Shades of Skin

The only part of body ever meant to be white were teeth, and even those have gone yellow, observes Dr Saumya Balsari, albeit with humour.

"Who's been using my fairness cream?" demanded Auntyji. "The tube is almost over. Someone has squashed it completely out of shape, and I'd just got a new one from Beejay Veecee Peetee and Sons the other day."

Uncleji looked shamefaced. He admitted he had wanted a change of colour. He confessed shyly, that he had thought if he applied it all in one go, he could turn white.

"You can scrub at your skin all day long with cream or chickpea flour for the rest of your life, but a man your age should know it won't change colour," she said briskly. "What's come over you all of a sudden? The only parts of your body ever meant to be white were your teeth, and even those have gone yellow."

Uncleji protested. Elderly white men armed only with walking sticks, were neither stopped nor searched, he pointed out. He was frightened. The world was no longer the same.

"Whatever is going on outside, you can never be white - either outside or inside," said Auntyji firmly.

He replied that he did not want to be white, only look white. That was impossible, she said. She told him he was being foolish.

"But look at Michael Jackson!" he protested. "If he could do it, others can, too. Surely it should be possible in the future for cosmetic surgeons to make people change the colour of their skins to any shade they like? Imagine a High Street shop like your Beejay Veecee Peetee and Sons, or that tanning salon opposite. One could go in on a Saturday morning and change skin colour in under two hours, and change back the next Friday."

"Be happy with what God has given you. Besides, cosmetic surgery doesn't work," she warned. "Look at Asha! Her Botox went completely wrong. She now has one fixed expression on her face all the time. Serves her right. What is the need for such vanity at the age of thirty-nine?" Uncleji thought of his own wife's singular expression without the benefit of Botox.

"Even Victoria Beckham says there is nothing wrong with cosmetic surgery," replied Uncleji weakly.

"Have you been secretly reading those cheap magazines at the newsagents?" she demanded. "How can I? They are upside down," he protested.

This was true. Mr. Patel was a family man, and cautiously placed lurid publications in plastic covers upside down on the topmost shelf. There were only so many times Uncleji could legitimately look at the ceiling plaster, lighting and the construction of the wall behind the magazine racks.

"Oh! Look at the time! You'd better get changed. Don't you remember? Mrs. Chopra and five of her kitty party friends will be here for the bridge session any minute," claimed Auntyji.

Uncleji changed colour.

(Saumya Balsari is the author of the comic novel 'The Cambridge Curry Club', and wrote a play for Kali Theatre Company's Futures last year. She has worked as a freelance journalist in London, and is currently writing a second novel.)