Thank you my dearest amma!

Thank you God for this wonderful mother of mine! Thank you my dearest amma! For shaping me into a confident, sibling loving person.

Working in a big educational institution has gained me a wide collection of young friends and fans. One such friend of mine is this small girl from class V. The start of this mail’s thanks giving is the outcome of my interactions with this girl.

I enjoy watching these kids when they disperse for the day. They are still bubbling with energy and seeing them is an instant energiser for our team. My favorite pass time during such dispersal will be to strike an eye contact with one of the kids and to smile from ear to ear. The result will invariably be a shy half smile, after a few steps, turn around and check if I am still watching them. I can expect my new friend to take the same route the next day for a bigger and brighter smile. It would be bonus for me if I get a “Guduvening mam!” from them.

One such student is Bhavna a class V student. A small shy girl with attractive features, black eyes, curly hair, wheatish complexion. In about 3 days time, we have become friends. Bhavna would touch my sari pallu and will rearrange it with shy smile. Very few conversations, but I have understood that the girl likes me. One evening, after touching my sari, she asked me “Mam, why are you wearing such a light color?”. I was surprised because, this was the least expected question. So instead of an answer mine was another question to her why if the sari was not appealing enough for her. To my surprise she said, “No mam, this light cream color - my mother says will suit a person who is dark skinned like me. But you are so fair, you can wear some darker color no mam?”

It was a mixed reaction for me now. I have accepted my darker skin tone and now, this small girl is complementing me for a fair skin!. As I was thinking of this, I was even more surprised at the girl’s words which expressed how she has taken her complexion to her negative. Slowly, I prepared myself to motivate this girl and to make her accept herself as she is. I started a lengthy conversation,

“Why my dear! You also look good! Why should you feel that you are dark?”.

“No mam, my mother always tells me that I am dark. She always tells me that I am dirty.”

I was speechless and beyond that my adult brain was clouded with rational thoughts like, image identity for this girl, and her low level of esteem for self and to top it all her mother’s efforts to kill the child’s self confidence in herself and her mother’s version of good looks. I prepared myself to make life better for this small friend of mine. I told her few things like to wash her face and hands as soon as going back home and reasoned it out that washing her face will make her brighter and fresher. I also told her to comb her hair after returning home as she had good curly hair which can turn out be unruly by the end of the day.

After a few days of salient smiles and few words, the girl came back to me and said, “Mam, will you talk to my mother and tell her to plait my hair in the evenings mam? Also will you please tell her not to call me dirty girl mam?” She had prepared a small chit with her mother’s number in it. After this, I did speak the mother and appreciated her daughter for her spontaneous conversation and all those small talk which will make a mother proud of her daughter.

It took me a week to discuss the small girl’s problem. But, it was during this time I had a flash from my childhood memory. The day when I came home crying from school as a class XII student. It was one of those days, when my classmate had again chided me for my oily pimply dark skin in front of the whole class. My grandmother or little sister could not console me on this day that they were waiting for my mother to come back from her office. My mother had her own way of making me a strong person. She smiled at me and said, “Is this my same daughter who had a smart tongue as a six year old girl?” Then she explained the event, when I was six and my sister four, the neighbors apparently would ask me repeatedly why I am dark when little sister is fair. After few days of repeated questions on this, the little elder sister took the responsibility to bring her younger sister home to safe and went back to the neighbor’s door and had shouted, “At least my sister is fair in my house, How is it everyone is dark in your house aunty?”

Though this had little impact to the problem I was facing, it had surely brought my young sister to take the matters in her hands. To make it short, the next day, I found some of my friends running to me to tell, the girl who commented on me was cornered by my sister and her friends. When I rushed to the scene, my sister or her friends were nowhere to be seen but my classmate was the lone person to stand there with brimming tears and on seeing me she started to apologise profusely for her comments. Later on, there was a well established friendly relationship between us sisters.

This memory thread made me understand the contribution my mother had made in making me accept myself and the type of bonding that still exists between my sister and me.

Why can’t all mothers be sensible like my mother? Why can’t the mothers accept their children as they are? Do we still find mothers who would care for complexion and skin tone? Why can’t the mothers during the growing age of their daughters take up the responsibility to groom them than commenting and criticizing them on their looks? Why can’t this mother keep her daughter neat and clean so that the child need not have to lean on a third person for a simple recommendation to plait her hair in the evenings?

Thank you God for this wonderful mother of mine! Thank you my dearest amma! For shaping me into a confident, sibling loving, clear headed person.