The Ritual of Transitions By Mallika Handa

From the brilliant Mallika Handa, this piece is inspired by her own experiences growing up in a military family and how those transitions have shaped her understanding of womanhood.

I have always been in motion—not by choice but by design. Every two years, the call to pack up and leave would come, a familiar routine that became second nature. Boxes would pile up like tangible echoes of the memories we couldn’t quite let go of. This rhythm of leaving and settling has taught me the meaning of minimalism. Every purchase became a question: “Can this come with me?” If not, it rarely entered my life unless it was vital. Even then, I asked, “Is it worth carrying from one home to another?”

Yet amid these transitions, I learned that womanhood travels too. It is something I carried quietly, yet heavily, between each place. Each move demanded not only reinvention but recalibration — of how I presented myself, of the roles I was expected to play. I was always adapting, yet there were invisible expectations that followed.

In unfamiliar places, I became hyper-aware of how I was perceived. "Be polite, be kind, be careful." These words rang in my ears as I met new faces, new cultures. I knew my presence had to be soft but assured, noticeable enough to make connections but never loud enough to unsettle. The greetings I offered— "Good evening, Uncle. Good evening, Aunty"—weren't just a gesture of respect but a ritual that quietly asserted my place in each new space.

Yet through these quiet performances, I found strength. Each move offered me a chance to reclaim my identity in small yet powerful ways. I experimented with my style—one year blending into school uniforms, another year adorning myself with bold earrings or vibrant scarves as if to say, “This is who I am now.” Reinvention, I realized, wasn’t just about fitting in; it was about choosing what parts of myself I wanted to amplify.

 The rituals I carried with me became my compass. Rearranging my room to mirror the one I left behind became a reminder of stability. Offering those respectful greetings became a way to ground myself in tradition, no matter how foreign my surroundings felt. These small, repetitive acts tethered me to my family, my values, and the authentic self I carried everywhere.

Every move unveiled new layers of my identity, shaped by the cultures, people, and landscapes I encountered. While the bustling metropolis honed my grit, tranquil hill stations instilled serenity in me. I gained resilience—not the kind that merely survives but the kind that thrives. The constant dance between holding on and letting go became an act of empowerment, a quiet declaration that I would shape my own sense of belonging.

In retrospect, I see that these cycles of leaving and returning were never just about movement. They were lessons in growth, in redefining what home means. For me, home is not just a physical space but the strength I have carried with me—the strength of a woman who has learned to belong wherever she stands.