03 / Gold

The bride is weighed in gold, to assess her family's worth

In an Indian middle-class household, when a daughter is born, the parents begin their long and arduous journey of saving money for her marriage. In a country that has not yet managed to untangle itself from centuries-old dowry practices, the social standing and respect of a family is weighed in gold.

A traditional Indian bride is dressed in red, her hands and legs stained with intricate floral patterns of mehendi. She wears a combination of glass and gold bangles that cover her forearms. But the real burden she carries is that of gold. The more gold a bride wears, the more respect her family commands.

As she enters her new family, she must uphold her parent’s honour and social standing. Gold is a metal that is not taken lightly. Today, modern brides prefer diamonds, Kundan or Jadau jewellery. But if you travel to the smaller towns and two-tier cities, you will see the value ascribed to this brilliant yellow metal.

When I got married, my mother ordered a beautiful set of gold earrings with a necklace. It was elegant and perfect for the saree I had chosen. But my extended family would not have it.

“She can’t look so simple,” one aunt commented.

“She needs more gold,” another chipped in.

They meant well, trying to help, unaware of their deep-seated conditioning. My grandmother’s jewellery was taken out of the vault and loaned to me so that I looked like a bride.

I married into a liberal, loving family that wanted nothing from my parents. I was welcomed like a daughter and treated as an equal. My value was not weighed in gold, nor was my father’s honour evaluated.

But I saw my mother save every penny to buy two sets of jewellery for her daughter. I saw the burden it put on her to dress her child appropriately during the wedding ceremony. I saw the looks on my relative’s faces as I walked towards my partner. I noticed their assessment of my wardrobe, the subtle shaking of their heads as my father kissed my forehead.

Today, I release myself from the burden I have carried for thirteen years. I want to tell my parents that their value does not lie in wealth. It lies in their wisdom, their love and their unending support. They have taught me what no amount of money can – and that is all that matters.

I will not be weighed down by a metal whose price fluctuates. Its shiny surface is a smoke screen that hides the dirt underneath its glossy exterior. It cannot decide the worth of a family. All it does is conceal – like a layer of foundation – a tempting mask that will eventually crack.

Naqab (Mask) is a photographic exploration through a series of portraits of the many masks I wear as an Indian woman. It is my attempt to unravel, uncover, and discover my deep-seated conditioning, biases, strengths and weaknesses, one portrait at a time.

The project will span a year, with one portrait every week.

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