She waited 50 years for this Trajva – A wish that stayed quiet until it was time

In Gujarat, they call it a trajva, not a tattoo. It’s something every woman had. It isn’t fashion, it is identity” — Bhavna

Bhavna never saw herself as someone who’d get a tattoo.

But she always knew if she ever did, it wouldn’t be a trend. It would be a trajva.

She grew up watching her grandmother’s hands, lined with the ancient motifs of Kathiawad the tiger, the toran, the birds. She didn’t fully understand their meaning back then, but she remembered the feeling how beautiful they looked. How powerful her grandmother seemed.

And that memory stayed, quietly for decades.

A Wish That Stayed Quiet — Until It Was Time

Years passed. Bhavna became a wife, a mother, a homemaker.

She never said much about the trajva but the desire never really left. And in a way, her husband always knew. He was the first one in the family to get a tattoo. Then their son. Then her son-in-law. Then him again.

So one day, Bhavna told him what she truly wanted.

“I don’t want a tattoo. I want a trajva.”

And without hesitation, he said

“We’ll find something for you.”

Not a Replication. A Reimagination.

When Bhavna came to Aliens Tattoo, she didn’t want to copy her grandmother’s trajva.

She wanted something that felt like her. That carried the essence of her roots, while still being her own.

The design had six traditional symbols, each one chosen with love.

Toran. A tiger. Birds. The patterns that women before her had worn proudly.

Grishita helped refine the artwork. Khushboo became her artist.

“They worked with so much care,” Bhavna said. “It took them one and a half hours, but I didn’t feel anything. It just felt… right.”

A Mark That Meant More Than Words

There was no drama. No pain. No big moments. 

Just a quiet one, where something old returned. Something sacred was remembered.

 She looked at her hand and smiled.

“This is what I always wanted. This is for my grandmother. This is for me.”

At Aliens Tattoo, This wasn’t Just Ink.

This was tradition, passed forward. This was a story, finally finding its place — not on a wall, not in a book, but on the body it was meant for.

This was Bhavna, choosing herself, softly and strongly.

Some tattoos don’t scream.

They whisper.

And this one said everything.

---