Devendra Budakoti
Human children remain dependent on their parents for much longer than most animals. Without proper care, they may remain limited to crawling or mimicking surrounding sounds. This prolonged phase of dependency makes caregiving all the more important — usually provided by a dedicated caretaker, often a family member.
In this context, the institution of marriage has traditionally laid the foundation for stability. A strong family structure not only supports the growth of the child but also strengthens the stability and unity of society at large. This system of kinship has played a vital role in preserving culture across generations.
Language serves as a key link in this process. A mother tongue is not just a medium of communication — it carries within it the essence of culture, tradition, and identity. As a Malaysian saying goes, “Language is the soul of a community”.
However, today in urban Uttarakhandi families, the second and third generations barely speak their native language. This change is not just about words — it signals the slow erosion of traditions and emotional bonds. When language disappears, so do our stories, songs, folk knowledge and sense of identity.
Take our traditional attire, for instance — kurtas, pyjamas, and dhotis — now seen only at weddings or some religious occasions. Even at cultural events, people tend to wear western or modern outfits. The language, food and clothing of today’s generation have taken on a distinctly cosmopolitan tone.
Marriage, once a sacred and familial rite, is increasingly turning into a social event. The first day’s Nautar — once filled with shared stories, memories and emotions among relatives — has now turned into a cocktail party in urban settings, lacking emotional connection.
The second day’s Bana-Haldi Hath, once a deeply emotional and traditional ceremony, especially for the bride’s family, has now become part of lighthearted banter. In the evening, there’s the Barat, Jaimala, dinner, and then the “Line Tod” (line break) ritual. The Saat Pheras — once considered the most sacred part of the wedding — are now limited to a handful of close relatives, while the larger event revolves around dancing, music and alcohol-fueled parties. The Indian wedding, once a sacred sacrament, has now become more of a fashion show and a source of entertainment.
Simultaneously, as people from Uttarakhand moved to cities for work and education, the traditional boundaries of caste and community began to blur. Estimates suggest that more than 50 per cent of young men and women now marry outside their caste or community. In the coming years, these “mixed” marriages will likely reshape kinship patterns, cultural identities and the very fabric of social structure.
As for development in the mountains — many people who returned to their villages during the Covid-19 pandemic have since moved back to the cities. This in itself speaks volumes about the lack of employment and opportunities in the mountains. Those advocating for “reverse migration” must confront this hard reality.
It is now time for concrete action. For example, Chakbandi — land consolidation — could be a crucial step toward making agriculture viable again. Along with that, the question of making Gairsain the permanent capital needs to be revisited with seriousness.
A small but meaningful initiative could be to organise an annual Gramotsav (village festival). This could bring families back to their villages at least once a year and may even spark interest among the youth in reconnecting with their roots.
The transformation of Pahadi society is not just a story of change — it is also a story of choices. Embracing modernity isn’t wrong, but holding on to our roots has now become a collective responsibility.
(The author is a sociologist and has been with the social development sector for about 40 years; views expressed are personal)
