Why I Wear a Tika: A Nepali Student’s Story of Identity in Boston

It’s been over four years since I started wearing a tika with my everyday outfits. What began as a subtle nod to aesthetics slowly grew into something deeper—something personal, powerful, and unapologetically mine.

I first stumbled upon Sruthi Jayadevan, a South Indian content creator, during my junior year of college. Her style was unlike anything I had seen. She paired bold bindis and traditional desi jewelry—like jhumkas—with western clothing, carrying herself with an ease that was both elegant and defiant. At the time, I was searching for a look that felt niche—not another trend, but something that felt like me. Her influence pulled me in.

At first, wearing a tika was about standing out. Aesthetics. But as time went on, that dot on my forehead became more than just a statement—it became a symbol of belonging. A quiet rebellion. A return to something I didn’t know I was missing.

Becoming Nepali Again (But On My Terms)

I didn’t always feel connected to my roots. Growing up in Nepal, I had a complicated relationship with my identity. I couldn't read or write Nepali fluently. I didn't relate to many people in my own community. But no one forced me to distance myself—I chose it, in hopes of seeming “cooler” during my teenage years. I cringe admitting that now, but most of us have tried to rebel against something just to feel different. That was my stunt.

When I moved to the U.S. in 2019 for undergrad, that distancing stopped being a choice. It became my reality. I felt lost—like most international students do when they first arrive. Doing laundry alone, figuring out your next meal, finding a familiar face in an unfamiliar place.

But something shifted at Clark University. I threw myself into the brown community on campus—South Asian mixers, chai nights, Bollywood dance practice, and impromptu kitchen talks about immigration, aunties, and heartbreak. And somewhere along the way, I stopped feeling like I was pretending. When I went home for winter break, my parents joked that I had more of a Nepali accent after moving to the U.S. than when I was in Nepal.

That was the start of something real. I stopped running from myself.

The Power of a Tika

Wearing a tika or bindi is not just a decorative tradition. In Nepal and many South Asian cultures, it's symbolic—a mark of protection, energy, and identity. For young girls and women, it holds spiritual significance: it’s placed on the ajna chakra—the space between the eyebrows—believed to be the seat of wisdom and inner vision. It’s a blessing, a memory of home, a quiet form of power.

When I started wearing one regularly, I’d get compliments from friends. They loved the aesthetic. But more importantly, I loved how it made me feel—visible, rooted, and less likely to be mistaken for anything else, like Hispanic, Middle Eastern, or just vaguely "ethnic." That dot told people who I was before I even said my name.

Of course, not everyone saw it that way.

As I left the safe bubble Clark had become and moved into Boston’s wider desi community, reactions became mixed. Some Desis loved my tika. Others looked at me sideways and called it “fob behavior.”

That label—FOB (Fresh Off the Boat)—is one many of us in immigrant communities know too well. It’s often used to separate “us” from “them,” to distance those who’ve assimilated from those who “still act like they’re back home.” But I’ve come to realize something: labeling your own culture as FOB is just a phase. A defense mechanism. Something we do to fit in, to feel less “othered.”

But the truth is—there’s no place like home, and nothing quite like the rituals that remind you of it.

Staying Rooted, Not Assimilated

When people ask me why I wear a tika with my western clothes, I get to talk about where I come from. I get to share the meaning behind it, and in that conversation, a tiny bridge is built between cultures.

This isn’t about being rigid. It’s about being rooted.

I’m not trying to fully assimilate. I’m trying to exist in both identities—as a proud Nepali and as someone who’s grown up navigating American systems. I’m not just one or the other. I’m both.

Cultural rituals like wearing a tika ground us. They’re more than traditions—they are memory, belonging, rebellion, and pride rolled into one. They’re the gentle ways we stay tethered to the people we’ve been, even as we grow into something more.

Final Thought: Be Kind to Each Other

Everyone is walking around with a story you don’t see. So be kind—especially to your own people. We’ve all had phases where we wanted to run from our roots, or felt shame about them. That’s normal. But you’ll come back. We all do.

Because eventually, we realize: home is not a place. It’s something we carry—sometimes, as a little black dot on the forehead.