KARACHI, Pakistan — There’s no shortage of sunlight in this city. Overcast days are rare, and the mid-afternoon sun is so searingly bright, I actually have to wince my eyes shut and wait for the sunspots to clear before I can see again.

So imagine my surprise when a recent blood test showed that my vitamin D levels are so low my doctor called for injections.

“Vitamin D shortages can cause muscle failure, bone decay and serious osteoporosis,” she told me firmly.

I gaped back at her, trying to figure out how on Earth this had happened. “You’re telling me that I live in the desert but am not getting enough direct sunlight?” I asked. She nodded.

“But!” I sputtered, thinking of a new defense. “I drink milk!”

She nodded again. “Honey, no one in Pakistan cares about public health. This isn’t America. Your milk isn’t fortified.”

Later that evening, I complained to my grandmother. I’m a sun-loving person; how is it I’m not soaking up enough rays to get my vitamins?

She wasn’t hugely sympathetic. “Just take the shots,” she counseled. In her eyes, it would be worse to see my “beautiful skin getting darker and darker because of the sun.”

I shook my head in disagreement, but it dawned on me I’d unwittingly been following her advice. Here, I simply don’t sit outside enjoying the sun like I did back in the US.

In Pakistan, fair skin is a marker of beauty. Skin bleaching creams line the shelves of any convenience store. At the city’s beaches, women lather their children with sunscreen so heavily that the white goop is visible on every inch of their exposed skin. Both women and men are encouraged not to sit in the sun so their skin won’t turn darker.

When I lived in the United States, I was the first person to grab a beach towel and head to the local park as soon as the weather rose above 70 degrees. In the summer, I’d collect tan lines like baseball cards — my feet would be crisscrossed with stripes, one for every pair of sandals I wore.

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