You are amazing! They are telling her while she looks at them with a straight face maybe she has started to love those beautiful praises; woven in words and sent to her.
It wasn't like this since her childhood.
All she was, was a small piece of flesh with colors scattered on her body, none of them being White. She was getting used to the comments of society or even by her own family. She hated the way they used to portray beauty infront of her with examples of a fair skinned girl. Those were the times when she was getting acquainted to the disgust. A disgust for her own self. Fairy tales weren't of her kind, neither she liked snow white being protected by dwarfs nor she could imagine a prince like Cinderella's in her kind of world.
In the concrete forest behind the slums of Bombay she just existed. Trapped in the walls of room struggling with their words. Particularly she wrote about the color describing the way how she feels-
"If you do not discriminate the color of the beach sand, then why the injustice with me".
The tides brought the essence of the ocean at her feet, she had never felt so powerless and humbled in it. Everything was bleak in her life as if the sun never shine on her, as winter feelings wrapped her with the frosty fingers. She was merely breathing, but not living at all. Her world stopped spinning and halted; She used to love the lilac sky with sun facing her. The changing colours of the sky always fascinated her.
She had a dream!
Of getting out of this skin one fine evening.
She listened to them when they said black is beautiful but now she had realized the difference between humans and materials. She had realized the truth behind 'Black is beautiful'.
The day was getting darker with time, she was standing in the corner of her room, it was cold outside. She just dreamt to live in her Cloudland with no racism. Once she wrote-
"If I could breathe in colours
I would inhale all those that is
causing discrimination in the
society and breath out a shade that would neutralize all Biases".
Years in and years out, she wakes up to the same mirror which paints the tale of her ugly dark skin. She weeps at those skinny brown hands as anything is better than browny or darky. She walks out of the bathroom only to the disappointment that hours of scrubbing could do nothing but gives rashes. She was also rewarded with fairness creams once to bury herself with, else she will be a liability. The people walks in every evening only to blame her for a disgraceful.
One fine evening she decided to set every thought free. When the sky was lilac again she decided to step out of her skin
The terrace still fears of her presence.
The deathbed at the ground floor is placed covered with a 'white' cloth.
She sleeps to the notions of distress, distrust and anguish for she is born where being brown come to a sin.
For the first time they were looking at her without disgust. On that fine evening!
Deep into the pores the society sighed, 'she was black but genes were white'.
Moral- 'Beauty never cares about racial boundaries'.
