{"id":4949,"date":"2016-03-02T07:19:58","date_gmt":"2016-03-02T01:49:58","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/13.201.39.237\/?p=4949"},"modified":"2016-03-02T07:19:58","modified_gmt":"2016-03-02T01:49:58","slug":"ties-that-bind-how-the-nose-ring-that-enslaved-my-mother-liberated-me","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/13.207.105.184\/?p=4949","title":{"rendered":"Ties that Bind: How the Nose Ring that Enslaved My Mother Liberated Me"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

M<\/span><\/p><\/div>

y favourite memory of the umpteen <\/span>summer vacations<\/span><\/a> of my childhood was pulling my grandma\u2019s wrinkled skin in all directions and marvelling at how beautifully it would curl up between my fingers. A sprightly woman whose eyes twinkled through the big block of four diamonds on her nose, she was the reason for many firsts in my life \u2013 eating ripe mango slices with curd rice, learning how to play the tanpura, and weaving mogra buds into a neat gajra that we could tie into our hair. After a long summer day of pickle making, vegetable shopping and tailoring, the one luxury that my grandmother would give herself was sitting down in front of me while I opened her bun and plaited her oily and limp air into a long braid so that it wouldn\u2019t entangle when she slept. As I did that, and we both wound down for the day, she would tell me stories from her life.\u00a0<\/span>\n\nOn one such night, I asked her why the hole in her nose had become so big. She told me it was years of carrying all the weight. I could sense that she was speaking about more than just the diamond nose ring. \u201cIt\u2019s time to retire it then, <\/span>grandma<\/span><\/a>,\u201d I said to her. \u201cI wish I could, but I\u2019ll probably end up taking it to the grave with me,\u201d she replied.\u00a0<\/span>\n\nI didn\u2019t quite know why, but I found myself hating the nose ring.<\/span>\n\nI ran to my mother and asked her why did grandma have to wear the nose ring when she did not. \u201cI don\u2019t have it because I refused to wear it,\u201d she told me, as she spoke about how she vehemently rejected the <\/span>tradition<\/span><\/a>, viewing the piece of jewellery as yet another marker of marital status that found its way onto a woman\u2019s body. \u201cThe mangalsutra is enough,\u201d was what she thought. \u201cPlus, I find nose rings highly inconvenient,\u201d she added, trying to mellow down her rebellion by grounding it in the practicalities of quotidian life.\u00a0<\/span>\n\nThat day, my stance on nose rings changed slightly. I hated it a little less. It certainly didn\u2019t cause my mother as much pain as it caused my grandmother. Then, I forgot about it. Until I reached by <\/span>teens<\/span><\/a>.\u00a0<\/span>\n\n

It was in these highly insurgent times of fashion that I finally got my nose pierced.<\/p><\/blockquote> \n\nBy then, the nose ring fast became the coolest fashion accessory to flaunt. If you wanted to be seen as hip, you wore torn jeans, streaked your hair red, carved out a mandala tattoo at the base of your neck, and sported a silver wire. The act of body piercing had metamorphosed from being a tradition that women were subjected to after <\/span>marriage<\/span><\/a> to a sign of assertion, a way for women to exercise their right over their bodies. That piece of silver on your nose came to celebrate your bohemian and free-spirited attitude.<\/span>\n\nIt was in these highly insurgent times of fashion that I finally got my nose pierced. It fit perfectly into the phase of life I was in \u2013 breaking free from the past and desperate for a new narrative to define my future. My nose pin was a diamond one, much smaller than what my grandmother wore. I loved the way it lit up my face, sending a sparkle all the way to the tip of my eyelashes. I embraced this piece of <\/span>jewellery<\/span><\/a> almost as instantly as my mother had rejected it. I didn\u2019t care too much about how I looked in it, as much as I was acutely aware of how it made me feel. Alive, is the closest I can get to describing it. Springing my face out of its slumber, adding colour to my cheeks, and setting it into motion.\u00a0<\/span>\n\n\u201cIt is a bit inconvenient though, ma,\u201d I admitted to her, as she stood by me while I fiddled with my new acquisition. I thought she would say, I told you so. Because for her it was just another reminder of the <\/span>patriarchy<\/span><\/a> she fought, for herself and for me. Of the times she vowed that I would have a life better than hers, and the storms she withstood to make that happen. And here I was, finding all my joy in the nose ring she fought to throw away.<\/span>\n\nI waited for her to say it. Say that I had taken her behind by 20 years. Instead she said, \u201cIt looks lovely. And you will get used to it.\u201d I remembered grandma and how she couldn\u2019t dream of parting with her nose ring. Wasn\u2019t that just another way of getting used to it? Maybe it was, but I reminded myself that unlike her, this was my choice and I could change it anytime I wanted to.<\/span>\n\n

Sometimes, when I cry, my tears wash over this accessory on my nose, and sometimes they can\u2019t go past it.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n\nOver the years, the nose ring has come to symbolise a way in which I engage with the world \u2013 sometimes masking, and sometimes expressing my feelings \u2013 the shapes, sizes, colours, all having a distinct voice and rhythm of their own. If it\u2019s the deep blue enamel stone, it\u2019s me telling you that I\u2019m not shy. If it\u2019s the silver peacock, then mark the understated grace that runs through it. If it\u2019s the meshed leaf, I want you to notice the timelessness, how perfectly it is perched on my nose, as if it was always meant to be there. Sometimes, when I cry, my tears wash over this <\/span>accessory<\/span><\/a> on my nose, and sometimes they can\u2019t go past it. I feel like the nose pin is watching over me.\u00a0<\/span>\n\nWith time, the nose ring has grown into a <\/span>conversation starter<\/span><\/a> opening the doors for new connections to be forged. Try telling a nose-ring lover, \u201cHey, I love that piece of yours\u201d, and see where it takes you. The nose ring strikes a chord, turning strangers into friends, and friends into nose-ring hoarders. It is a life in which there is no such thing as too few nose rings.<\/span>\n\nMine ended up being one such life.<\/span>\n\nAnd it\u2019s in this life, that I finally defined a new narrative for myself. A narrative I crafted from start to end, a narrative in which I could lead the life I wanted to, without being judged for it. A narrative in which women and their relationship with this piece of jewellery became stronger with time. Thank you Ma. In rejecting a tradition, you ended up giving me the best gift any mother could give her <\/span>daughter<\/span><\/a>, and that is the gift of choice. I chose what you rejected, and you embraced what I chose. And between your beginning and my ending, between a nose ring that enslaved you and nose ring that liberated me, we would have lived one life, with no unfinished business \u2013 except maybe a grandmother who didn\u2019t have anyone to bequeath her diamond nose ring to.<\/span>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

My mother refused to wear a nose ring, viewing it as yet another marker of marital status that found its way onto a woman\u2019s body. By the time I was a teen, piercings signified a way for women to exercise their right over their bodies. I embraced this piece of jewellery as instantly as my mother had rejected it.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":304,"featured_media":4950,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[170],"tags":[18,5856,5610,21,8568,5539],"class_list":["post-4949","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-gender","tag-family","tag-grandmother","tag-jewellery","tag-marriage","tag-nose-ring","tag-traditions"],"yoast_head":"\nTies that Bind: How the Nose Ring that Enslaved My Mother Liberated Me<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"My mother refused to wear a nose ring, viewing it as yet another marker of marital status that found its way onto a woman\u2019s body. By the time I was a teen, piercings signified a way for women to exercise their right over their bodies. 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