Yesterday, we celebrated Sankranti Haldi Kumkum with a group in Delhi. The warmth of togetherness, laughter and shared memories filled the room much like countless such gatherings across Maharashtra and beyond.
Sankranti, especially in Maharashtra, is inseparable from tilgud, a sweet reminder to spread warmth as the sun begins its northward journey. It is also a time when womanhood is celebrated through Haldi Kumkum.
Haldi, turmeric, by itself, is auspicious used in rituals, kitchens, and healing since time immemorial. Kumkum is something girls are introduced to in childhood, long before marriage even enters their imagination.
And yet, somewhere along the way, these two simple, pure symbols became tightly bound to marriage.
So much so that a woman who loses her husband is quietly pushed out of such celebrations. She is no longer considered suwasini or sowbhagyavati. In many parts of the South, she is labelled amangali, inauspicious. The loss of a partner becomes not just grief, but becomes the reason for lifelong social disqualification.
What is striking is the contrast !
A man who loses his wife becomes a widower but he is never barred from religious, social, or cultural functions. No ritual excludes him. No label of inauspiciousness follows him. Why then such a different yardstick for women who face the same loss?
Isn’t it time we asked ourselves why?
I, for one, have never observed this exclusion. So, a couple of years ago, when I organised a Haldi Kumkum at my office in Pune, where I was posted ,all women were included. Some women who were widows became emotional because they were unfamiliar with such inclusion and had been facing humiliation. It was a reminder of how deeply such silent exclusions wound, and how healing simple acceptance can be.
Recently, a member from another group objected to the very nomenclature “Sankranti Haldi Kumkum”' stating it was inappropriate . We changed the name of the event but it made me pause. Is the problem and the discrimination really in the ritual or are they in our minds?
When did turmeric, a symbol of purity, health, and prosperity, become a marker of marital status? When did kumkum, worn by little girls with innocence and joy, turn into a reason to deny dignity to a woman who has already endured loss? We also need to think about the cause of this exclusion. Such restrictions are not divine mandates. They're social constructs made by us which can be changed with realization.
Traditions are meant to bring communities together , not divide them. Rituals are meant to comfort, not exclude. If such exclusions due to man-made customs begin to hurt, perhaps we need to question their appropriateness.
Maybe the real Sankranti, the true transition is not in the movement of the sun, but in the evolution of our thoughts and thinking.
And perhaps, the sweetness of tilgud will truly matter only when it is shared unconditionally with all women widowed or otherwise.
When did turmeric, a symbol of purity, health, and prosperity, become a marker of marital status? When did kumkum, worn by little girls with innocence and joy, turn into a reason to deny dignity to a woman who has already endured loss? We also need to think about the cause of this exclusion. Such restrictions are not divine mandates. They're social constructs made by us which can be changed with realization.
Traditions are meant to bring communities together , not divide them. Rituals are meant to comfort, not exclude. If such exclusions due to man-made customs begin to hurt, perhaps we need to question their appropriateness.
Maybe the real Sankranti, the true transition is not in the movement of the sun, but in the evolution of our thoughts and thinking.
And perhaps, the sweetness of tilgud will truly matter only when it is shared unconditionally with all women widowed or otherwise.
R.Vimala, IAS,
Resident Commissioner & Secretary,
Government of Maharashtra,
Compassionate Civil Servant & PhD Scolar
( Views expressed are personal as yet )
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