on the floor of my grandfather’s flat….
as a little girl
my love for henna
awakened me
and all of my senses
in a way that has never left me
even now the smell takes me back to india
on the floor of my nanaji’s (grandfather’s) flat
surrounded by the women and other children of the house
as they prepared the food, readied the house and bride for the wedding to come
with spirited conversation, singing, and eating that only comes when women gather
to participate in the celebration and ritual of henna
as they embrace and let go of one of their own
it is this feeling, i realize, that i look most forward to whenever i go back to india
the feeling of being a part of something bigger than me
a family bigger than i ever imagined,
ancient rituals and art passed on for generations
and the earth itself
for the art of henna starts with the henna plant
considered auspicious
the leaves of the plant are ground into a fine powder,
which is mixed with water, made into a paste, and then applied with an artistry and beauty that still mesmerizes me
as i boarded the train from the gateway of india to santa cruz
for my first class with zarna, who was to be my teacher for the next two weeks
i work hard to quiet my nerves as my family’s concerns about me commuting alone
invade my head and
the “what if’s” start
“what if” i am not good enough
“what if” the art form i so admire eluded me
“what if”
but as the train pulled out of the station,
and the streets, smells, and people of mumbai passed me by
i felt exhilarated
i did it
i was here in mumbai
on my own
and about to completely immerse myself in my art
and in so doing, my roots
zarna lives in the same ‘suburb’ as my family
in a building similar to theirs
concrete, broken down and dirty on the outside
but painted with color by the laundry hung out to dry
with narrow, dark stairwells and windows that let in very little light,
protecting residents and visitors from the often oppressive heat of india
as i climbed the stairs
i realize that for the next two weeks
i will become a part of her daily routine
in the home she has grown up in
she invited me in
her mother offered me chai
we sat cross-legged on the couch in their living room
and we began
with a hand-made henna cone
and a board to practice on
i shyly put cone to board
and draw a straight line as she instructed
almost immediately she stopped me
it was all wrong
the way i was holding the cone
the thickness of the henna
the line itself
so i spent the whole first day drawing mostly lines
letting go of my pride and
everything i thought i knew
about the practice of henna
to start over
we spent the next two weeks
progressing from lines, to circles, to shapes and shading
she imparted her skills and knowledge about
the different styles of henna—indian, arabic, and rose
all the while sharing personal stories
her joys—she was to be married
her grief—for the loss of her brother
and many other details of her life
we had conversations leaning over the balcony
as she collected mail from a bucket attached to a make-shift pulley
we spent time in the kitchen
mixing the paste
adding eucalyptus and clove oil
and making the cone
she shared her sketchbooks
her mother’s hand-made jewelry
her dreams
it is this intimacy
that i now realize made
this experience even more profound
it was a gift
to practice and explore this art that i have loved
since i was a little girl
to better understand and appreciate its nuances, complexities and hidden secrets
and to feel so connected to the women who came before me
and the ones now
who continue to
honor it
perfect it
make it their own
pass it on
and now as i reflect on my time in mumbai
in zarna’s home, learning and practicing
i am profoundly grateful for the art of henna
it is my east meets west
a visual representation of my life story
one that reminds me that i am not alone
that we are all connected
to the earth,
our past,
our ancestors and
each other