Written by Sonia Jordan
I’m still reeling from the DominAsian Volume 3 launch party, a silver-themed glitz and glamour whirlwind. My beloved golden bangles, jhumkas and rings were out of service for the night in favour of anything which fit the “Myriad of Mirrors” theme. So, it might be somewhat controversial to offer a passionate defence of gold jewellery in the silvery wake of the event, but here it comes anyway. Decking oneself out in gold jewellery is undeniably a bold but expensive habit, so I justify myself by arguing that wearing gold jewellery is not simply a fashion statement, but, like most things, it is also deeply political.
When faced with the eternal struggle (whether to commit to gold or silver jewellery), I found myself instantly drawn to the glimmer of gold for various reasons. Firstly, my name, Sonia, is derived from the Sanskrit word सोना (“sona”) which means “golden”. Secondly, I was seduced by how golden jewellery effortlessly complements the radiance of brown skin. Lastly, it was merely a matter of convenience - my mother and grandmother’s jewellery boxes are filled with stacks and stacks of golden Indian jewellery, and incorporating them into my outfits allowed me to add a desi spin to my everyday look. Of course, visits to my grandparents’ house always include a rummage through for new items to add to my extensive jewellery collection, and I am always struck by how my Nanima effortlessly identifies where, when and whom each item is from. I certainly inherited my love of shiny things from her, but while I see jewellery as a pretty adornment to my style, my Nanima belongs to a generation of South Asian women who relied on gold jewellery as a form of independence and security.
According to the World Gold Council, India is one of the world’s largest gold markets, and approximately 50% of India’s demand for gold occurs at weddings, closely followed by religious festivals where gold is seen as an auspicious investment. The history of gifting gold jewellery to brides is a long one and has outlasted the dated dowry tradition by directly supplying women with a means of protecting themselves in their marriages. My Nanima married when she was only 19, and for her and the women who came before her, the jewellery that she was gifted provided a precious safety net that she could sell to provide for herself and her children in case of an emergency (which, thankfully, she never had to use). This kind of financial security was particularly vital to South Asian women who were afforded limited rights over their finances, both from a legal and domestic standpoint, and were not able to access the kind of financial literacy which is more readily available to women now.
This tradition extended to saris that were often threaded with gold and gifted to brides by their families, adding to their trousseau which displayed the family’s wealth and prosperity and doubled up as the bride’s emergency income. I find it fascinating that families had the foresight to provide their daughters with financial stability, particularly through items like clothing and jewellery which would have been seen as belonging solely to the “female domain” and therefore would have been in the woman’s control. When I asked my Nanima’s opinion on the topic, she spoke with pride about eventually passing the family heirlooms on to her 2 daughters and 4 granddaughters. As she pointed out, the value of gold remains steadfast and jewellery feels like a more powerful form of investment because it is a physical item rather than a sum of money locked away in a bank. She reiterated the importance of keeping one’s jewellery safe in a trusted place, however, I find a particular poignancy in the thought of women wearing their most valuable items, simultaneously adorning themselves and paving their own futures independent of their husbands.
Interestingly, even Radhika Merchant, the bride of the recent Ambani wedding which has taken social media by storm, wore one of her own family’s heirloom pieces on her wedding day. To me, there is a striking irony in seeing the morbidly wealthy play into traditions which aimed to protect vulnerable women from financial hardship. I could go on an entirely anti-capitalist rant about the outrageous display of wealth which was reflected in the Ambani wedding, but I’ll try my best to keep it relevant to the subject of gold jewellery. And, of course, it is very relevant - displays of opulence like these highlight the extreme wealth disparity in South Asian countries which is pushing those at risk further and further to the sidelines.
The rising cost of gold means that it is a less accessible form of investment for working-class families and this leaves poorer women indefensible against financial hardship or conflict within their marriages. A fascinating study by Seetha Menon showed the correlation between the gold gifted to brides and the rate of domestic violence, which is experienced by roughly 35% of married Indian women, according to the most recent statistics by the World Health Organisation. Menon found that women who married during periods of higher gold prices suffered more violence at the hands of their partners than women who married when gold was more affordable. This is because the possession of gold as a form of potential income provides women with leverage that places them on a more equal footing with their partners as they are able to support themselves independently of their marriage. Of course, this is most applicable to women who belong to more rural areas of India where education is not as readily available to girls, in particular one which supplies women with the financial literacy they need to protect themselves within their marriages.
It has also been found that women living in rural areas are forced to sell their jewellery at an alarming rate to save their families from the effects of natural disasters which wreak havoc on the agricultural sphere and cause many to lose their livelihoods. South Asian countries have been hit hard by the climate crisis which disproportionately affects women and particularly those in poorer rural areas. As a result, these women have been turning to their jewellery to financially support their families against the insurmountable debt caused by climate change. This growing trend is worrying because once women have parted with their jewellery, they are left with no protection against domestic violence and manipulation from their partners. Of course, this reveals one of the many downsides to women relying exclusively on jewellery to support themselves.
Though there is a certain poignancy in the tangible nature of jewellery as an investment, it is also liable to be damaged, lost or stolen. Heartbreakingly, femicide in South Asia is often driven by a desire to steal a woman’s dowry (including her jewellery), a phenomenon known as “dowry death”, despite laws which aim to protect women from this fate, such as the Indian Dowry Prohibition Act (1961). Moreover, targeted theft of gold jewellery has been on the rise among the Brown immigrant community in the UK, which robs families of their ancestral heirlooms and valuable protection against financial insecurity in the face of the rising cost of living crisis.
Although the tradition of gold jewellery remains a powerful way of protecting women who might otherwise be vulnerable to exploitation, it cannot be viewed as a replacement for providing women with adequate financial literacy and a means of providing for themselves independent of their marriages. As my Nanima points out, ultimately gold jewellery is a valuable safety net but its value is not purely monetary - beneath the shiny exterior is a trove of memories and stories which make it impossible to part with. Fortunately, I belong to a generation of young South Asians in the UK whose experience is far removed from that of my ancestors, and as such I view jewellery as an accessory rather than a lifeline. Embellishing my outfits with jhumkas, tikkas (hair accessories) and jhanjar (anklets) allow me to pay homage to my heritage and reclaim my culture in the face of the dominant Western narrative.
So, as I bejewel myself with my Nanima’s jewellery (which, hopefully, she will lend me more of after reading this article), I am reminded of the many privileges which I hold in comparison to my ancestors and the multitude of women who still heavily rely on jewellery to protect themselves, and I cannot help but see it as an honour to be able to share such cherished items with the strong line of women who came before me.
This article is dedicated to my Nanima, mother and the various relatives I spoke to about the topic: thank you for sharing your knowledge and allowing me to share it in return!
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