The Fair Skin Fallacy in India is more than just a cultural obsession; it is a deeply ingrained social bias perpetuated by media, traditions, and everyday interactions. From television serials to Bollywood films, the portrayal of skin colour has long reinforced damaging stereotypes. But what happens when these biases seep into real life, affecting how people are judged, valued, and even loved? Let’s explore the roots of India’s fair skin fallacy and its pervasive impact on society.
The fair skin fallacy in India: A media obsession
For as long as I can remember, my grandmother’s daily routine included watching soap operas. Her choices were all over the place. One day, it was Mahabharat, and the next, some family drama where a matriarch clashed with the modern daughter-in-law. However, the one that caught my attention (but not for good reasons) was Karuthamuthu (transl. Black Pearl), a Malayalam serial my grandmother watched every evening.
So, the story follows Karthika, a dark-skinned girl married to a lighter-skinned doctor. And no, the doctor didn’t marry her out of love. He chose her because he was infertile and figured he’d settle for someone “flawed” and “less desirable.” Oh, and the flaw here is her dark skin, apparently.
“Brown Face” in Bollywood
The show Karuthamuthu claimed to raise awareness about colourism. Now, here’s the irony. They cast a fair-skinned actress and darkened her with makeup instead of hiring someone with naturally dusky skin. It’s not just this Malayalam serial. Bollywood can’t get it right either. The Indian film industry is still putting actors in “brown face” makeup instead of hiring actors with naturally darker skin tones.
Bollywood’s role in the fair skin fallacy in India
If we are talking about the pseudo-representation of dark skin in Bollywood films, the examples are endless. In Bala (2019), Bhumi Pednekar was painted a dozen shades darker than her actual skin tone. Then there’s Udta Punjab, where Alia Bhatt had an artificially brown face to play a Bihari labourer. Are we supposed to believe the filmmakers couldn’t find even one dark-skinned actress across India for these roles?
Let’s not forget Super 30, where Hrithik Roshan, Bollywood’s very own “Greek God,” was slathered in bronzer to play a Bihari mathematician. This practice of casting fair-skinned actors and using makeup to darken their faces has been happening for a long time. It is not a recent trend but rather an ongoing issue in the film industry.
Back in 1983, Zeenat Aman wore dark makeup to play a sweeper in Pyaas. In Khoon Bhari Maang, Rekha’s character started with dark makeup to look unattractive, but when she transformed into a more attractive character in the second half, her skin tone was lighter.
The same old stereotype: Class, caste, and colourism
Some may not see an Indian actor wearing a “brown face” as racist because the actors are Indian themselves. However, it is undeniably elitist. Bollywood loves slapping on brown makeup, and these brown-washed actors almost always portray characters from impoverished, marginalised backgrounds. The films mentioned earlier, such as Udta Punjab and Super 30, all follow this pattern.
In Gully Boy, Ranveer Singh appeared noticeably darker to fit the role of an aspiring rapper from Dharavi, Mumbai’s largest slum. The stereotype often is that people from less privileged backgrounds have darker skin. This idea links dark skin to poverty, lower social status, and rural areas, suggesting that lighter skin is a sign of wealth, education, and higher status.
It’s easy to turn off the TV when you see colourism on screen, but what happens off-screen in India, even in these so-called progressive times, is impossible to ignore.
Fair skin fallacy in India: Goriya or nothing
In the Bollywood movie Khaali Peeli, an item song originally featured the line, “Tujhe Dekh Ke Goriya, Beyoncé Sharma Jayegi” (Translation: After seeing you, fair woman, Beyoncé would feel shy). In response to the criticism and backlash, the lyrics were changed to “Tera Dekh Ke Nakhra, Yeh Duniya Sharma Jayegi” (Translation: After looking at your attitude, the world will feel shy).
What made the situation even more controversial was when director Maqbool explained that the lyrics weren’t meant to be racial. He argued that the term “Goriya” is commonly used in Indian songs to refer to a woman, and it never occurred to anyone to interpret it literally. In other words, he was unintentionally admitting how normal it is in India to place “fair women” on a pedestal, treating their skin colour as something superior.
It is no surprise we have three seasons of Indian Matchmaking on Netflix. In the show, Sima Taparia (aka Sima Aunty), Mumbai’s so-called top matchmaker, keeps putting lighter-skinned women and men as the ideal choice, treating their complexion as an automatically desirable trait. One line from the show, word for word, goes: “Not too dark, you know, like fair-skinned.” That pretty much sums it up.
Talent overshadowed: The impact of the fair skin fallacy in India
And, of course, skin colour bias doesn’t just affect Indian women. Earlier this year, classical dancer Kalamandalam Sathyabhama sparked controversy with her colourist remarks about male dancers. She claimed that only “fair-skinned, good-looking men” should perform Mohiniyattam.
Sathyabhama, while indirectly referring to Mohiniyattam dancer RLV Ramakrishnan, described him as having the “colour of a crow.” Ramakrishnan, who holds a PhD in Mohiniyattam, belongs to a Scheduled Caste, a community historically marginalised based on both caste and skin colour. The fact that Ramakrishnan is highly educated and accomplished in his field makes the comment even more troubling. That is because it disregards his abilities and achievements based on his appearance, which reflects deep-rooted colourism and caste discrimination.
Instead of reconsidering her words after the backlash, she doubled down, telling the media she stood by her remarks. “If someone thinks a dark-skinned person can perform Mohiniyattam, that’s their opinion. But for me, the performer must be fair-skinned,” she said unapologetically.
As a classical dancer, I can tell you that after all the heavy makeup, even the most fair performers will look like a patchwork of mismatched shades. Your face might be one colour, your hands another. But in that moment, when you are performing, no one is checking how fair you are. It’s your talent, your skill in the art you’re presenting, that truly matters.
Anyone can see that such comments come from deeper issues of caste and colour discrimination. Dalit folk singers say they face both abuse and pay disparity. Even today, performers in art forms like Kathakali, Chenda, and Maddalam mostly come from forward communities, who are supposedly expected to have fair skin.
Conclusion: The urgent need to dismantle the fair skin fallacy in India
In Indian culture, the obsession with fair skin has been present for generations. Yes, I’m labelling it as an obsession because that’s precisely what it is. The way fair skin is glorified and celebrated in Indian culture has become an all-consuming fixation.
The fairer you are, the more valuable you become. The fairer you are, the more love and attention you get from everyone, including random strangers. Moreover, the fairer you are, job offers come pouring in. And, of course, the fairer you are, the better your chances of landing the “perfect” husband. All in all, the fairer you are, the more society believes you will have a better life.
Even when Bollywood casts a dusky actress, the film often portrays her skin colour as a flaw or something to be ashamed of. In Mujhse Dosti Karoge, there’s a song called “Saanwali Si Ek Ladki,” which features Rani Mukerji’s character. Even if we overlook that, the entire plot revolves around Hrithik’s character initially falling for the “fairer” Kareena Kapoor. In contrast, Rani’s character is seen as less attractive because of her darker complexion.
All this in a country where the majority of the population is naturally dark-skinned. Such is the hypocrisy and absurdity of this false hierarchy based on something as superficial as skin colour.
Disclaimer: The views expressed in this article are based on the writer’s insights, supported by data and resources available both online and offline, as applicable. Changeincontent.com is committed to promoting inclusivity across all forms of content, which we define broadly to include media, policies, law, and history—encompassing all elements that influence the lives of women and gender-queer individuals. Our goal is to promote understanding and advocate for comprehensive inclusivity.
