“You’ve never been to India?!” A frequent incredulous response I receive when I share I’ve never visited the birthplace of my parents. As the exclamation hangs in the air, I find myself caught between two worlds—the one I’ve known, and the one that holds the essence of my roots.
With the soles of my feet having yet touch the soil of my ancestral land, I wonder, does that make me any less Punjabi? Would I be considered more “cultured” if I stepped onto the land?
Connecting to my roots through fashion
I grew up in Maryland, right outside of D.C. in an area which many could agree is a very culturally diverse part of the country. Visiting gurdwara, our place of worship, on Friday evenings or Sunday mornings became a family ritual growing up. There I would learn to read, write, and speak Punjabi. On the way back home, it became customary to make a stop at the nearby Target for any last-minute essentials for the week ahead. As I would stride into the store in my matching salwar-kameez suit, a traditional combination dress worn by women, I’d feel a tinge of self-consciousness in my attire—anxiety over standing out. I would utter a prayer in my head, fervently hoping to avoid an encounter with someone from school. God forbid they see me in what I thought might appear peculiar (yet was very comfortable actually) to wear for a casual run at the store.
I would watch my Nani stroll through our nearby park in her salwar-kameez, accompanied by other aunties who were similarly dressed and couldn’t help but marvel at their effortless embrace. As I matured, I noticed that the more I dressed myself in traditional clothing and learned of my lineage, the more I felt connected to my culture. Or perhaps it was the other way around; the more my appreciation deepened, the more I enjoyed dressing in traditional clothing.
Ironically… I feel most authentically myself and pretty when draped in scarves designed with delicate embroidery and adorning myself with accessories like jhumkas and chundiyan.
I remember recently watching my mother’s gentle hands in the mirror as she helped secure the gifted mustard phulkari, a traditional hand-embroidered art form, intricate in its floral design, over my shoulders. At its surface, I found myself admiring the beauty. Upon a closer examination of the vibrant threads, I was reminded of the hands that labored over this artwork and of generations past—tales of joy, resilience, and cultural richness.
What charms me most about the clothing is the intention behind every element. Every outfit is carefully curated and uniquely crafted with an impeccable attention to detail, from the selection of fabrics and colors, to the type of embroidery techniques.
The selection of clothing is also not typically a very individualistic experience—it’s a collaborative and community-driven process. On a recent trip to go shopping for new suits, my mother and I spent two full days searching for the perfect suit, refusing to settle. Being pampered as I tried on different lehengas and sharara suits was of course, one of my favorite parts, but what I loved most was watching my mother engage with the style consultants and skilled tailors to creatively co-create an ensemble that reflected both personal style and cultural identity.
That is the beauty of fashion; apart from being one of the most visual symbols of culture, the suits and jewelry I wear are a reminder of the love and intention that goes into creation, and the community of support through the process. Fashion is more than fabric and adornments—it carries stories of identity, heritage, and the creative process.
The discomfort I once felt with being noticed wearing traditional wear has evolved into a celebration of visibility because, after all, the essence of Punjabi fashion—it’s vibrant and bold colors are made to be seen.
There is still a disconnect
Connection goes beyond attire. Fashion has been instrumental in my journey of learning and embracing my Punjabi roots but it also represents just one aspect of a larger multifaceted spectrum of identity.
True connection is forged through the amalgamation of experiences like meaningful dialogues, the art of storytelling, historical exploration, and community engagement.
One day, I dream of setting foot on the land of the five rivers that raised my family and to immerse myself in its vivacious culture and tales that speak of love, belonging, and deep history.
Until then, my connection to my roots is fueled by fashion, art, stories exchanged, and traditions upheld.
-Amrita
In what ways do you honor your cultural heritage?
Do you ever feel disconnected from your roots? What aspects would you like to learn more about?
How can we connect present and future generations to past ones? In what ways can we seek to balance preserving cultural practices while embracing change and evolving landscapes?
I'm from Argentina, my family is from the smallest province, Tucumán. I don't really know my heritage. It's possible that my ancestors came from Europe but there's no one I can ask for. When you don't know your roots it's feels like there is something missing at the beginning of your story. But I've learned to live my present honouring my family the best way I could.
I enjoy reading this! Your culture fashion is to die for. So rich and vibrant. Id love to see more.