Indian American women are reclaiming the bindi
Desi women, like writer Yati Sanghvi and celeb sisters Lara and Rhea Raj, are donning their culture with pride
Sisters Lara (of KATSEYE) and Rhea Raj are two celebrities embracing the bindi.
Photo illustration by Ryan Quan
Words by Yati Sanghvi
If you had to pick one thing that immediately identifies someone as ethnically Indian, chances are you’d say a bindi. It’s the decorative mark Indian women (and occasionally men) place in the center of their forehead, symbolizing the third eye. Depending on the context, it can be anything from a small red dot to an intricately bejeweled sticker.
Lately, that context for me has been an evening out while donning an outfit that isn’t remotely close to traditional Indian clothes.
Like most desi girls, my love for bindis and other parts of traditional Indian attire grew naturally from when I was very young, getting ready for various events and accessorizing with matching bangles and a matching bindi. I had no shortage of opportunities to do so, either. I grew up in the suburbs of New Jersey surrounded by other Indian American immigrant families and took almost yearly trips to India with my mom.
Writer Yati Sanghvi wearing a bindi with pride as a child.
Courtesy of Yati Sanghvi
But as I entered adulthood and began living in the city, I grew increasingly distanced—both literally and figuratively—from the high saturation of Indian culture of my childhood. I sought out friendships with the South Asian folks around me in an effort to regain the sense of community I had taken for granted in my hometown. Among them was my close friend, Rayna Ganabathi.
Unlike me, Ganabathi grew up in rural Pennsylvania, without many desi friends or events to attend. It was difficult for her to feel connected to Indian culture. Wearing a bindi helped her through it. As young as 11 or 12, she would put them on to match her outfits to school—not only as a fun accessory, but also as a badge of pride for her identity. “I do, and have always, gotten stares and second glances,” Ganabathi tells me, “but it will not deter me from representing my culture with pride.”
Ganabathi’s efforts to reconnect with Indian culture were inspiring, especially as I, for the first time in my life, felt the need to do the same. And so, about a year ago, as we were getting ready for a night out together, I wore a bindi with casual clothing for the first time. It was more an act of solidarity with my friend than something I was confident enough to do alone. But it was something.
A few months later, I discovered singer-songwriters (and sisters) Rhea and Lara Raj. I first saw Lara on The Debut: Dream Academy, a music survival competition created by Hybe and Geffen Records, the companies behind artists such as BTS and Olivia Rodrigo. Naturally, millions of people around the world tuned into the show—and there was Lara, proudly wearing a bindi throughout the competition, her victory, and her subsequent debut in the group Katseye. Not long after, I started listening to her older sister Rhea’s music and saw that she too wore bindis in most of her music videos and other content.
The more I learned about the sisters, the more I related to them and felt inspired by them. The pair are fellow second-generation Indian Americans and daughters of immigrants. They grew up immersed in Indian culture, taking regular trips to India and seeing their paati (the Tamil word for grandmother) in vibrant sarees with matching bindis. “She would always buy me fun bindi packs of different colors, shapes, and patterns to play around with and style with my jeans and tank tops,” Rhea tells me, explaining how she first started wearing bindis. “It kind of organically became a part of my style from a really young age and, as I’ve grown older, wearing my bindi makes me feel really empowered and connected to that part of my culture and childhood."
Rhea and Lara are now using their platforms to empower more Indian women to wear bindis and confidently express their cultural identity. “We hope to continue breaking boundaries and be an inspiration to our audiences,” Rhea says.
Seeing the Raj sisters regularly wear bindis in front of fans around the world lit a fire in me. Or rather, it added fuel to a fire that had already been lit. Enough fuel that any doubts or fears about how people might judge me were replaced by a simple question: Why not?
My answers weren’t good enough to stop me from taking that risk.
Despite it being just a small mark on my brow, wearing a bindi left me feeling awash in my Indian culture from head to toe, like an affirmation of my own identity.
So I started to wear the occasional bindi to match a casual outfit. Immediately, I felt the effects. Every time I put one on, I couldn’t help but stare at myself in the mirror for a few seconds and find the face staring back at me utterly beautiful. Usually, my eyes would scan my face to zero in on all its imperfections—often ones that didn’t meet more Eurocentric beauty standards. The bindi drew my focus away from that and highlighted my South Asian features, instead. It felt empowering. It felt right. Despite it being just a small mark on my brow, wearing a bindi left me feeling awash in my Indian culture from head to toe, like an affirmation of my own identity.
For the longest time, my solution to being an ABCD—or American-born confused desi, a term that encompasses the dilemmas of assimilation into American culture, versus pride in Indian culture—was to balance the American and Indian parts of myself as two separate halves, suppressing one or the other as needed. But wearing a bindi presented a new solution to the ABCD problem: dissolve the barrier between the two halves and merge them together so they can move forward as one. And perhaps that might be the better option. I love that wearing a bindi relieves me of the need to always explain myself—instead, my culture walks into the room before I do, other people’s reactions be what they may.
Luckily, I’m either highly skilled at filtering out negativity or a lot of the reactions I’ve received have been quite positive. I’ve gotten compliments from Indian women and men alike, as well as glances ranging from impressed acknowledgment to confusion from the non-desi crowd. As Rhea puts it, “It’s such a cool conversation starter for people who are curious about what it means.”
I’m thankful to have avoided any harassment over the bindis thus far, though I’m not blind to the probability of it happening, given the current political climate. “I have unfortunately had more hatred-fueled words and questions directed towards me in the past few months than I ever have in all the years I have worn bindis,” Ganabathi notes. “It's incredibly disheartening to experience.”
I’m willing to take the gamble. Bindis have a complicated history in this country, especially in New Jersey, and I want to do my part in reclaiming them. In Jersey City, where I currently live, a hate group known as the Dotbusters, with a name referencing the forehead mark, had terrorized and killed Indian immigrants from the 1970s to 1990s. In Edison, where I grew up, residents have thrown around racist slurs like “dothead” as the Indian immigrant population continues to grow. Yet at the same time, non-desi celebrities have worn bindis numerous times in acts of disrespect and cultural appropriation. Indians are a very community-oriented group of people, so I can understand why, at this point, it has become an internalized habit to keep several aspects of our culture within the community. My mother, who grew up in India and spent the rest of her life living in a relatively homogenized community of Indian American immigrants, finds my desire to casually wear bindis a bit ridiculous and unnecessary. It's unfortunate she feels that way, but I can understand why.
But times have changed. My generation of desi kids didn’t grow up in a homogenized Indian community, nor did we wish to. We shared our culture with our classmates and they shared theirs with us. We have dozens of Indian American celebrities like the Raj sisters to represent us and our culture on a global stage. Our next president could very well be a half-Indian woman.
So I refuse to keep my culture to myself. It makes me so happy that questions about my bindi can turn into teaching moments. And if by wearing a bindi, I can simultaneously inspire some fellow desi girls to take more pride in one of the most beautiful aspects of our culture, then that’ll be reason enough for me to keep wearing them.
Published on September 24, 2024
Words by Yati Sanghvi
Yati Sanghvi is an Indian American journalist and digital media strategist based in Jersey City, NJ. When she's not busy crafting social media campaigns or cuddling with her cat, she writes as a freelancer about the music industry, pop culture, and the South Asian identity. She has previously written for publications such as The Wall Street Journal, Business Insider, Teen Vogue, and more. You can follow her @yatisanghvi on Twitter and Instagram.
Art by Ryan Quan
Ryan Quan is the Social Media Editor for JoySauce. This queer, half-Chinese, half-Filipino writer and graphic designer loves everything related to music, creative nonfiction, and art. Based in Brooklyn, he spends most of his time dancing to hyperpop and accidentally falling asleep on the subway. Follow him on Instagram at @ryanquans.