In India, a woman’s body is rarely allowed to simply exist. It must announce a status. Marriage, especially, is worn on the body. The mangalsutra around the neck, green bangles on the wrists, toe rings, are not just ornaments. They are declarations and reassurances to the world that a woman is “belonging” and “accounted for.” In fact, at a wedding, the amount of gold a woman wears can become a public measure of her family’s wealth.AdvertisementBut what happens when a woman is widowed? Most often, the jewellery must go, and sometimes violently. Bangles broken, mangalsutra pulled from the neck, colour drained away. As if grief must be made visible, and it is not enough unless it is publicly marked on a woman’s body.My aunt, Maya aattya, told me about an incident that has stayed with me. When her sister’s young daughter was widowed, people gathered quickly. Hands reached out, not in comfort, but in instruction, and women moved to break her bangles. Maya aattya stopped them. She stood there, quietly but firmly, and said that the jewellery would be removed only if her niece herself wished to remove it, and when she wished to do so. No one would decide for her. It might not have looked like defiance from the outside, as there was no shouting, no drama.But I know it was fierce, because I can assume what it must take to stand up in those moments. Against tradition, against family, against the heavy weight of “this is how it is done”. And that kind of courage is fierce, even when it is quiet.AdvertisementMaya aattya is a widow herself. Later, I asked her whether she did this because no one had stood up for her. She did not answer immediately, but her eyes filled with tears. That was enough to answer my question. When we encouraged her to share this story with others in our office, the other women too began to speak. One after the other, stories poured out, horrific and ordinary at the same time. Those of you reading may also know such stories. Of violence disguised as ritual, and control disguised as care.I thought then about my own marriage. A few days after my marriage was registered, some women in the office told me I looked “the same”. They didn’t mean it unkindly. They meant that I should at least wear a ring. I asked them if they thought my husband looked any different or if it mattered at all, and they laughed. I know these comments often come from affection and maybe from a desire to include, but there is something unsettling in the expectation that marriage must alter a woman’s appearance. And every part of me resists this deeply. The laying on of jewellery as celebration, and its tearing away as violence, and the idea that a woman’s grief or joy must be externally performed, a public spectacle.you may likeIn my village I have also noticed how widows continue to wear their mangalsutras, not because they have not accepted their loss, or because they are holding on to the marriage. Instead, they tell me that it makes them feel safer when they walk down the street. “A mangalsutra signals to the world that a woman is married, and in many situations that can determine how she is treated, so it can sometimes feel like protection”.I think of Mina Sutar, another brave widow, who continues to wear jewellery for the simple reason that her heart tells her to. She tells people her husband is “away for work” so she can do her job without being interrogated by glances. I think of Maya aattya, who intervened so another woman could retain control over her own body, something she herself could not do at one point in her life. I think of all the women who allowed themselves to be subjected to violence because resistance was too costly, or perhaps not even imaginable. And I think of all the women who resisted anyway.So the question is not whether women should wear jewellery or not. Many women do, with love, pride and joy. The question is who decides. Who has the right to place it on you? And who believes they have the right to take it away? Because perhaps this is what frightens the world the most. Not women who wear jewellery, nor women who disregard it, but women who insist on choosing.Anagha is the Founder of KickStart Girls