I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. ~Martin Luther King
On a silky white dress, a drop of red wine, no matter how small, how seemingly inconspicuous, stands out. It’s an anomaly that draws the eyes, a screaming child demanding attention, a flaw people can’t help but peek at out of the corner of their eye while trying desperately not to look.
In India, I sometimes feel like that spot, that stain, but in reverse. I sometimes feel like a white blotch on mocha skin. When I walk about in India, it’s quite obvious that I am a visitor from a different part of the world. To put it simply, I don’t look like an Indian and never will look Indian partly because…
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