Brown Queen

Brown Queen University

It was the day where Piyali Raman thought her skin color was finally going to be praised. 

Last year's graduating Brown Queen was about as dark as me. But she also had alluring eyes that sparkled under the stage lights even more than the black diamond encrusted petticoat she was wearing. Oh, and she had thick, godly constructed proportional hips... 

Piyali's slanted eyes refocused on the gold etched castle in front of her, standing sturdy and intimidating to all who had entered before her. 

I still have no idea how I was accepted into this place.

Striding into the grand hall of Brown Queen University, garnet jewels filled Piyali's view with chunky, brown frames of all of the previous Brown Queen winners. Their faces were highlighted with just the right amount of bronzer, casting cheeks of copper armor. 

Rummaging through her seven year old burnt orange crossbody, Piyali managed to uncover a scrunched piece of paper.  She squinted her eyes with purpose. "Oh! Auditorium...seat number....66," her head eagerly bopped towards a big red sign in the corner of the hall. 

"Please report to your seats everyone! The ceremony will promptly begin in five minutes," a bushy bearded man with a British Indian accent yelled out near the red "Welcome!" sign. 

The hall and auditorium was a thriving farm of girls from all over Brown Town. All of the districts had gathered with one another, eyes shining and intensely focused on a stage that they couldn't believe was finally being introduced to them.

Piyali made her way to her seat and noticed a tall, lanky girl standing in the way of reaching her seat. The lanky girl was in a daze; her head was tilted to the side just like her smile.  

"Sorry! My seat is right where you're standing," Piyali nervously looked up at the girl. 

The girl swiftly swayed her neck, seizing up Piyali's tiny, but full frame. The tall girl made a sound that resembled the sound of overflowing chai, finally letting Piyali squeeze through.

"I'm uh.. Zimran by the way," Zimran Chahal chopped the air with her bony hand as soon as Piyali plopped down on her seat.  

"Nice to meet you, Simran!" Piyali chirped with a soft smile. 

"No, it's with a Z." Zimran clucked.

"Wait, what? I thought it was always supposed to be spelled Simran!" Piyali furrowed her thin, defined eyebrows. 

"Instead of an S, my parents changed it to a Z. They wanted to be different, or whatever," Zimran perched her lengthy stick legs on one of the wooden auditorium chairs in front of her, followed by an animalistic sounding yawn.

Piyali quietly winced to herself, shielding her judging eyes away from Zimran. 

The girls from the Immigrant district all stuck together with a few them trying to look cool enough to join the white-wash district. 

"Typical. They're such fobs," Piyali clicked her tongue in tune with the dramatic slow roll of her eyes. Zimran's phone kept her occupied, but the anticipation in her feet expressed a sense of discomfort. 

Suddenly the stage blared with an array of shiny black clicking stilettos. One by one, thin pilates induced bodies strutted with the utmost grace that Piyali's lips refused to return to one another. 

From the line of the goddesses, an older, slightly wrinkled beauty marked the center of the stage with her shining smile and beady, yet twinkling eyes. A caramel skinned and younger version of the old lady joined her side, reaching out into the crowd with her alluring hazel eyes that seemed somewhat bored of its surroundings. 

"Please welcome Headmaster Dhamaka and last year's Brown Queen Smrita Shetty!" the loudspeaker blared with dignity. 

"I'm convinced that all girls with the last name Shetty don't spend more than five minutes doing their hair," Zimran grunted in sarcastic amusement, blowing an escaping slippery hair strand that escaped from her short slicked back hair. 

Piyali glanced sideways, pretending that she didn't hear Zimran's lack of enthusiasm. Why is she even here? It's not like she's being forced. 

"I want to sincerely thank you all for accepting your invitation to Brown Queen University. For the next few years, you will all be training to be the best brown girls you can be. Our nation is counting on you!" Headmaster Dhamaka boomed into the microphone. 

"Unfortunately, being a brown queen doesn't mean that you will rule our nation. You will, however, be set for life with status, connections, and attention that can take you far," Headmaster Dhamaka continued. 

It didn't really matter what Headmaster Dhamaka said. It didn't matter that the title of Brown Queen was mainly that, as the nation hadn't been a monarchy for two hundred years now. The audience was filled with thirsty puppies, eyes watering, daring to dream that they too would be able to stand in Smrita's place one day. 

"Yes... I've graduated now, but I still remember everything about being here. The programs are amazing. I do wish that I studied abroad...." Smrita's eyes seemed to glaze over the crowd, but she quickly shook herself out of it. "Ah, yes. Brown Queen University is filled with opportunity. The exams and assessments challenged me to the core, quite literally during the Garba Gala competition!" the year's previous winner reminisced, slightly tilting her head of light purple streaked curls.

The entire room cheered almost automatically. There were no questions, no doubts, just unwavering excitement. The young girls were all coming far away from their districts. Nothing was going to stop them from becoming the hottest, smartest, cutest brown girls they could be. 

"I heard finals suck. Apparently, if you fall off below the 80th percentile in first year, you're kicked out of BQU," Zimran leaned over to Piyali, chuckling at what seemed to be either Piyali's reaction or Zimran's own nonchalant demeanor.