The heirloom Project; Jewels Inspired By Real People And Their Stories

In Aparna Sen’s 2013 comedy film Goynar Baksho, the protagonist Rashimoni’s main obsession are her wedding jewels she brought with her when the family moved from East Pakistan (now Bangladesh) to India during the partition. We see this, theme echoed several times over in author and archivist Aanchal Malhotra’s book Remnants of a Separation (2017). On the cover, Malhotra’s grandmother is pictured wearing the bejewelled maang tika her mother carried from Dera Ismail Khan, in present-day Pakistan, to Delhi via Meerut, during Partition.

In India, wedding jewellery often transcends the material plane, transmuting into a uniquely sentimental conduit for personal meaning, ancestral memory, and cultural heritage. In Vatsayana’s Kama Sutra, jewellery sparkles prominently as a catalyst for love, longing, and desire. Aabhushan or jewellery is pronounced an irreplaceable component of solah shringar or the 16 bridal adornments in the Vedas and Upanishads. And the classic Tamil epic Silappadikaaram, set in 15th century Madurai, features a pair of anklets at the heart of its plot, affirming the constant presence of wedding jewellery in the Indian consciousness.

The ornaments are a repository of images and memories — the vibrant bridal dressing room crammed with relatives and echoing with laughter, the embrace of a loved one, the hands they passed through, including those of the artisans that crafted them. As global Indian women embrace marriage on their terms, their wedding jewellery serves as an umbilical cord that connects back to their roots and identity. Through this garland of tales, we trace the emotional and cultural resonance of wedding ornaments around the subcontinent. Together they offer a window into the Indian soul.

Bunge Bala Bangles, Nepal

Sujala Newar

Newar tied the knot with sweetheart Rashid Currawalla in court last year. This year the couple invited family and friends into the celebrations through a traditional Nepali ceremony in Shillong followed by a Parsi wedding in Mumbai. The 34-year-old founder of fashion brand Local Vintage was born in Shillong to a family with Nepali heritage. Wearing her mother’s traditional gold bunge bala bangles at her wedding celebrations felt particularly significant.

It’s a traditional Nepali design, usually worn in pairs, especially by married women. The most common iterations feature geometric and floral embossed patterns with an engraved ‘head’ on each end. “My mother got them made from a local jeweller in Shillong about 14-15 years ago,” Newar says. To her, the bangles represent her mother’s resilience.

“Since my father passed away in 2018, my mother has single-handedly managed the household and the family business,” she says. They’re also a celebration of Newar’s Nepali heritage. “The ceremony was also a window into our rituals and traditions, especially for Rashid’s family,” she says.

Thalai Samaan Hair Ornaments, Tamil Nadu

Shriya Samavai Wilding

Los Angeles-based queer couple Shriya Samavai and Jack Wilding celebrated theirunion with a Tamil style wedding in 2023. Hair was an important consideration for Samavai, who presents as non-binary. They ultimately settled for an Andal kondai (off-centre bun) in a nod to saint Andal and their Tamil Vaishnavite heritage. The kondai was dressed in thalai samaan, a collection of hair ornaments that Samavai received as a gift from their maternal grandmother when they were five. Originally part of the costume jewellery worn by temple dancers, the thalai samaan was eventually brought into the fold of South Indian bridal finery.

Thalai samaan comprises the netti chutti: Tamil equivalent of the matha patti, the surya pirai and chandra pirai , worn on either sides of the head and meant to represent the sun and moon, and the rakkadi, a hair ornament designed to hold the chignon or bun in place. “To me the surya pirai and chandra pirai are like protective talismans.

There are other parts to the thalai samaan like jadai (jewellery worn on a long braid) and mattal (bejewelled ear cuffs), which I did not wear,” they say. Crafted from gold-plated silver, these individual pieces are studded with semi-precious stones designed to resemble rubies, emeralds, and diamonds.

The jewellery is an ode to Samavai’s Tamil heritage and the city their family calls home. “We are from the Mylapore area in Chennai. So in addition to the thalai samaan being purchased from there, I had mayilu or peacocks embroidered on the

blouse I wore on my wedding day,” they say. The temple jewellery was also an homage to Samavai’s mother, who is a trained

bharatanatyam dancer. The couple wanted their wedding to set the bar for other queer folks who wish to get married while

celebrating their culture.

Neli Ring, Tamil Nadu

Vijayalakshmi Venkatesh

Mumbai-based actor and social worker Venkatesh’s tale, featuring her beloved heirloom, is one of love, loss, and serendipity.

The 73-year-old got married 51 years ago in Delhi. “It was an arranged marriage. Both my husband and I came from Tamil speaking Iyer families whose forefathers settled in Kerala’s Palakkad region many generations ago,” she says. Saris with matching sets of jewellery were purchased for Venkatesh to wear at the various ceremonies across her three-day wedding celebrations. “I remember my rather elegant and charming bridegroom (we had met just four weeks earlier) looking pretty dapper too,” says Venkatesh, who lost her husband a couple of years ago.

A gold neli, set with diamonds and a little ruby in the centre, soon became Venkatesh’s favourite piece. “The ring was very delicately crafted by a jeweller in Chennai who made all the new pieces for my wedding under the close supervision of my father’s aunt — a family elder we all adored and lovingly called kutti ammai (little mother).”

The neli is a traditional gold ring characterised by a signature ‘V’ shape. It’s a significant piece of jewellery for married women in South India and is, usually, a popular choice for wedding gifting. “I, sadly, don’t have any photos of it in my wedding album. In fact, I don’t have any photos of the ring at all because it got stolen,” Venkatesh says. However, a few years ago, her older sister gave her a little gift. “A piece of jewellery she wore on her wedding day in 1967

that originally belonged to our grandmother.

A neli just like the one I had lost! The only difference was a blue stone in the centre instead of a ruby. “I’m 73, my sister almost 80, and my grandmother would be over 150 were she alive. So you can only imagine how old this heirloom is.”

Ear Cuffs, Delhi

Sita Wadhwani

These spectacular desi punk princess-coded kaffas or earcuffs with their fluorescent hues and psychedelic patterns matched my vibe at the sangeet,” says Sita Wadhwani, who got married in 2014.

The ‘Rhea’ ear cuffs were part of trailblazing fashion designer Manish Arora’s final collection for jewellery brand Amrapali in 2014. “This was one of the first and coolest fashion collaborations in India from almost a decade ago. Manish Arora chose the colour palette for this collection from the wildly popular smartphone game Candy Crush,” says Wadhwani, who served as digital editor of Vogue India for many years. She now works as the regional lead at member’s club Soho House in Mumbai.

Ear cuffs were worn in ancient India, but this piece is a modern Indian interpretation crafted using ancient jewellery making techniques. “This fusion represents me perfectly. Perhaps because I grew up in Europe and moved to India. It makes sense then that I would end up marrying a European who has lived in India for over 20 years,” she says.

Wadhwani comes from a Sindhi family expatriated from Karachi to Mumbai during Partition. She had to convince her mother to wear a designer piece over ‘real jewellery’ for a traditional occasion like the mehendi. “My mum eventually came around and we were all happy with how well it photographed. Consensus pleases me. After all, a wedding is the ultimate family collaboration!” she says.

Wadhwani paired the ear cuffs with a hot pink and parrot green Raw Mango sari blouse ensemble. “And even with the hair I went a bit mohawk and funk.

Kaanbala Earrings, West Bengal & Bandh Necklace, Haryana

Priyanjoli Basu

They’re love letters from the women in my life. Wearing them feels like home in the most beautiful way,” says 40-year-old Priyanjoli Basu, of the most adored jewellery from her wedding day. The earrings, a riff on the traditional Bengali kaanbala design, were a wedding gift from her paternal grandmother. And the gold-beaded bandh neckpiece was passed on to Basu by her mother-in-law, who inherited it from her own mother-in-law.

Basu, who got married in 2012, comes from a Bengali family while her husband is from a Punjabi- Haryanvi background. “Both pieces were made at home by local karigars. The earrings are a connection to my Basu bari in Kolkata, while the necklace links me to a small village called Bhiwani in Haryana. Together, they make me feel rooted in both families and traditions. They’re a symbol of my life’s union — of marriage, motherhood, and legacy,” she says.

To Basu, one represents the fine, intricate aesthetic of Bengali artistry, while the other carries the robust, earthy character of rural Haryanvi jewellery. On her wedding day she paired them with a traditional red Banarasi sari. “It was the perfect way to honour my heritage and the people who entrusted me with these treasures,” she says.

Nagapadam Necklace, Kerala

Meenakshi Srikandath

It was passed down from my grand aunt Sarala, who had no children of her own. So she left her jewellery to her nieces my mum and sister,” Srikandath says of the nagapadam, a traditional snake-pattern necklace from Kerala that she wore on her wedding day, 16 years ago. The Pune-based writer and voice artist traces her roots to Kochi; her parents come from Nair families that have been there for generations. The nagapada or nagapadam thali is typically characterised by precious stones shaped like a hooded serpent head, set in gold. The snake is revered as a symbol of protection in her culture.

“Almost every temple in Kerala has a sarpa kavu — a sacred grove or abode of snakes. Most of our ancestral homes also had groves like this,” she remembers.

The necklace was commissioned by Srikandath’s grand-aunt Sarala’s mother, which implies that it was made in colonial India around the 1920s-30s. “Back then, every family had a jeweller or thattaan who would come home and make the piece on-site. The nagapadams I see in the showrooms today have flat serpent motifs. They don’t curve upwards and inwards like the older pieces,” she says, of the nuanced difference in craftsmanship.

The piece reminds Srikandath of her grand aunt, who was a modern woman for her time. “Sarala vellyammayi believed in everyday luxury.She did not save her favourite possessions for special occasions, be it her bone china or saris. Sleeveless blouses were her signature and she often wore her hair long and loose,”

What makes this particular necklace even more special for Srikandath is its colour. “Nagapadams are typically studded with emeralds and rubies. This one is has striking bluish-green semiprecious stones. I subconsciously gravitated towards a sari in green and blue hues to match the necklace,” she says.

Collier Necklace, Paris

Sitara Mulchandani

This was my dadi’s wedding necklace. Each of her three sisters had a similar piece,” says Mulchandani, of the diamond Art Deco collier necklace she wore at her wedding in 2014. The 41-year-old journalist and editor grew up between Lagos, Nigeria and London in a Sindhi family and now lives in Dubai.

Mulchandani was partially raised by her grandmother. “As a young girl I often watched her get dressed to go out: elegant in her chiffon sari, her hair perfectly coiffed, and bedecked in jewels. Once in a while she would open her safe to show us her jewellery and explain why each piece was special to her,” she remembers. Among these treasures was the necklace, bought by her dadi’s father who passed away at a young age. “And when I got engaged, she passed it on to me, her first grandchild,” she says.

The necklace features many Art Deco details, including symmetrical five rows of diamonds in different sizes, flanked on either end by pave bows and a scarab-inspired motif. It’s finished elegantly with rows of smaller diamonds that clasp at the back. “Little is known about its origins. It was either inspired by a design my great grandfather saw in Paris in the 1940s, or it could have been bought there. We’re not sure,” Mulchandani says.

Each piece of jewellery she wore on her wedding day was imbued with sentiment. “In addition to the collier necklace, my paisley inspired earrings were made with diamonds that came from my nani’s wedding bangles. I also wore my mother’s wedding bangles. Through these pieces I carried their love and blessings into my

marriage,” she says.

Tanmani Necklace. Maharashtra

Keertida Phadke

The most treasured heirloom in Phadke’s jewellery box is her aaji or maternal grandmother’s tanmani, and her wedding in 2015 presented the perfect opportunity to debut the piece. The Delhi-based chef and creator was born and raised in a Marathi family in Pune. The piece is dearer to Phadke today since her aaji passed away in 2023. The tanmani is a traditional pearl necklace from Maharashtra, often featuring precious gems and a distinctive pendant called khod. Tanmanis are

usually worn at weddings, engagements, and other special occasions.

Kumudini Bhole was the only grandmother Phadke ever had relationship with, because her paternal grandmother passed away even before her parents got married. “She was smart, independent, and welltravelled.” In addition to the tanmani, Phadke has also kept her grandmother’s passport as a memento. “Some of my earliest travel stories were from aaji,” she remembers fondly. When aaji decided to give her jewellery away, Phadke’s mother inherited the necklace among other pieces.

In 2019, the tanmani was sent to a karigar in Pune for polishing before Phadke rewore it at her brother’s wedding. “The craftsperson asked how old the necklace was, because, according to him, you don’t see this kind of make and mould anymore,” she says. Tanmanis are still available in traditional Maharasthrian jewellery stores, but the design has become more compact over the years.

“I am very careful with it, to the point of paranoia, because I’ll never be able to recreate it, right? Even if I get the exact thing made, it’s never going to be worn by my grandmother,” she says. As a creator, Phadke’s focus is showcasing Marathi culture and cuisine, and she brings this awareness into her personal life too. In addition to keeping her grandmother’s memory alive, wearing this special piece is also an assertion of her roots.

Passa, Awadh

Pragya Tiwari

It’s hard to miss the emerald-studded hair ornament cascading down the side of Tiwari’s forehead, framing her face in photos from her sangeet celebrations in 2019. Traditionally called the passa, this heirloom piece connects deeply to the multicultural Kolkata home where Tiwari was raised by an Awadhi father and a Punjabi mother. The 42-year-old writer and culture consultant now lives in Delhi.

The passa or jhoomar traces its origins to Mughal times, when it was worn by kathak dancers as well as Muslim and Sikh brides in North India. The passa is typically shaped like the crescent moon — a symbol of fertility in many cultures.

This piece of jewellery came to Tiwari through a rather unusual route. “As a young girl, my bhua, who grew up in a village in Uttar Pradesh, harboured a deep desire to learn classical music. Upon persuading her family, she was allowed to train with a notable performer in Awadh for a brief period. Bhua soon got married and the music had to stop. At her wedding, however, her music teacher gifted her a passa,” she says.

Years later, when Tiwari began to learn kathak in Kolkata, her bhua passed on the passa to her. And at Tiwari’s own sangeet, it became the focal point around which her outfit — a resplendent emerald green sharara — was planned. “It was an ode my father’s family, the syncretic culture of Awadh and my love of music and kathak.”

This story appears in Manifest India’s Issue 03. Subscribe here for more stories like this.