Dear all,

I need to confess.

I was reading about why racism still exists in India and a memory unearthed itself.

I realized it existed in me.

I used to play with my darwaans daughter. She had beautiful dark hair, always combed into the perfect braid tied up with a red ribbon.

We used to play with my dollhouse, her crockery set, my dolls.

She made food for herself and the dolls one day. I picked up the spoon to try it.

“You shouldn’t eat it”, she said

I asked, “Why?”

“You can’t eat food made by me”

 I could see it in her eyes. She knew we were different, and maybe that day, the little five-year-old me knew it too.

I was putting on my sandals to go downstairs, she said she’ll wait for me at our spot.

“You shouldn’t play with her anymore” said my grandmother.

I asked, “Why?”

“You will start school soon; you will make friends there.”

I was being a good child, grandmother knows best. I left her waiting.

I started going to The Heritage School and she, a local government school. And slowly, just like that, our friendship faded, and I didn’t see her again… even though we lived in the same compound. Me in my three storeyed castle and she, across the lawn, in her thatched hut.

I wish I could change my past. I wish I could look into her kohl rimmed eyes and say that I’m sorry. I wish I could have held her hand and told her that we might look different and we might have different experiences, but we are one. We were created as one. In relationships, emotions matter, not the color, family, religion, caste or creed we were born into. It should be based on the interior qualities of the person. What makes the person them.

I hope one day we can embrace all our colors and differences and be one.

Yours respectfully,

Yashaswi