Living in a diverse community often ignited fear within my mother. She worried that the whirlpool of diversity would suck in our culture and give back lost traditions and diluted values. To prevent her fear from turning into reality, my mom made every effort to prevent her children from this subtle tornado. I grew up in a culturally enriched environment, where my language, dressing, food and values were carefully delivered.
My family has indeed become successful in their undying struggle to keep my culture alive within me. I stand today incapable of living my life without a heavy impact of my Pakistani culture. My ethnic background truly dictates my lifestyle and gives me an identity. I mix Urdu and English when I speak. Despite speaking Urdu with an accent, I make sure to practice the language with a wide range of difficult vocabulary. I don’t need a translator to speak to my grandmother. There’s a unique sense of warmth and joy in being able to understand her loving words on my own.
I have my moody days when I either listen to American or Pakistani music. Listening to the music of my country introduces me to the thoughts and mindsets of my Pakistani people. I get to experience the expression of love, friendship, family, and poverty from a different corner of the world. I can relate to my parents and my fellow Pakistanis on the level of music and expression, despite being distant from them.
My closet is divided into sections of American and Pakistani outfits. The clothing of my culture has a distinctive style too. Colorful cottons and silks are heavily embroidered with jewels and gems, as decorative needlework floods the borders of outfits. Colors play a crucial role in the clothing of Pakistan. As seen in Pakistani movies, the bright colors of clothing signify the festivals and celebrations of the culture. This includes Eid ul-Fitr(celebrating the end of the holy month of Ramadan), Eid ul-Adha(day of sacrifice), Basant(Kite festival), and even marriages. Pakistani marriages are a three-day ceremony, Mehndi, Barat and Walima. Mehndi is the henna ceremony, which traditionally consists of yellow, green, and orange clothing. Barat is the main wedding day on which the bride wears red to symbolize the bond of love that she is creating with her beloved. Walima is the ceremony held by the groom’s family in celebration of the entire marriage. All sorts of bright colored clothing with jewels are worn on this day.
Although I appreciate and respect all of my traditions deeply, Mehndi, henna is a cultural custom that I’ve grown extremely fond of. Henna is art on its own. Its dark dye and elaborate designs are very appealing to the women of my culture. Henna is just like jewelry in Pakistan. Along with earrings and necklaces, Pakistani women ornament themselves with henna on celebrations. Dark colored henna would be like an expensive necklace. The importance and love of henna is sewn into every Pakistani tradition. The first day of a wedding is a Henna ceremony, on which henna is put on a bride and groom. Older Pakistani women use henna as a hair dye as well. The brownish red color of henna dyed hair is preferred over the whitening hair of old age. Many Pakistani people use henna as a cooling reagent. Elderly people cool their hands and feet down by putting henna on them.
Growing up, I was obsessed with henna. Missing an opportunity to have henna put on my hands would really depress me. I was just so fascinated by the henna designs and color. My eyes would gaze at the swirls and curls of flowers on my hands. The color of my henna always concerned me, also. I made sure I kept the henna on my hands for the longest time, because that would give my hands a darker color. I tried all these remedies of lemon and sugar water on my hands because I wanted my henna color to be dark. I would compete with my cousins to see whose henna came out the darkest. According to old tales, dark henna meant true love in the future. Although the concept of true love was blurry in my head, just the fact that my henna was dark and that I would be getting this “true love”, amazed me. Luckily, my henna would always turn out to be the darkest amongst my cousins. I’d run around the house showing my hands to my aunts and uncles. Eid and weddings were joyous not because they were a celebration, but because I had henna on my hands.
I must bring to notice that this account of henna is extremely biased. As a girl, henna is jewelry to me and I’d love to adorn myself with it any day. To most boys however, henna isn’t as appealing. My brother would always run away from me when I had henna on because he found it smelly. He made sure he didn’t touch me because he didn’t want any dye on him either. Men don’t find much interest in henna because it is after all, a women’s accessory. Nevertheless, as a groom awaits his wife on his wedding night, he expects to find a beautiful woman not only ornamented with jewels, but with henna as well. The henna on a bride is different this time around in her life, for the color on her hands is for her husband. The henna on a bride is in the name of her groom. Her effort to beautify and ornament herself with henna and jewels is in celebration of her wedding, her union with her husband, and her eternal happiness.
I like to think of my culture as my identity, really. I am American, like everyone in this nation, but I’m different because I’m Pakistani. I’m different because I speak Urdu and adore Henna. Luckily for me, my henna will always speak more for my ethnic background than any jewel ever will. Your treasure chest of jewels will never reveal your true identity. Your diamond ring, your pearl necklace, and even your gold watch won’t tell me where you come from. My priceless henna, passed on from an endless thread of tradition, defines me. It tells you my cultural background. It tells you that I’ve adorned myself for a celebration, possibly my own marriage. It tells you that I’m happy.
Henna on a bride.
Pakistani Bride.
