OPINION

Colour

January 02, 2009
IdeaSmith

(Based on my fortnight-long tour of Europe in October 2008)

I buy a bottle of sandalwood scented sunscreen lotion. Yes, yes, I hate the fairness-driven notion of beauty as any self-respecting Indian should. But I don't particularly want splotchy multi-coloured skin either.

Along with my lotion, sits my spray-on foundation. No.5 is closest to my skin tone, according the salesman. I wondered how he can tell since all three (identical-looking) shades he selects for me, turn up reddish patches from being rubbed vigorously into my arm. Hooray, my blood is still red and turns up under the dermis to say hello!

~o~o~o~I go shopping on Tuesday evening, Wednesday morning, nights after work and weekends to prepare for a fourteen-day (and night) journey. Among my purchases are a grey vest with red lining on the neck. To be worn with black cotton track pants with a red lining down the sides. For deck wear, for nightwear, for 'I'm so sporty-I'm so cool' wear, never mind the fact that I've never seen the inside of a gym.

The next day, dad decides to play homemaker with the laundry. I pull the clothes out of the washing machine and in horror, exclaim,

What happened to my grey vest????!!!
It is now very pink with a red lining. Pink and Red! Ghastly, ghastly, ghastly!! And I don't have matching trackpants to wear it with! Dad looks quite contrite and then asks, rather timidly,
You don't like the pink colour?

~o~o~o~

At the airport, I discover that my flight has been delayed 4 hours. A discreet door tucked away at the far end looks interesting. Entry only for travellers who have a Gold Card. At 4 a.m. as I walk out, stomach full with delectable cutlets, sandwiches, hot soup and fine tea, I conclude that life in plastic, is fantastic indeed. And Gold continues to open doors.

~o~o~o~The breakfast shift is packed. I spot an empty table, the plates of its previous occupants bearing mute testimony to their appetites. I sit down.

Five minutes later I stand up so I can see over the bar and beckon to the servers. In vain.

Then I approach a tall, blond steward standing at the bar and wait for him to finish whatever he is doing and turn around. He does but his gaze glides smoothly over my head to a distant table.

Can I have someone take my breakfast order, please?
He fixes steely eyes on me and mouths,
Sit down and keep waiting.
Twenty minutes later, I flag down a Filipina waitress who smiles sunnily and brings me my breakfast immediately.

-------------

The next morning, I arrive early and have the satisfaction of bagging a prime seat with a view of the deck as well as the serving staff. I can be patient today, I decide, ignoring my growling stomach. At the table in front of me, the blond steward is charming two Americans. He dashes off and swishes back with the menus, in a smooth move and a pleasant,
And what may I bring you lovely ladies today?
I wait for him to finish. Waving now would be rude but I'm sure he can see that I've been staring steadfastedly in his direction. He finishes, snaps the menu shut and looks up and away.

Another group of girls approach. I've noticed them the last evening. Youngish, mini-skirted, very made-up. They never seem to leave the ship and a video camera follows them around everywhere. Models for a cruise brochure, I guess. One is blonde, another looks like a teenage Catherine Zeta-Jones and their friends are various versions of Christina Aguilera. They sit down, chattering and fluttering. The steward materializes from nowhere and a gaggle of giggles break out. And a few minutes later he brings them their breakfasts - yoghurt as white as the young Zeta-Jones and fruit.

I'm still hungry.

-----------

The next evening I join two couples for dinner. We select the biggest table. Ten minutes later, in good cheer, we move to another (equally big) table on the other side of the room where we decide the serving staff is hovering. But we don't seem to be able to catch the steward's eye.

As he swings by us for the fifth time, one of my group calls out,
Could you please taken our order?
He spits out with breaking his step,
It is not your turn. Keep waiting.
------------

The man who runs the ship restaurant offers a polite apology adding firmly that it has never been his policy to discriminate on the basis of nationality or race. He also tells us about his life in another country as an alien and promises us that he understands what we mean. An hour later, after many anecdotes about travel, belief and culture, he leaves us, charmed and smiling. I'm forced to conclude that Greeks are marvelous story-tellers...indiscriminate of their audience.

~o~o~o~Maybe it is windchill, maybe it's skin unaccustomed to clean air but my face has turned a funny shade of orange. It isn't tomato-red like the sunburnt Brits, not pink like the pretty Ukrainian stewardess, not chocolate like the African-American passenger in the neighboring cabin. It isn't even brown anymore.

My friend laughs at me and points to his sneaker lining to show me what orange looks like. I scowl and think to myself,

Orange-flavoured caramel, then.

~o~o~o~"A city like every other", I think to myself, remembering my own Island, home. The malls, the skyscrapers, the busy people, the money and the flash. Then I look at the gray pavements and the white kerb-stones, stainless and clean. It's Mumbai minus the paan-stains, I surmise.

~o~o~o~Everything in Europe is so expensive! I complain. I've gotten used to not converting to rupees in my head by now but even so the shops seem to be trying to palm off touristy junk to me for 10 or 11 euros apiece. I walk down the roads thinking of Colaba Causeway and I tell my companions,

Shopkeepers world-over do this!
I stare at the ocean and then I chance upon a man sprawled on the ground, next to an array of trinkets displayed on cloth. I can never resist these.
What's this?
I ask, holding up a curious black stone. He tell me that is from the ancient island of Delos, where he brought it over and carved it. I smile back and inform him that I was in Delos that morning and didn't see any black stones since they were all white pebbles and blocks.

He doesn't bat an eyelid as he says,
You, an Indian. I am Indian too. I won't cheat you. You also don't tell me what you say to Indian shopkeepers.
I shrug and say,
How much?
 
20 euros.
I sputter and tell him that all the stuff in the shops is 10 euros. He leers and says,
Okay you go back to India and buy there only.
The firang couple next to me bursts into loud laughter, apparently very amused. I toss it back and walk away.

I hope it turns their pink fingers green. And I hope that racist pig never shows his brown face back in the country that links him to me.

~o~o~o~The sea varies from turquoise to ink to cerulean, depending upon which island I'm on. Each time it has a personality of its own and each colour introduces itself to me in its signature style. Indigo, at the start of cruise looks at me through lidded eyes and tells me that I can take my time but I'll have to come to it, eventually. Blue, mornings, welcomes me with a bright cheery 'Hello!' and asks me to come out and play. Turquoise crooks its mischievous finger at me and commands me to follow it without a splash. And silver makes me bow my head in respect as it reminds me that water covers most of the planet that human beings haven't been able to conquer.

~o~o~o~Lunch alone since everyone is sleeping in. A friendly, American co-passenger waves to me as he passes but he declines my offer to eat with me telling me he's already eaten. He's on his wave to relieve his wife from her vigil on their sunning chairs on the top deck.

She arrives a few minutes later and sits down with her plate. We eat the unfamiliar casseroles and savor the fruits in companionable silence. Then we talk about what we've seen, where we are from and what we do for a living. She tells me that she works in a tanning salon. I listen, interested and then tell her that the concept is completely alien where I come from. She looks surprised and says,

But you are such a lovely colour!

~o~o~o~Over the bay, the water has turned steely-grey, like the sky. The wind is chilly too so I shut my book and prepare to move indoors. The tables next to mine are emptying too.

At least the night is the same colour over everyone.

Ideasmith is a moniker for Ramya Pandyan, an ex-business analyst on sabbatical and an aspiring novelist. Also a compulsive writer as you can see at www.theideasmithy.com and www.thexxfactor.net
eXTReMe Tracker
Keep reading for comments on this article and add some feedback of your own!

Comments! Feedback! Speak and be heard!

Comment on this article or leave feedback for the author

#1
temporal
URL
January 2, 2009
06:44 PM

idea:

good read...

and will disagree with the observation about nights

some nights can be are darker than others


***

the uranium-tipped bomb lit nights of gaza are darker than the moonless nights in the middle of rab al khali

#2
smallsquirrel
January 2, 2009
07:25 PM

I did like parts of this, and I am really not stupid enough to not know that discrimination is alive and well. but somehow this comes across to me as you actually expecting it, too. like you really, really do not like white people. I kinda feel like you think we're all a little stupid. maybe I just read into it. dunno, you tell me.

also, I did not see the Indian guy as racist. I saw him as an asshole. But what he did to you was in no way racist. It is was all hustlers do, and all those trinket sellers are hustlers.

#3
Deepa Krishnan
URL
January 2, 2009
09:24 PM

Nice one, babe. Keep the smithy going.

#4
Deepti Lamba
URL
January 3, 2009
01:04 AM

Like all tourist spots I think its the love for fat euro/dollar tips that make waiters complete assholes.

We've all been ignored by Indian waiters in favor of white foreigners. Its the tips.

However that being said Europe does have its unique brand of racism. We are either mistaken to be Turks or called that nasty word that they use for South Asians.

And we too have a word for them- Euro trash.

What goes around comes around. They do it; we do it. Its just one big racist world.

Enjoyed reading it. Keep it coming.




#5
IdeaSmith
URL
January 4, 2009
02:51 AM

@ temporal: That's inside one's mind. But it still is one blanket black or the absence of colour over everyone.

@ smallsquirrel: I don't think I dislike white people. I work for a company full of them and what's more, one of my favorite bosses was white. Was I expecting racism? I guess I was though it still came as a shock when it actually happened. There was plenty more that I didn't put into this post since I didn't want it to be a rant on racist attitudes. I did have some good experiences in Greece too. And you're right that trinket-selling creep was simply a low-life scumbag hustler. Can you tell this type I definitely DO NOT like? :-)

@ Deepa Krishnan: Thengyu! :-)

@ Deepti Lamba: Yes, that's true. I was reminded of the movie 'My big fat Greek wedding' that has an underlying thread of WASP snobbery and a semi-racist attitude. In face like I said in the post, the restaurant manager (a Greek) also told us about some things he had faced while working in the US. It just surprised me that people who've faced racism themselves are also racist in their behaviour to others.

#6
commonsense
January 4, 2009
12:03 PM

much of this, as deepti points out, is driven by the almighty "tip" and perceptions about who will tip more than others. such touristy islands are usually strictly avoided by the greeks themselves for the very same reason. a greek waiter will ignore them due to the "tip". very little to do with "race" per se.

an interesting study of perceptions of race and tipping: in many established restaurants, waiters perceive black customers to be bad tippers and usually assign junior waiter to serve them. these junior waiters usually expect a bad tip, and they are pissed off for being assigned to serve tables with black custormers, so they offer pointedly bad service. and the customers at the receiving end, end up giving a lousy tip, based on the lousy service. the myth of the "black customers being lousy tippers" is not surprisingly, despite exceptions, perpetuated. A classic case of a self-fulfilling prophecy. Forget the title of this book, but it is based on intensive fieldwork in many restaurants in the US.

I travel a lot in Europe, and sure I get experience the odd behaviour sometimes, but when I am on a pleasure trip, I just take it in my stride. In Barcelona for example, in the touristy areas, a majority of the waiters are Indian and Pakistani who, due to their phenotypical appearance and facility in Spanish, successfully pass of as Spanish to all the others (expect desis and Spanish) who can tell them apart. They too are very cagey, as they told me, about desi tourists especially, because (they claim) that desi customers (with exceptions of course) treat them like semi-shit. And they admitted that they also treat desi customers like semi-shit. Overall, a tense standoff. Me and my friend were able to engage these waiters in extended conversation about these issues, and they gave us a number of insights about the dynamics of service in touristy areas: three words: TIP

#7
commonsense
January 4, 2009
12:12 PM

btw, once we chatted with these Indian and pakistani waiters in a friendly way, they were plying us with free beer! this happened in not one but many spots! and some of them were also giving us TIPS on how to avoid the tourist traps where all the prices are inflated. it was a matter of getting thru to them, and trust me almost all of them, without expception, were really friendly and gave us insights about barcelona we would never have had on our own. and yes, we did see SOME desi patrons ordering them around in a semi-feudal manner and the waiters were nudging and winking at us. I hope they did not spit in their beer or something like that! it happens!

#8
smallsquirrel
January 4, 2009
12:56 PM

I will also add that service in Europe (unless in a Michelin-rated restaurant) is notoriously BAD. I mean look, I am white, I have Italian heritage and I speak Italian, I dress well and I STILL get shitty service.

I will say that part if this is because of the "service included" aspect of most Italian eateries, so you've already paid the tip up front, whether they earn it or not. But I noticed the same in France, Spain, Belgium, etc.

The best service I ever got was in India. Why? Because the sad waiters assumed that the white girl had all the money. I was always asked first in the group if everything was to my satisfaction. Funny thing is I was unemployed and the desis I was out with were all making lakhs per month. I always told them quietly at the end of the meal (the waiters) that they should learn to be nicer to desis and stop worrying so much about pleasing the firangs.

#9
commonsense
January 4, 2009
01:13 PM

SS,

True about the service charge. however, in overtly touristy areas, most people do leave some tip, especially the charmed tourists! so there is some struggle over that!! (in some places)

Add your comment



Personal attacks are not allowed. Please read our comment policy.






Remember Name/URL?

Please preview your comment!