Part 1 of a two-part reflection on Slow Craft, Feminine Rituals, and the Lost Pleasure of Shringar!
Do you know what Shringar means?
Today, the closest translation we give it is “adornment” or “getting ready.” But Shringar was never just about putting on jewelry or doing your makeup before leaving the house. It was something slower, more intimate — the quiet pleasure of preparing yourself for the day.
My grandmother (bless her soul) had this small ritual that I used to watch as a child. At the time, it looked like the most ordinary thing in the world. After her bath she would sit down with a tiny mirror and begin by applying oil to her hair, slowly massaging it into her scalp before combing it and braiding it. There was no hurry in the way she moved. Time seemed to stretch around her.
Then she would take a small pinch of kumkum, that deep red sacred powder many women place on the forehead, and gently press it between her brows.
Only after that would she open her jewelry box.
Her mangalsutra would usually go on first. Then she would look through her earrings and necklaces. Sometimes she chose the same simple gold pieces she had worn for years. Sometimes she paused for a moment before deciding what she felt like wearing that day.
And what stayed with me all these years was not what she wore.
It was the way she moved.
Slowly. With presence. Almost as if she was enjoying the act of getting ready. The mirror was not something she rushed past. It was a moment where she sat with herself before the day began.
That is what Shringar is in its essence.
Not decoration.
Not performance.
Self-love.
Self-care.
Pleasure.
The Pleasure We Forgot
Not the kind of pleasure people often misunderstand.
The kind that lives in small everyday moments.
Have you ever walked barefoot on grass and suddenly felt your whole body relax?
Or taken the first bite of a favorite food and been transported back to a memory you didn’t even realize you still carried?
Or run your hands through your jewelry collection and pause on one piece because something about it simply felt right that day?
These moments seem small, but they connect us back to ourselves.
And perhaps that is exactly why they slowly disappeared.
Because somewhere along the way, life began moving faster.
When I look at my mother’s generation, I can see how routines had already started tightening. Responsibilities grew, mornings became more hurried, and getting ready slowly turned into something that needed to be done quickly.
And in our generation, everything feels even faster.
Fast fashion.
Fast beauty routines.
Fast scrolling.
Fast mornings.
Even jewelry — something that once carried stories, rituals, and meaning — has often become something we put on almost unconsciously.
So I sometimes wonder…
When was the last time you stood in front of the mirror and admired yourself for a moment instead of immediately adjusting something? Told yourself, "Hey, beautiful, you look gorgeous today!"
When was the last time getting ready actually felt good?
When did Life Started Moving Too Fast?
This thought came to me a few days ago when I felt something I think many of us feel but rarely talk about.
Have you ever experienced that strange moment where you try to take a deep breath but it still feels like there isn’t quite enough air? Like the world is moving a little too fast and your body hasn’t caught up yet?
Over the past few weeks I have been feeling a quiet kind of pressure building in the background. The kind that comes when you run a small creative business and the world constantly reminds you that you need to perform, show up, grow, and stay visible.
And to be honest, yes, I do need you beautiful souls to buy from me. That is simply the reality of creating handmade jewelry for a living.
But somewhere between creating, posting, and trying to keep up with everything, I suddenly felt overwhelmed.
So I stopped.
Sat down.
Let a few tears come out.
Took some slower breaths.
And asked myself a very simple question.
Why am I creating this?
How do I want to feel while building this business?
How can it serve others?
And most importantly, how do I hold my own without losing myself in the rush to serve others?
Maybe what we are craving isn’t just slowness. It's an intentional presence.
A way of creating and living that doesn’t feel rushed or forced, but rooted in care, creativity, and presence.
And maybe that’s exactly what so many of the women before us understood through their small rituals of taking self-care and self-love — through things like Shringar, through the quiet pleasure of getting ready, through the patience of making something with their hands.
Which made me start wondering about something else entirely.
If the world today moves faster and faster…
what does it mean to create slowly on purpose?
Because maybe that isn’t just nostalgia.
Maybe it’s something much more powerful.
And that is where this reflection continues.
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