Roots & Rituals: A Journey Through Tradition, Family, and Memory

View the pictures from the trip here: https://photos.app.goo.gl/jgpz5JFs6CCKmJZG6

This year, my family and I traveled to India to celebrate my nephew’s mundan—his first haircut ceremony—and what unfolded was far more than a simple family ritual. It became a full-circle moment, rich with nostalgia, tradition, and the vibrant spirit of India. Our journey took us through the lively streets of Mumbai, into Gujarat—the very place where we brought my own son two years ago for his first haircut—then on to the earthy magic of Kutch, before eventually returning to Mumbai to complete the trip.

Mumbai: Bursting with Life

We began in Mumbai, where the streets pulse with energy and every corner holds a memory. It’s a city that overwhelms and embraces you all at once. Between the clamor of rickshaws and the comfort of home-cooked meals, I found joy in re-introducing my little one to cousins, aunties, and the rhythm of everyday life in India. It felt like a reunion with a piece of myself that only awakens here.

Each day began at sunrise, the sky painted in soft hues as the city slowly stirred to life. We visited the Jain temple daily—an anchor of peace amid the city’s hum—where we offered prayers, soaked in the quiet, and connected with saints who felt more like extended family than distant figures. Their kindness and warmth welcomed us deeply into the spiritual heart of the space.

Afternoons melted into evenings with playful visits to the park, chasing shadows and laughter as the heat of the day faded. The children ran barefoot on the dusty paths while the grown-ups lingered on benches, sharing stories and snacks. These small moments felt timeless—simple joys that grounded us.

And still, the days stretched long and full. We often stayed up until the moon hung high in the sky, the buzz of the city gently quieting, replaced by the soft cadence of distant cars and the occasional bark of a street dog. Mumbai never really sleeps—but it does slow down just enough to let the magic sink in.

Gujarat & Kutch: The Soul of the Ceremony

From Mumbai, we made our way into Gujarat, and eventually to Kutch, where desert landscapes meet vibrant traditions. The colors, the craftsmanship, the ancient earth—all of it felt deeply grounding. But what stirred my heart most was arriving in the small little dirt road town, where our family had gathered to perform the mundan. (The mundan ceremony is a traditional rite of passage in which a baby’s head is shaved for the first time, usually in the first. It’s believed to cleanse the child of past karmas, promote healthy hair growth, and mark the beginning of spiritual development. Often performed at a temple or sacred place, the ceremony is accompanied by prayers, rituals, and blessings from family and elders, making it a joyful and meaningful milestone.)

Watching my nephew’s head being shaved, I was struck with emotion. This wasn’t just his milestone—it brought back vivid memories of when we brought my son to this very place for his mundan. The same rituals. The same village temple. The same rustle of marigolds and sounds of sacred mantras. I remembered holding him, nervous and proud, as his soft baby hair was shaved from his head. And now, I watched from the other side—this time as an auntie, full of tenderness and memory.

The Beauty of Shared Tradition

There’s something powerful about returning to a place tied to a meaningful moment in your life. Sharing that same space and ritual with another child in the family felt like weaving a thread between generations. It reminded me how tradition holds us—how it creates continuity even as we each live out our own stories.

And amidst the celebration, joy, and occasional toddler meltdown, I felt a touch of homesickness too. We were constantly surrounded by people—family, neighbors, friends, even strangers who felt like extended relatives. There was always someone nearby, always a conversation happening, always movement. It was beautiful, but also overwhelming at times. I missed the quiet rhythms of my own home, the simplicity of my routine. But there’s a beauty in that ache—it reminded me how lucky I am to have homes in more than one place, people in more than one world.

Witnessing Diksha: A Moment of Stillness in a Full Journey

Before we left India, one moment rose above the rest in quiet power and lasting impact. While visiting a Jain temple in Mumbai, we were invited to witness a woman take diksha—a sacred vow of sainthood. She was leaving behind her worldly identity, possessions, and even her name to walk a path of spiritual renunciation and devotion.

The day began with a grand procession full of color, music, and dancing. Friends and family joyfully accompanied her, celebrating the shedding of her worldly attachments. It was a vibrant, communal event meant to honor and support her as she prepared to renounce her past life. This was not just a farewell—it was a ritual purification, a symbolic release of all that bound her to the material world.

After the procession, she was taken aside to have her head shaved—a powerful act of humility and transformation. She emerged dressed in the simple white robes of a Jain saint, marking her new identity as she began the diksha ceremony.

Inside the temple, the atmosphere was both reverent and electric—floral garlands, chanting, tears, and joy filling the sacred space. I watched as her family bowed, not in grief, but in profound honor. She was radiant, barefoot, and free—stepping fully into a life of simplicity and truth.

As if that weren’t powerful enough, I was also deeply honored to meet all of the male saints who were in town for the event, including the head Jain Acharya himself. Their presence was humbling—rooted, peaceful, and still in a way that seemed to ripple through the air. Speaking with them, even briefly, reminded me of the immense spiritual dedication and discipline that quietly upholds so many of the traditions we glimpse only in passing.

Holding my son’s hand, I felt something stir in me—a deep sense of awe. In the midst of all the family celebrations and rituals we had participated in, this was something different. A reminder of the stillness beneath all the movement, the soul beneath the story. It made me reflect on the choices we make, the legacies we inherit, and the inner compass we each carry.

Though our paths are vastly different, her commitment—and theirs—to something greater than the self reminded me why I’m walking my own: toward healing, connection, and meaningful presence.

Coming Home Changed

Soon after, we boarded the flight back to the U.S.—jet-lagged, emotionally full, and carrying new memories wrapped in ancient traditions. This journey wasn’t just about my nephew’s mundan or revisiting the place of my son’s first haircut. It was about re-rooting, remembering, and reconnecting—with family, with culture, and with myself.

India always has a way of changing me. This time, I returned home with a full heart, a deeper reverence for tradition, and a renewed sense of purpose.

Until next time, Bharat

With love,

Robyn

View the pictures from the trip here: https://photos.app.goo.gl/jgpz5JFs6CCKmJZG6