Music festivals are currently a popular platform used by girls to display their fashion forwardness, irrespective of how far-out or quirky it might be — if it’s in, it’s on. A fashion trend that has been making the festival rounds for a while now, much to my initial surprise, is that of temporary henna tattoos.
Henna is created from the henna plant, which grows in the hot climates of South Asia. It was originally used as a paste with cooling effects to battle the hot climate of the continent. As the paste dries up, it leaves stains in the skin, which last anywhere from one to three weeks. Henna paste, in South Asian countries, is most commonly used as a natural dye for the hair or body.
The henna tattoo descended into the American fashion scene in the ’90s, and the trend continues to rise in popularity among teenagers and young adults. These tattoos are breaking the Internet after gaining distinct popularity with timeless style icons such as Madonna and Gwen Stefani, as well as with contemporary celebrities such as Selena Gomez, Zendaya and many more. The henna trend started as a humble body decoration and today stands widely established with the availability of different colors, styles and designs. Henna has come a long way from its roots, so to speak.
I am a born and bred Indian girl. I was exposed to henna — or as Indians call it, mehndi — at a very young age. I was seven when my grandmother and I were crossing a busy street fair and an old lady sitting on a stool in the midst of the market caught my eye. She sat with an adornment of brownish green cones arrayed before her on a small table. Various sketches and photographs of delicate, feminine hands covered in intricate designs surrounded the cones. I was instantly intrigued. Contrary to popular belief, being the first girl child in a family of generations of boys had its perks. Forty minutes later, I beamed down at my tiny hands, covered in peacocks and ornate flowers made from a murky, rancid-smelling paste. I couldn’t use my hands for the next hour or so and the pungent smell filled up my nostrils (and the car), but I was elated.
That was also the day I got my first lesson in Indian tradition and customs. Upon returning home, my grandmother opened an old trunk crammed with photo albums dated to the early 1960s. I flipped open the first one and came face to face with my grandmother, 30 years younger and dressed in bridal finery. She flipped the pages until we reached the one where she shyly held up her hands covered in beautiful mehndi, my grandfather’s initials hidden somewhere in the royal pattern of kings and elephants. “Hindu weddings,” I can still hear her voice say, “are incomplete without the function of mehndi,” where henna is painted on the bride’s hands and legs to symbolize beauty, joy and offering as she embarks upon her new life. Each pattern or design stands for a different symbol of positivity — parrots that may appear in a bride’s mehndi are symbolic of a messenger of love. Isn’t it amazing, then, to think of all the Americans who roam with such strong symbols on their bodies without realizing it?
The first time I heard about henna in the U.S. was when my Latina roommate was filling me in on her summer escapades and casually mentioned getting her hands painted for a concert. I was certain I had misheard her — but as they say, a picture is worth a thousand words. Over 7,000 miles away from where it originated, henna had acquired an international visa and become prevalent in a form that I could never even imagine, even in my dreams. I was struck harder when I Googled the phrase “henna America” and was bombarded with images of celebrities and American women posing with henna while dolled up in their gowns and dresses. A little giggle left my lips as I thought about the dread of a modern Indian girl right after a wedding — her biggest fear was to be caught wearing a western dress with henna on her hands. This conflict made me realize that what works for one culture might not work for another.
This little incidence of a cross-cultural trend pushes me to consider how much one could be missing out on by staying so tightly bound by his or her culture or region. Had I never stepped out of India, I might never have been exposed to this trend, continents away, wherein one’s tradition becomes someone else’s fashion. Social media, without a doubt, has made it possible to keep a track of the happenings around the world, but the pleasure and pride I felt in seeing it firsthand cannot even come close to what I would experience by reading an article online.
Continents might be far and cultures might be different — even opposite — but the globe is shrinking by the second. My late grandmother would shed a tear to know that India’s traditions are kept alive and kicking by America, even years after their prime.
