“What once felt like restriction now feels like rhythm. Yuvragi’s personal reflection explores the powerful experience of reconnecting with cultural roots in midlife, finding identity, and passing heritage on to the next generation.
There was a time when I rolled my eyes at the words “this is how we do things at home.”
Back then, I wanted freedom, modernity, minimalism—the clean break from what felt like too much tradition, too many rituals, and too many rules. I loved the festive part but didn’t care much about the preparation that went in.
But now, in my 40s, I find myself not just returning to my roots—but clinging to them.
Not out of fear. But out of choice.
Because what felt like a restriction… now feels like rhythm, a necessity to define who I am.
The visit to the village to celebrate festivals, the bedtime stories by dadisa, the celebration of teej and Gangaur or simple khata (kadhi), papad ki sabzi at dinner every day, the head covered pictures of mama, kakisa (aunt) in lehenga suits in the old photos, the aarti at sunset—they all used to feel like things from a different life, a different time.
But today, I see them differently.
When my children hear me say “Ram Ram”instead of “Hi”, or when they laugh hearing the word “धूजगी”, and then ask, “What does that mean, mama?”
I realize I’m no longer just a consumer of culture.
I’m its carrier.
Because I now know how fragile identity can be.
Living away from India for years—across Sri Lanka and Abu Dhabi—I saw how quickly language fades, how traditions get lost in convenience, and how easy it is to become unanchored.
So now, I choose to speak in Marwadi, to wear saris and lehenga suits, to celebrate Gangaur and not just Diwali. Because these are not just acts of nostalgia—
They are acts of resistance.
And preservation.
A way to introduce my roots to my children. And have an identity for myself.
In a world rushing towards the future, I want to teach my daughters where we came from.
I don’t want them to remember culture as an item in a school project.
I want them to remember it as a feeling.
The taste of khaata (kadhi) in dadisa’s kitchen.
The sound of folk songs sung bydholan ji on a festival days.
The story behind a word, the pride behind a tradition.
And perhaps most of all—I want them to know that culture evolves, yes.
But it doesn’t need to disappear.
In my 40s, my roots are not baggage.
They are my foundation.
They ground me.
They guide me.
They give me something to return to—again and again.
And now, I no longer roll my eyes.
I wear my culture like a badge. Like a tiki (bindi) on my forehead.
Visible, intentional, and full of meaning.
