The Bindi, or as us Tamilians call it Pottu (pronounced as ‘po-tuh’), is so common in my house such that applying it has become a daily ritual. I always will remember my mother applying her brown tilak pottu in the morning after her bath. She used to purchase these from one shop for years, they were around Rs.10 per pack. My grandmother on the other hand wears big, round pottus. I, as a child used to love applying the colourful liquid pottus. Pottus have been worn by woman for years and are categorised by its shape and colour depending on the age and the marital status of a woman. Its use today has reduced drastically, and there are many debates on woman boycotting the bindi.
But there came a point in my life where I stopped wearing this dot. I was embarrassed of what my friends and peers would say to me at school-that it is old fashioned and I am not following the upcoming western fashion trends. I realise that once I left it, I also shed away a part of my identity- that dot is more that just a mere dot, it was a part of myself.
It is not only me that takes this brave step of shedding away the pottu, but many other young girls who do the same, but for the wrong reasons. I decided to write a poem to my about my childhood experience of the pottu and how it shapes the life of many girls and young women. The poem also talks about my regret of asserting an independence on myself based on western cultures. I want to put up this poem in the form of a pocket book, a small book that is easy to carry around and is a quick read. The pocket book should universally talk to girls and young women of how they should not be embarassed of their roots but rather embrace it. The idea of a pottu and my story with it as well as the idea of cultural appropriation today can be told through a pocket book. I have illustrated the book too.