Why India can’t stop obsessing over fair skin—and why it makes my brown skin crawl

Dubai: Earlier today, I wrote about a dark-skinned groom in Madhya Pradesh who was mercilessly trolled after posting a wedding picture. Comments speculated that his fair-skinned bride must be a gold digger, that he must hold a government job, or that she was somehow forced into marrying him. The reality? Far simpler. They met in college 11 years ago, fell in love, and chose to celebrate their relationship.

For me, this hit close to home. Growing up, I was often told I had “my father’s complexion”—he is dark-skinned—while my mother is relatively fair. Even well-meaning relatives made casual remarks: great features, but dark.

As a child, I would fire back at my grandmother, saying, “If her son is dark, of course I look like him!”

That little bit of defiance felt satisfying, but it also made me notice how early and casually colourist attitudes sneak in.

Fast forward to my twenties, when marriage became a topic. The feedback was usually qualified: she’s educated, capable… but not fair. My mother, convinced I needed a little extra help, made me drink milk with saffron, promising it would make me fairer. And don’t even get me started on matrimonial ads and fairness creams—light skin apparently equals beauty, opportunity, and acceptance. Even my father, an IIT-educated banker, described me as “wheatish” in my bio-data—a polite way of saying not fair enough.

India’s obsession with fairness is systematic. Dark-skinned people are judged, consciously or unconsciously, in jobs, marriage, and social interactions. Colourism reduces a complex human being to a single superficial trait. Casual remarks, media portrayals, and matrimonial ads normalize it, embedding the idea that fairness is a prerequisite for success or desirability.

The Madhya Pradesh groom’s story isn’t an isolated incident—it’s a cultural snapshot. And it’s not just regular folks who get labelled. Actress Bipasha Basu recently opened up about her experiences with colourism, and spoiler: it’s a long story. Growing up in Kolkata, her family called her “dusky” compared to her fairer sister. That adjective stuck. When she started modelling, newspapers dubbed her the “dusky girl from Kolkata,” and Bollywood audiences were introduced to her the same way. Her skin colour even got tied to her “sex appeal.” Yet she stuck to her principles, rejecting lucrative fairness-brand endorsements over the years.

Bipasha’s experience underscores how pervasive this obsession is—even in professional and public life, dark skin is marked, defined, and commodified. For me, and countless others, everyday language—wheatish, dusky, fair—shapes perceptions, opportunities, and sometimes self-worth.

The solution? Simple, really. Media and advertising need to stop equating value with skin tone. Matrimonial and professional spaces should prioritize skills, character, and compatibility over complexion. And everyday conversations—yes, even casual ones at family dinners—must ditch the colourist commentary.

That childhood exchange with my grandmother? Funny at the time, but a reminder that these ideas are learned early—and stick around. Skin colour shouldn’t determine anyone’s worth. India, it’s time we get over this obsession.