Gold has been very subjective in terms of whether it's fashionable or ostentatious. Thought it's something that's remarkably advertised, I wanted to capture its charm of being an heirloom. There are many brides who either love wearing gold and or have become very averse to it. For many years, it's still considered the most precious metal, not only because of its value but also how the yesteryear generations preserved it. It's considered as the promise of prosperity. Though there is a beauty in this metal, many brides also feel they are forced to wear it. In this photo story, I wanted to capture the story of a modern Indian bride who wants to settle for simplicity but later discovers that the gold she adorns is not only for the sake of family's pride, but also the fact she gets to be to wear something that has been passed down so many generations. Like it's said in the title, And She Became Gold, the bride finally felt complete when she respected her jewelry. Figuratively she became gold, someone precious in the eyes of all.
Yesteryears rusted an antique jewellery box, for it tease her with a promise of something everlasting. But today she was unamused with her gifts. Hushed hours, she disrobed to feel whole but only a door away, she was to walk through as a bride in the ides of October. Simplicity was a war in her mind, an expression that was hushed by the giants of bequeathed adornments.
Lulled by uncertainty, she felt the kashumalla rest on her décolletage.The cold touch of metal was an awakening realization. She was part of silent conversations as she gathered the faint whispers of her ancestors, the humble request to be adorned in gold.
The sunlight streamed in, sharp silhouettes crawled on her skin, but the tiered necklace rested on the blades of her shoulder. She wore the udayanam that clung to her waist. Twenty five years ago, her mother wore it around her Kanchipuram saree and now her fingers ran over it, the same way her mother felt it. Against her bare skin, it shone.
The jewelry box hid and anklet. Years ago in a kitchen that cloaked too many shadows, her grandmother reached for the pickle jar- she was on her heels and revealed a pair of anklets. They were surreptitiously more beautiful than the golden sun. The bride stripped herself off the saree, to be solely in her skin. She wore the anklet this time, unlike her grandmother - unhidden.
Her face was unabashedly confident to be nude. Her fingers rode over her bindi clad forehead, one that bore kisses of blessings from her kin. Adorned with the maang tikka and nose ring, she became coy, for she was mythical. An unfamiliar face, she saw a semblance with women in famous paintings.
She sat in front of the mirror, without a quiver she wore a necklace. She became a woman in the eyes of he women who framed her.
Whispers faded, she’s become a bride. As the doors open, there will be brimful smiles. Years later, a few whispers shall ring in her daughter’s ears.
Conceptualization & Photography: Jinson Abraham
Model: Shruthy Menon
Text: Atheena Wilson
Styling: Lakshmi
Makeup & Hair: Jeena
Image Manipulation: Jemini Ghosh
Assistant Photographer: Arun Menon
Jewelry: A. Geeri Pai, Broadway, Ernakulam, Kerala, India
Location Courtesy: Marari Villas
Model: Shruthy Menon
Text: Atheena Wilson
Styling: Lakshmi
Makeup & Hair: Jeena
Image Manipulation: Jemini Ghosh
Assistant Photographer: Arun Menon
Jewelry: A. Geeri Pai, Broadway, Ernakulam, Kerala, India
Location Courtesy: Marari Villas