There’s a moment at Navratri, just before the music begins, when everything feels electric. The dandiya sticks are clutched tightly in our hands, the air is thick with the scent of incense and anticipation, and in those first beats of the tabla, suddenly, the whole room is alive. Feet move in perfect rhythm, ghagras swirl, and voices rise in unison. In that moment, I don’t just feel Indian, I know I am.
Growing up in the UK, being Indian has always felt like a balancing act. There’s the life we live every day, where our names are mispronounced and our culture is often misunderstood. And then there are the moments like this, where being Indian isn’t just a part of me, it’s all of me.
Navratri is more than just nine nights of dance, it’s a celebration of resilience, devotion, and community. It’s about stepping into a hall miles away from Gujarat and feeling completely at home. It’s about elders watching proudly from the sidelines, about little kids trying to keep up with the fast-paced garba circles, about aunties adjusting their chunni's as they break into a flawless raas routine. It’s about the unspoken understanding that no matter where we are in the world, our culture will always find a way to thrive.
It's in moments like these that I feel a deep, undeniable pride. To be Indian. To be Gujarati. To be here. To belong to something so vast yet so personal. Because no matter how far from home we might be, we carry it with us. In our music, in our traditions, and most of all, in each other.
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