Rakhi is much more than a thread

EACH year, the full moon of Shravan arrives, bringing the festival of Raksha Bandhan. Shops brim with colourful rakhis, advertisements fill newspaper pages and social media buzzes with posts as well as carefully staged photos. Sisters tie the sacred thread, brothers give a gift, a few polite exchanges happen and everyone then gets back to their busy lives.

It wasn’t always like this. When I was a child, Raksha Bandhan felt different. It wasn’t just about a thread; it was about an unspoken faith and understanding. A sister tied a rakhi not because the calendar told her to, but because she believed in the strength of that bond. For the brother, the promise to protect was never about one day; it was a lifelong presence. It was not a performance but a natural part of life.

Somewhere along the way, the sentiment has been replaced by formality. Today, the rituals remain, but their true meaning feels less substantial. For many families separated by cities and busy schedules, Raksha Bandhan has become an event to be managed, one more task on a long to-do list. A quick courier, a rushed video call with a polite “Happy Rakhi”, a photo uploaded on social media — and it’s done. What remains is often just a token — the thread and the gift — while the bond itself, the thing that mattered the most, risks thinning out.

And another change is hard to ignore: the festival has been commercialised almost beyond recognition. Once, a rakhi was a simple cotton thread, often handmade. Today, the market is full of beaded, gold-plated, musical, cartoon-themed and even LED-lit rakhis.

Advertisements remind brothers that love should be reflected in the size of the gift they give. In this glittering marketplace, the original sentiment — a bond of care and responsibility — risks being drowned out by packaging and price tags. The message has shifted from connection to consumption.

And yet, beneath the sparkle, marketing and formality, I like to believe the thread still matters. If we could set aside the obligation and ask ourselves simple questions: do we still make time for each other? Do we still notice each other’s struggles? Do we stand by each other, not just on this day but when it genuinely matters?

The festival was never meant to be about a thread or a gift. It was about a promise. A promise that says, “I see you. You are not alone.” If we can hold onto that promise, the thread — no matter how small — will always be enough. And in a world that feels more and more impersonal, perhaps that is the safeguard we need the most.