Rocking the Rakhi: A Re-look at a Righteous Ritual

9:30 AM. I am pacing up and down the corridor opposite the ICU, awaiting updates on Dad’s progress while the doctors make their rounds inside. My phone rings - it’s my sister. I assume she is calling for news, but after a brief check-in, she wishes me a Happy Rakhi. I wish her back, albeit reluctantly.

It isn't because I don’t love her. We are thick as thieves, despite our differences, conflicting outlooks, and the constraints of time and distance. Yet, I struggle with how to tell her how much my perspective has changed. Knowing how deeply she values tradition, I wonder if the truth would be difficult for her to hear.

There was a time when I eagerly looked forward to that thread around my wrist. I wanted to celebrate our bond, buy her gifts, and fulfill the traditional role of a brother. I did all of that and more. But over time, through reading, observation, and quiet contemplation, my view of these celebrations shifted. Why must we rely on a sacred thread to declare that a woman needs protection - or that a brother will invariably stand by her? What happens if that sister falls in love with someone outside her caste or religion? Will her "bhaiyya" still stand up for her then? If she charts an independent course in life, or reveals that she is queer, does that protective bond endure? (The same questions, of course, apply in reverse).

The habit of turning acquaintances into surrogate siblings feels like a uniquely South Asian custom - one that likely birthed the ritual of Rakhi itself. Historically, it served as a social mechanism to police male desire and enforce female safety under the guise of pseudo-familial protection: "Look at her without desire, for she is now your sister."

Though predominantly a North Indian tradition, Rakhi has gained widespread popularity in Southern India over the last few decades. Southern states have their own sibling-focused festivals, such as Naga Panchami in Karnataka or Nagula Chaviti in Andhra Pradesh and Telangana. While historically more austere than showy, these practices carry their own superstitions. Devotees visit anthills - believed to be the abodes of cobras - to pour milk into the vents. Even after centuries of modern science, basic biological facts remain overlooked: cobras, like all snakes, do not drink milk. 

Growing up in a small town, my first exposure to Rakhi was seeing Marwari schoolmates (often called "Sethu boys") wearing shiny, glittery wristbands. At the time, I assumed it was merely their version of the sacred threads tied during regional festivals like Deepavali or Gowri Pooja.

In everyday society, tying a Rakhi is used to "sanctify" relationships between young men and women. Parents often encourage daughters to tie Rakhis on boys in the neighborhood to deter romantic interest and shield them from gossip. By reframing a friendship as a sibling bond, young people can interact without raising eyebrows in a culture deeply uncomfortable with platonic inter-gender dynamics - a discomfort actively policed by moral vigilante groups like Sri Rama Sene and Bajrang Dal.

This rigid dynamic raises several unsettling questions:

• Why must interactions between men and women be strictly compartmentalized into either formal siblings or romantic partners?
• Why is genuine platonic friendship or respectful camaraderie so rarely recognized as valid on its own?
• Can a single ritual thread truly purify hidden motives or alter genuine human emotions overnight, like the instant redemption of a movie villain?

Beyond sibling dynamics, many traditional practices have been heavily commercialized into photo-ops, jewelry advertisements, and consumerist rushes. Yet, when culture faces modern scrutiny, conservative backlash is swift, as seen in the recent outrage over actor Kriti Sanon wearing western attire in a Rakhi advertisement.

This friction highlights how many traditional celebrations continue to cloak patriarchal norms in ritual sanctity:

• Fasting Rituals: Practices like Karwa Chauth in the North, or Bheemana Amavasye in Karnataka, require women to fast for the longevity or procurement of a husband. Married women worship their husband's feet and pray for his strength, reinforcing the idea that a woman’s devotion centres entirely on her partner’s well-being.
• Mythological Narratives: Rituals like Tulsi Puja trace back to myths - such as the story of Vrinda and Jalandhara - where a woman's agency and chastity are compromised by divine deception for a "greater good."
• Matrimonial Customs: Wedding rites explicitly frame the bride as a transactional entity. The concept of Kanyadaan translates literally to the "donation" or "giving away" of a daughter, stripping her of independent agency. The bride's family is expected to shoulder the entire financial burden while enduring social scrutiny. Ceremonies often include humiliating customs where the bride's parents wash the groom's feet or symbolically beg him to proceed with the marriage. Even daily language reflects this hierarchy: in Kannada, the common word for husband, Yajamana, translates directly to "owner" or "master," whereas the neutral term GaNDa is rarely used.

Progressive momentum on these fronts seems to have stalled. While the late 20th century saw strides toward social movement, recent decades have witnessed a resurgence of cultural conservatism. The rise of digital platforms has amplified demands to enforce traditional gender roles, shrinking our collective appetite for nuance and difference.

Ultimately, the solemnisation of these traditions warrants a critical re-examination. Tying protection to compulsory ritualism rather than mutual respect does not make a society safer; it merely limits how people are allowed to relate to one another. Real progress requires moving past rituals that treat safety as a transaction and women as dependents, and making space for genuine equality, respect, and unforced friendship between genders.

Tailpiece 1

The dichotomy of labelling women as Abala (weak) while worshipping them as Shakti (strength) exposes a deeply rooted cultural paradox. The term abala ensures women are treated as fragile and dependent - needing male protection through rituals like Raksha Bandhan that subtly reinforce patriarchal hierarchy. Meanwhile, because Shakti is safely placed on a pedestal as divine, any real woman who asserts independence or agency is vilified or isolated as an aberration.

Tailpiece 2

Predictably, critics will ask: "Why focus on these practices? Don't other religions have regressive traditions too?"

Undoubtedly, every major faith contains practices that undermine the dignity of women. However, I speak on what I know and have experienced firsthand; my knowledge of other traditions is far too limited to offer meaningful critique. To those pointing fingers elsewhere: I encourage you to raise your voice against those injustices too. If you do, you will have my unflinching support.