Put a pin in the nose: Unravelling the cultural journey of the ‘mookuthi’

A thin silver hoop. Sometimes a gold one. A tiny diamond. At times coloured stones in shades of reds, blues and pale yellows. Occasionally an intricate stud. Sometimes even a dangling from it. A minuscule canvas rarely over a single centimetre in dimension, yet carrying colours of desire, contexts, histories and stories - a nose pin or the ‘mookuthi’ is a tale as old as time.

 One of the earliest references to nose piercing can be traced back to the Bible where Genesis 24:47 speaks of Rebecca, soon to be bride to Isaac, son of Abraham - “I put the ring on her nose and the bracelets on her arms.” There is also documented evidence of hunter-gatherer communities like Indigenous Australians using kangaroo bones as nose ornaments. But at the same time, the stories and histories connecting you and me to the nose pin can also be as simple as discovering a cool piercing studio while travelling, or because you’ve been obsessed with Florence Pugh’s septum piercing for the longest time.

 But as with most things that are shiny and pretty and looks like you found it in an antique shop, there is often a backstory and sometimes it is good to be a little ‘nosey’ about it.

Pins, politics and empires in the Indian landscape

Contrary to popular belief, the practice of wearing nose pins did not originate in India, but South Asian culture definitely played an pivotal role in shaping the prominence of the ornament. As a well-established custom existing within Middle-Eastern communities, nose pins eventually found their way into the Indian subcontinent around the 13th century as the Mughal Dynasty rose to power. Founded by Babur, the Muslim empire flourished and the cultural fabric of the time was an indulgent mix of Persian, Turkic and Rajput (parallel Indian dynasty that existed in the same period) flavours.

Portrait of a woman wearing a nose pin during the Mughal Era. Image supplied/Akhila Thomas (Lady with a wine cup, Mughal Artist, perhaps Hunhar II, India, Art Institute, Chicago)

The Mughals brought and baptised nose pins as the ‘nath’ as it is commonly called in North India now, having since then become a fashion staple as part of traditional Hindu and Muslim bridal ensembles.

The nath pays homage to Goddess Parvati who dons the ornament and as wife and divine consort to Lord Shiva, she is the ultimate embodiment of the ideal married woman. By association, simple nose pins soon became emblematic of marital status.

Down south, the mookuthi - the word is derived from Tamil and directly translating to nose pin - became a pivotal part of the coming-of-age process. Getting a nose piercing was often the milestone marking a young girl’s transition into a woman, much like the messaging behind debutante balls.

Soon these seemingly unassuming ornaments came to symbolise caste, class and region-based divides as well. “Tamil Brahmins wear nose pins on the right and others go for the left. Northern India favours the left side of the nose, which Southerners prefer the right,” explains Sarath Selvanathan, designer and founder of Mookuthi, a jewellery brand that specifically caters to nose pins.

There are also accounts about the numerous health benefits of nose piercings in the ancient Ayurvedic text Sushruta Samhita. Piercing the nerve pathways located on the left nostril, much like how acupuncture functions, is believed to alleviate severe pain during menstruation and make child birth easier.

The nose pin’s rebellious route to the West

Given the unique style of the piercing, the mookuthi’s journey to the West was inevitable and thanks to Polaire, French singer and actress, it made quite an entrance in the Palace Theatre in New York City on March 24, 1913. Polaire’s American debut tour that year launched the nose ring as the latest, thrilling ‘mode’ that claimed headlines in newspapers and fashion magazines.

Posters and pamphlets showing Polaire wearing her controversial nose ring - Posted on the Facebook page of Satana’s Tattoo and Piercing . Image supplied/Akhila Thomas

In the 1960s and 70s, travellers seeking spiritual awakening and a peaceful retreat retuned from places like India, Nepal and other part of Asia with dainty nose pins and silver hoops. This further cemented the image of the nose pin as an essential aesthetic fixture of the Hippie Movement. 

Riding this wave of non-conformity and rebellion, the Punk and Goth subcultures eventually adopted the nose ring, using it to make strong visual statements in favour of anti-establishment ideals and bodily autonomy. These subcultural movements were responsible for making nose pins, especially septum piercings as mainstream as they are today.

 By the 1980’s and 90’s celebrities and artists across the West were flaunting nose pins and hoops as part of performances and music videos, making them a highly desirable fashion statement among young people.

 A subtle flavour of rebellion still plays into modern engagements with the nose pin and Sarath Selvanathan agrees.

 “Over the years, an underlying emotion observed in people coming in for a piercing is a kind of sweet rebellion, if I may say so. In one way or another, it is a decision to claim agency over one’s own body, to be unapologetically oneself,” he says.

 Navigating the contemporary cultural resonances of the mookuthi

 The mookuthi has certainly undergone tremendous transformation while finding its place in every cultural space it has been introduced to. Sarath’s response to this cultural evolution of the mookuthi, both in terms of design and desire for the piercing is that all we are doing is enjoying borrowed culture.

 Most of his designs for nose pins are a direct interpretation of the colourful Chettinad and Athangudi floor tiling, the intricate ‘kolam’ patterns (hand-drawn designs to decorate the ground outside houses as part of a morning ritual in South India) he grew up with and other childhood memories.

Athangudi style floor tiling seen in a heritage home in the Chettinad region - Snap Royce Photo Co. - stock.adobe.com. Image supplied/Akhila Thomas

“What we work towards is making culture relevant and personal to women today. As a child, when culture was thrust upon me, I rebelled. As an adult, the very same culture became a symbol of familiarity and comfort. I decided to treat it like clay, indulging in its nuances, instead of treating it as stone. As a brand Mookuthi follows this philosophy, where we attempt to make culture feel personal,” he says.

At the end of the day it all boils down to context. “Someone disliked one of the designs from our Kolam collection because it resembled the Nazi symbol to her, while someone else used the same piece to teach geometric progression to her class in a school in California,” he explains. (In the photo - One of the nose pins in Mookuthi’s Athangudi collection - Mookuthi)

My interest in nose piercings was largely fuelled by my long-standing obsession with Ravi Varma’s paintings that naturally extended to the jewellery pictured in them. All my friend Neha Kiran knew at the age of 11 when she got her nose pierced was that she loved the intricate nose pins on the classical dancers she grew up admiring, especially as a young dancer herself. As Sarath said, “To each their own - everyone has their own meaning, memory and identity associated with the mookuthi, and that in itself is the beauty of it all.”

Portrait of a lady making a garland by Raja Ravi Varma - Wikimedia Commons. Image supplied/Akhila Thomas

 In fact for Sarath, his journey with the ornament has been one of self-exploration. “Mookuthi as a brand has revealed my own femininity to me. As an idea that was born out of listening to stories women had to tell me, this journey has shown me emotions, empathy and experiences that would probably take me as close as I could possibly get to understanding what it takes to be a woman.”

 Looking back at the eventful journey of the nose pin, the roads were indeed long, paths paved by people from all walks of life, bricks in a million colours painting a palimpsest, the journeys were different, so were the stories told along the way - but the canvas remained, a one centimetre focal point where it all converges.

-Asia Media Centre