today. Frozen and still in that moment of my young life, from henceforth everything had changed. I morphed from bystander to activist, eyes squinted shut to eyes wide open.

This is in memoriam to all of those lives lost on 9/11, before 9/11, and after 9/11- due to actions of states, groups, and men with little regard for human life. Rest in peace.

Feelin’ the Ramadan Spirit

Man, I am so feeling the Ramadan spirit. For the uninformed out there, Ramadan is like the Islamic version of Lent and Christmas smushed together. Basically, we fast, reflect, and pray for an entire month. And then, we party for three days straight.

I hate apologizing for not updating. Regardless, I’m sorry for not updating- This thing called med school was interfering with life again!

So back to the Ramadan spirit. It’s been interesting observing Ramadan on a college campus, far away from home. I’ve had my share of iftars (breaking-fast get-togethers) and outings with Muslims around the area. But it’s still hard to be surrounded by people who have pretty much no concept of what you’re observing, how and why. For example, a ton of people knew I was fasting, but few knew that the prohibition includes not drinking water. Now, if you’re someone who has been fasting since you were seven (example, moi) then it’s really not a big deal. But I got my share of “Dang, you are crazy” stares when I mentioned that little fact.

Fasting is supposed to teach you patience, steadfastness, self-control. It’s supposed to make you more spiritual, and hungry not only for food but for knowledge and understanding. Again, it’s hard when you’re far from family and from a huge Muslim community. But at the same time, it’s learning experience. As a Muslim-American, this is the life that most of will face: practicing and living surrounded by people with widely varying systems of belief.

Two weeks down, two weeks to go. By the way, the India Journal is still forthcoming…yes, I am lazy.