i wore my make-up for the 11th time this month. Clad in my aunt's most expensive sari, I waited with my tray of teacups. I must enter the room full of guests, with short, silent steps. Not as easy as it sounds. I was summoned. As I offered everyone a cup, I could hear the women whispering; about me? At night the boss called. My mother then cried and blamed God for my complexion; and me for not following all her remedies to become fair. No place for a dark girl says the advertisement billboards, magazines, television commercials and mother.