Ink of Connection: How Henna Drew Us Together at HSE Unity Fest
When I first came to Moscow from Pakistan to study at the Higher School of Economics, I carried more than just my suitcase filled with books, warm clothes, and a jar of homemade spice mix from my mother. I brought with me stories written in the language of culture — the fragrance of cardamom tea, the rhythm of Urdu poetry, and the art of mehndi — henna — that has traced patterns across generations of women in my family. Little did I know that one day, those swirling patterns of brown and gold would become a bridge between cultures, languages, and hearts at HSE Unity Fest.
The Night of a Thousand Lights
It was a cool, starry night — the kind Moscow saves for moments of celebration. The hall of HSE shimmered with fairy lights, music, and laughter. Every corner of the space had transformed into a miniature world. Each country had its own area — a stage of culture — where students proudly represented their heritage through food, dance, and song.
The aroma of spices mingled with the scent of sweet pastries and roasted meat. From one direction came the beat of African drums; from another, the melody of a Chinese guzheng. Laughter echoed, lights flickered, and colors spun through the air like a living kaleidoscope.
Our Pakistan counter glowed warmly under strings of lights, draped with green and white fabrics — the colors of our flag. Plates of biryani, samosas, and gulab jamuns filled the table, their aromas drawing curious visitors. I wore my traditional shalwar kameez, its fabric soft and familiar against the crisp Moscow air — a small piece of home woven into the night. Beside the food, I had laid out cones of mehndi, ready to share one of the oldest arts of our culture — the art of henna.
A Memory from Home
To me, mehndi was more than decoration; it was a memory of home. I remembered sitting beside my mother before Eid, watching her draw intricate flowers on my palms as stories flowed from her lips — stories of love, patience, and celebration. Henna was how we shared happiness. Yet, as I looked at the curious faces of students who had never tried it before, I realized this ancient art could speak a new language — one that transcended borders.
The Circle of Hands
Soon, our counter was surrounded by students, their faces glowing in the warm light of lanterns and fairy bulbs. Music from other booths filled the night — Russian folk songs blending with Latin rhythms, Korean pop, and Arabic melodies. Some students lined up for food, while others came closer to see the delicate designs forming on people’s hands.
“It’s temporary,” I reassured them, smiling. “But the connection it creates might last much longer.”
The first hand I decorated belonged to a Russian student. She watched intently as I drew fine lines forming a blooming flower.
“What does it mean?” she asked softly.
“In my culture,” I explained, “flowers in henna symbolize joy and new beginnings. We wear it during weddings and festivals to bring good luck.”
She smiled, tilting her hand to admire the wet design. “Then I’ll wear it for good luck in my exams,” she said, laughing.
That laughter — light, spontaneous, genuine — was the sound of connection. Soon, students from China, Taiwan, and Egypt joined in, asking for their own patterns. Each hand became a story, each design a small bridge between our worlds. The scent of henna mingled with the spicy warmth of Pakistani food, and for a moment, the hall felt like home — not just mine, but everyone’s.
Language Beyond Words
This is what HSE is about — learning to understand each other through what we create.
What struck me most was how something as simple as drawing on someone’s skin could dissolve invisible walls. Normally, language can be both a bridge and a barrier. As a student of foreign language teaching at HSE, I had spent months studying theories of intercultural communication — how gestures, tone, and cultural scripts shape understanding. But that night, beneath the music and moonlight, I learned more about connection than any textbook could teach.
When you apply henna, you must be gentle, attentive, and present. You cannot rush; each movement demands care. As I traced lines on unfamiliar hands, I found myself listening more closely — not just to words, but to silence, laughter, breath. Communication became tactile. It was not just about speaking another language but about feeling it — through patience, trust, and shared curiosity.
A Professor’s Words
At one point, a professor stopped as she watched me draw. “You’ve turned language into art,” she said softly. “This is what HSE is about — learning to understand each other through what we create.”
Her words stayed with me.
Later, as the music slowed and fairy lights dimmed to a golden glow, the henna on everyone’s hands began to darken. I walked around the courtyard, now calm after the joyful chaos. Everywhere I looked, I saw traces of unity — swirling designs, glowing faces, and the warmth of shared experience. A group of students from different continents compared their henna stains, teasing each other about whose pattern looked best. I realized then that mehndi had woven us together in a quiet, powerful way.
As I watched, I thought about the meaning of henna. It fades in a few days, yet leaves behind a memory — a faint, amber reminder that something beautiful once rested there. In many ways, so does intercultural exchange. The friendships we form, the lessons we learn, may seem fleeting, but their imprint remains, shaping who we are.
That night, I returned to my dorm, my fingers still stained in patterns of the day. I thought about how, back home, my mother would draw these same designs under a starlit sky, her hands steady and wise. Now, in a different land, I had become the storyteller, using henna as my language. I had carried a piece of my culture across borders, and in sharing it, found a home in others’ hearts.
The Lesson Beneath the Pattern
At HSE, I’ve come to understand that learning is not confined to classrooms. It unfolds in the rhythm of shared experiences — in laughter over tea, in group projects where ideas clash and blend, and in festivals where art speaks louder than words. The Unity Fest was not just an event; it was a mirror reflecting what HSE stands for — a living mosaic of cultures, ideas, and human stories.
In that mosaic, my contribution was small — a few drops of henna, a handful of designs. But it was enough to remind me that connection begins when we dare to share a part of ourselves.
Ink That Binds
Now, whenever I walk through the HSE hall, I sometimes catch sight of someone waving — and for a brief moment, I notice a faint trace of brown on their palm, a leftover from that night. It makes me smile. The ink may have faded, but the memory has not.
Henna taught me that communication does not always need words. Sometimes, it just needs an open hand.
And so, in that courtyard in Moscow, surrounded by dozens of languages and countless stories, I learned a quiet truth: that art, like education, is not about erasing our differences but celebrating them. That every line drawn — on paper, on skin, or in the heart — can become an ink of connection.
At HSE Unity Fest, henna didn’t just decorate our hands. It drew us together.
Shared by
Alizah Zaidi
