Our continued obsession with fair skin

A  symposium that I  recently attended in Guwahati was a good illustration of our continued obession with fair skin, which is bad twice over not only because it makes us behave abnormally with fair skinned people, but also because it prevents us from valuing and giving due respect to the great ones among our own brown-skinned locals. Read on to find out more...

I had always thought that the advertisements about ‘Fair and Lovely’ Fairness cream were a joke, but after what happened this time, I am no longer sure. I was part of a group of foreign scholars who had come to attend a symposium at a newly established academic institution in the outskirts of the city. The institution was new, and this was their first big event, so they had gone all out to extract maximum mileage out of it. So there was a press-meet on the day before the scheduled start and everything was done to keep the media persons covering the event in good humour. Fair enough, but the spectacle that was made out of the attendance of so many foreign guests was rather in poor taste. The profusion of gamochas and bouquets showered on them made them feel rather self-conscious, and the unbelievable servility with which they were treated left them all gasping. Each one was assigned a personal student ‘minder’ who was supposed to help the person even with pushing his chair while getting up and so on. Most of those foreign guests were young and energetic research scholars and many were visiting India for the first time. They were used to carrying their bags and to following instructions. Many of them were just students, just like their minders. They just did not know how to handle the attention.

And in all this drama over the foreigners, the Indian scholars who were also attending the meet were just ignored or just barely acknowledged. So much so that a very senior and renowned academician invited as an honoured plenary speaker to the symposium was made to pay registration fees. Being a gentleman, he paid up, without protest. I have nothing against having to pay registration fees at conferences, as long as there is no differential treatment. The same rules must apply for everyone. But looking back, that whole registration process was a joke. When they finally got their act together, and the registration began, participants were given nice-looking conference bags which were still in their plastic packing, all complete with price tags etc. And since they were still in the original packing, there was absolutely nothing inside – no programme, no list of abstracts, no name tag, no pen, no notepad. Do people participate in conferences only to collect conference bags? The absence of name badges for the participants was a real problem, and it looked all the more ludicrous because all the volunteers and the local organisers had posh and official-looking name badges hanging around their necks.

It must be said that the student volunteers worked very hard and they made a really good impression. But there seemed to be a complete disconnect between the facilities that are  normally expected to be provided while organising international conferences and the priorities of the organisers. The foreign participants wanted academic discussion, they wanted interaction with the local scholars since they had come here to learn and they expected basic facilities like clean and functional toilets and internet connectivity, and quiet spaces for preparing their lectures and for discussion with other scholars. But the local organisers were more concerned about inaugurations and valedictory meetings, cultural programmes and chief guests, bouquets and gamochas. The senior among the local organisers did not seem to have the time to listen to the actual talks. For them it was primarily a media event, not a learning opportunity, nor a meeting place for serious academic exchange; the talks were necessary, in order to justify the event, but that did not mean that one had to actually sit down and listen. It would have been okay if they had just kept away, but the few occasions when senior local scholars were present during a discussion, they felt they had to express their opinion, and in so doing they made it clear that they had not listened at all, nor had they tried to understand what the talk was about. Some comments were so plainly absurd that one could do nothing else but laugh.

Why do we not understand that if we want to honour and to show respect to serious scholars, the best way to do it is, not to shower them with gamochas and packets of tea, but to take their work seriously. We need to sit down and listen when they are talking about their work, to ask informed questions and to contribute in whatever way we can in their quest for knowledge. That is how we show them that we value their scholarship. But sadly very few in the audience shared my opinion. And those who did were too polite to be heard over the general hustle and bustle prevailing – for going by the heavy silk mekhela sadors and heavy jewellery or smart suits in which most of the resident faculty were dressed,  it really seemed as if there was a big wedding going on rather than a serious academic conference.

With so much activity all around, what with keeping media people happy and arranging coffee for the participants, even those who wanted to listen had a hard time. Many of the contributed papers were downright poor, most were barely passable. I did seriously think that somehow the culture of serious research and thinking was still missing in our land. The stark difference in standards between the papers presented by the foreign scholars and those by the local ones only proves my point. And that is a real pity, because the younger scholars are energetic and enthusiastic. They are willing to work hard and to learn. But who will teach them? And if senior local scholars cannot be bothered even to listen to what the younger ones are presenting, then how can they help them to become better?

It did look to me that the whole reason for this huge number of paper presentations was the increased number of credit points that the paper-presenters (who are mostly college teachers) would get for participation in an international conference. And that fact seemed to be clear to the organisers at least. For fancy looking 'certificates of presentation' were signed and ready to be given to the paper presenters even before they had presented their papers; there were certificates also for those who did not attend, there were certificates also for chairing a session and so on. Foreign scholars are not used to going up to formally receive certificates of participation. As such they were really puzzled by what was going on. In normal conferences and workshops, such certificates are given to participants only on request, and even then they are handed over discreetly and informally. But here, the organisers missed no opportunity to make a big show out of even such trivialities.

I had a unique position with regard to it all – since I had also come from abroad and was part of the foreign team I was supposed to have some special status, but since I did not have white skin and blonde hair and since I insisted I was Asamiya and Indian, they could not slot me so easily. Like other Indians, I paid my registration. They had arranged separate accommodation for the ‘honoured’ foreign guests and for the ‘ordinary’ Indian participants. So when they ran out of space in the former, they just informed me that I had been moved to the latter. Of course I did not take this lying down; not that I have anything against staying with fellow Indians, but I have something against discrimination on the basis of skin colour. And this policy of segregating the foreigners from the Indians meant that the foreign and Indian scholars had little opportunity to interact with each other informally later in the evenings, and this was a huge missed opportunity.

And if all this was not enough, what happened at the valedictory event takes the cake. It was the end of another intense day of deliberations and for those few who wanted to attend as many talks as was possible, it was also exhausting. But courtesy demanded that we attend. As was to be expected, the names of all the foreign scholars were read out once more, for the umpteenth time, this time to go up and receive a gift (called very modestly, a small token of appreciation) from the Chancellor himself of this fledgling University. While handing over the gifts the Chancellor shook hands with the person and then posed for a photograph. But that was not all, while shaking hands, the Chancellor asked each one of the pretty young foreign lady scholars their age! And when it was the turn of one of the foreign male scholars who happened to sport a pony tail, he was asked to ‘give us a song’!

I could not believe what I was hearing. I wished someone would tell the man to mind his own business. I accepted my packet of tea only on condition I would not be asked my age, but the hint was not taken. And the foreigners did not know what hit them, they were too polite to protest, they smiled and took it in their stride, and their polite smiles were mistaken by the organisers to be a sign of approval. As far as the local contingent was concerned, they seemed to be hugely enjoying this public demonstration of rudeness and bad manners -- that too from the head of an academic institution, that too in front of students. I have never felt more outraged in my life. Many of the foreigners asked me later whether it was normal for young women to be asked their age publicly in India!  What could I say but apologise and hang my hang in shame at the misbehaviour of a fellow-countryman. 

All this was even more shocking because the bad behaviour came from someone who calls himself a Chancellor. Having studied in state-owned universities where the Chancellor is never present and the Vice-Chancellor is the local god, it was just unimaginable that someone who is even higher than a VC could behave in this unseemly manner. When I asked about his personal credentials, I was told he was a very successful entrepreneur. So I understood that that is what is required in today’s India to become a Chancellor of a university -- not scholarship, not university degrees, but pots of money and the ability to conjure up more. Not surprising since opening academic institutions has become very good business in our land. And after having seen this particular Chancellor in action I understood better why the students and faculty had not given too much attention to their very learned but very modest VC at the inaugural event. After all, it was clear to everyone working there who called the shots in that place. 

  

Earlier I used to find those phoren-returned memonis intolerable, when they would start complaining about how letera-petera our dear old Guwahati is. Of course I do not like many things about the city too. It was not just the sight of garbage lying on the streets or the crazy traffic, but after having lived for many years in Germany now, it takes me quite an effort each time to adjust to the change of pace and the general loudness of the city. But Guwahati of late seems to have also changed in completely unexpected ways. The huge respect and loyalty a person can command simply on the basis of his wealth, regardless of anything else, is one of them.

Some other things, however, have not changed. Not only does our fascination for white skin remain, we also continue to behave like uncivilised imbeciles whenever we see a fair-skinned foreigner. There are probably many reasons why we should respect some white sahibs even today, but doing that just for their white skin means we are missing the point altogether. If we are so proud of our education and our wealth, where is our self-respect? How much longer will we continue to re-enact the drama of the white sahib and brown coolie? This obsession with fair skin is bad twice over not only because it makes us behave abnormally with fair-skinned people, but also because it also prevents us from valuing and giving due respect the the great ones amongst our own brown-skinned locals. And the symposium I attended in Guwahati was a good illustration of all that and more. Suddenly, I am beginning to dread being in Guwahati. God knows what more there is in store for me to see before I head back this time...