So, I had a little chat with a friend today, and let me tell you, it was the longest conversation we’ve had in about 4.5 years. Back in the day, we were inseparable, like two peas in a pod. But, you know how life goes, we grow up, get busy, and suddenly, you’re chatting away like it’s a reunion of long-lost pals.

Now, our conversation took a quirky turn towards our inexplicable fascination with “Firangis.” You know, foreigners! It got me reminiscing about my very first encounter with one of these exotic creatures. Brace yourself for a time warp; we’re going back to the thrilling years of 1986-1987.

I was a mere 9 or 10 years old, and when summer vacations rolled around (assuming we weren’t off gallivanting on some exotic holiday), my mom and I had a set routine. Every other day, we’d hop on a train from Mulund to Mumbai around 2:30 PM, precisely when the trains were less crowded. Ah, those were the days when Mumbai was still Bombay, and CST was V.T.

Once we hit V.T., our adventure led us to the famed Vitthal Bhel House, tucked away in a charming alley across from V.T. From there, our path diverged. We’d either catch a flick at the cinema or head to the Museum or Gateway of India for a boat ride. And if the latter won the day, a visit to the Sea Lounge was mandatory.

The Sea Lounge, my friends, is where it got fancy. It’s a posh spot nestled in the vintage Taj Hotel, sitting pretty on the first floor. When we graced the place with our presence, I made a beeline for the seats by the window with a front-row view of the sea. Picture this: lush carpet, hefty wooden chairs with cushy green tapestry, and an air of sophistication.

Now, here’s where my culinary adventure took off. I was a man of simple tastes back then, with only two items on my Sea Lounge menu:
1. Bhel Puri
2. A rose and vanilla ice cream milkshake

The bhel arrived in a white rectangular bowl perched on a white plate, while the milkshake made its entrance in a tall glass, garnished with a dainty umbrella, also on a white plate, accompanied by two long spoons. Fancy, right?

So there I was, munching away on bhel and slurping my milkshake when I noticed a burly lady in her early fifties eyeing me from across the room. Mind you, I was a rather shy lad back then. Naturally, I spilled the beans to my mom, who nonchalantly told me to ignore it.

But this staring contest went on for a good ten minutes. And then, out of nowhere, she stood up and sauntered over to our table, which was just a hop, skip, and a jump away—about four meters, to be precise. She stood there, flashed a smile, and started chattering away, and I hadn’t the foggiest idea what she was saying.

All I can recall is me staring at her like a deer caught in headlights as she gesticulated wildly at my glass and uttered words that sounded like gibberish. Confused and maybe slightly terrified, I turned to my mom, who, thank goodness, spoke “Foreignese.” She figured out that the lady was asking, “Goot?” Apparently, that meant, “Is it good?” referring to my milkshake.

She repeated this “Goot” interrogation a few times, and my mom, being the diplomat that she is, assured her that I was indeed “good” and encouraged her to have a sip. She didn’t actually take a sip, but she did flash a warm smile, ruffle my hair as if I were a fluffy puppy, and ambled back to her table. Then, she beckoned the waiter over and ordered the exact same thing for herself. I remember thinking, “Wow, I must be a milkshake influencer if ‘firangs’ are copying my order!”

Once I’d polished off my snacks and mom had footed what I can only imagine was a hefty bill, we made our way back home. As we sat in the train, mom casually mentioned that I was blushing and as red as a tomato during my tête-à-tête with the lady. Go figure!

So, here’s the kicker: why do I remember this incident from a whopping 35 years ago, or possibly more? Today, I understand that this lady was just like you and me, except for the fair skin. But why are we so enamored with fair skin? Do we harbor a distaste for dusky beauties?

Truth be told, it’s not about disliking anyone based on their skin tone; it’s about society’s quirky obsession with fair complexions due to historical, cultural, and societal influences. It’s a preference that varies from person to person and culture to culture.

But here’s the punchline, folks: beauty isn’t skin deep; it’s soul-deep! The real beauty of a person lies in their character, kindness, intelligence, and their actions—not the shade of their skin or any other superficial trait. In our increasingly diverse and inclusive world, we’re learning to celebrate and embrace the rainbow of skin colors and body types that make us wonderfully unique.

So, let’s all pledge to look beyond the surface and appreciate each person for who they truly are. Because in the grand scheme of things, it’s what’s inside that truly counts, not the color of our skin. Cheers to celebrating the kaleidoscope of human beauty, inside and out!