Jasmine Evenings in Thrissur
Every Friday evening in the temple town of Thrissur, as the golden light softened over tiled rooftops and the aroma of filter coffee drifted through narrow lanes, Malini would gather with the women of her neighborhood in the open courtyard behind her ancestral home. The space, shaded by a flowering hibiscus tree and framed by mossy stone steps, came alive with the quiet joy of womanhood shared in small rituals.
There were no invitations—only an unspoken rhythm passed down through the years. Mothers arrived with daughters, young brides with elder aunties, all dressed in soft cotton sarees, the ends of their pallus tucked around their waists as they settled in a circle. In their hands were gajras—freshly strung jasmine garlands, bought from the flower seller near Vadakkunnathan Temple or made from flowers plucked at dawn.
Malini, now in her late thirties, remembered coming to these gatherings as a child, clinging to her mother’s side. Back then, she was fascinated by the gentle intimacy of it all—the way women oiled each other’s hair, how a braid was lovingly redone, how laughter could erupt between sips of steaming chaya. Secrets were shared, advice exchanged, and songs sometimes hummed while flowers were threaded.
Years had passed, but not much had changed. Today, it was Malini’s daughter Meera who sat beside her, watching wide-eyed as her mother wrapped a gajra around her thick black braid. For Malini, this was more than decoration—it was inheritance. A garland of memory. A gesture of love. A way to say, “You belong to something bigger—this circle, this lineage, this scent, this soil.”
In Indian communities, especially in small towns like Thrissur, beauty is rarely solitary. It is shared—brushed into hair, tied into jasmine, whispered through generations of women sitting shoulder to shoulder. This artwork is a celebration of those twilight moments, of the quiet power in feminine companionship, and of the timeless ritual of adorning one another—not for spectacle, but for love.