Jewelry: Then and Now

Bengali Women and Their Love for Jewelry: History, Modern Trends, and the Culture of Excess

When the first gold bangle was put on Nalini Devi’s wrist, she was only seven. Not for marriage, but to mark her birth. Grandmother had said, “For a woman, having gold on her body means having her own asset, a way to live without depending on her husband.” Nalini Devi remembered those words all her life, and she whispered the same line into the ears of her daughter, and her daughter’s daughter. But with time, how that same gold turned from a symbol of security into a weapon of competition—that is the story I will try to tell here.

Historical roots

The relationship between Bengal’s soil and jewelry is nothing new. Since the Indus Valley civilization, gold and silver ornaments have adorned women’s bodies. In Maurya and Gupta-era sculptures, we see female figures with ornate jewelry on their necks, ears, and hands. In Bengal, jewelry gained a special cultural significance through the concept of “stridhan.” According to Hindu scriptures, the gold and ornaments given to a woman at the time of marriage were considered entirely her own property—neither her husband nor her in-laws had any rights over them. Behind this system was a practical thought: in those days, women’s inheritance rights over property were not easily accessible, so gold was their only “bank balance.” In times of famine, disaster, a husband’s death or separation, this gold became a woman’s last lifeline.

During the Mughal era, Persian and Mughal influences entered the designs of Bengali jewelry—kundan, meenakari, intricate jadau work. In the colonial period, the jewelry collections of women from zamindar families were truly astonishing—nose rings, chokers, amulets, armlets, Ramnavami necklaces, waist belts with patterns like shitalpati. Even in rural Bengal, in ordinary farming families, giving as much gold as possible at a daughter’s wedding was a social duty, almost like a religious obligation.

Social context: From security to status symbol

When Nalini Devi’s daughter Aparna was growing up in the seventies, gold was no longer just a symbol of security—it had become a measure of social status. At neighborhood weddings, there would be hushed conversations in the inner quarters about how many tolas of gold were around whose daughter’s neck, how many bangles were on the bride’s hands, what kind of nose ring she wore. A girl’s father’s financial condition and social standing were all reflected in her wedding jewelry. The more gold a family could give, the higher their position was considered in society.

Hidden here was a deep irony. The jewelry that once began its journey as a symbol of women’s independence and security gradually turned into a social burden imposed on them. One of the main reasons for breaking off marriage proposals became “not giving enough gold.” Despite anti-dowry laws, the dowry system survived comfortably under the guise of “gold,” because gold is legally a gift, and it is hard to prove whether it was demanded and extracted.

The course of evolution

Over time, the nature of jewelry has also changed. The heavy, traditional pieces from grandmother’s era—shitalpati motifs, padmarag stones, navaratna necklaces—started becoming lighter in the mother’s time. In the eighties and nineties came the trend of “lightweight” jewelry, then diamond cutting, platinum, and now it is the age of imitation and artificial jewelry. At weddings today, alongside pure gold, dazzling imitation sets are also worn—because they are cheaper, yet no less glamorous.

But the surprising thing is that the fascination with jewelry has not diminished; only its expression has changed. Today’s generation of women post their wedding photos on social media, and the brilliance of their jewelry is measured in “likes” and “comments.” On Instagram reels, we see “bridal jewelry haul” videos, where each piece gets its own close-up shot. The competition is no longer confined to just neighbors—it has spread into the virtual world.

The strange link between jewelry and corruption

The most uncomfortable chapter of this story is how this social obsession with gold has become entangled with corruption. Gold has turned into one of the easiest means of laundering black money. Where cash transactions are strictly scrutinized, the rules are far more relaxed when it comes to gold. Bribe money and funds earned through corruption are often converted into gold jewelry—because it is easy to carry, easy to hide, and can quickly be turned back into cash when needed. In various anti-corruption drives, we often see news reports of raids on the homes of government officials or politicians, where gold jewelry worth crores of taka is recovered. An abnormal amount of gold given as “gifts” at a daughter’s wedding, huge quantities of jewelry bought in a wife’s name—these have become socially acceptable wrappers for legitimizing illegal wealth.

Here, a strange double standard of society is revealed. On one hand, the fascination with gold is glorified as “tradition” and “culture,” while on the other hand, that same obsession is used as a tool to hide corrupt money. Even middle-class families cannot escape this competition—they feel pressured to provide a “respectable” amount of gold at their daughter’s wedding, even if it means taking loans or selling land.

Showmanship and competition

Aparna’s daughter, Rimi, is now in her mid-thirties. At the time of her wedding, her mother-in-law clearly said, “On the day of the wedding feast, you must change at least two sets of jewelry, otherwise what will people say!” Rimi realized that this jewelry was no longer about personal choice—it had become a social performance, where each event demands a separate “look,” and that look will be judged by relatives and neighbors.

Every wedding event—turmeric ceremony, blessings, wedding, reception, pre-wedding feast—now has its own designated jewelry set, as if by an unwritten rule. Seeing fewer ornaments on the bride’s body is almost taken as a sign of the family’s financial weakness, and from that fear arises the practice of “showing off.” Some families even go so far as to rent jewelry and take photos wearing them, just to save social prestige despite lacking the means.

Comparisons and competition over jewelry between the two families have now become one of the main “subplots” of a wedding. How much gold the bride’s maternal side gave, what jewelry the groom’s family gifted the bride—these calculations can be heard if you simply listen in at any wedding. In the age of social media, this comparison has become even more intense, because now the competition is no longer limited to one’s familiar circle.

Final question: Shackle or strength?

Across the four generations from Nalini Devi to Rimi, one thing is clear—gold has never been just a metal in Bengali society; it has been a complex blend of history, honor, security, and social status. But over time, what once symbolized women’s empowerment has, in many cases today, turned into a carrier of social pressure, financial imbalance, and even corruption.

So the question remains—do these gold ornaments still truly represent women’s security, or have they become a golden shackle, placed on the shoulders of generation after generation of women in the name of social status and competition? The answer perhaps lies hidden in each family’s own story—just as it was hidden in Nalini Devi’s very first gold bangle.