Some dreams shouldn’t stay a dream!
As far as my memory supports, the first time I ever saw someone stitching was when I was 3. I was too young to understand that every piece of cotton dress I wore was stitched by a woman who left a slice of her identity across the border. I never got to ask whether she could bring a symbol of her mother’s memory or any sentimental attachments when she had to leave. Still, by the time I was 5, I realised she had an extraordinary talent for stitching, weaving and making the most adorable dresses for my cousins and myself. At 5, all I thought was, I wish we could buy a device where my grandmother could just write her imagined design and it would just print it within seconds. Thanks to life,
this is not impossible these days with technology and advanced AI after 20 years. Grown up now, I look back and regret not having the ability to comprehend that she brought with her something that no border restrictions can take away, nobody can destroy, nor can anyone put a price tag on this talent. The techniques she learnt from her origin, the skills she developed in her free time, and the knowledge and understanding she had of patterns and materials. But most importantly, the uniqueness of her work. These weren’t summer collections or winter editions of celebrated clothing shops with labels, the only piece only she could replicate. Her stitches had names I can’t recall now, and maybe it doesn’t matter because soon after her demise, globalisation and the internet would ensure all the rarities South Asia had to offer to not just the world, but share, complementing traditions and cultural exchange would just be a few clicks away. But what it probably couldn’t replace is her craftsmanship. The unique pieces that modernity has replaced, the ability to turn a leftover piece of cloth into her grandchild’s birthday dress. The visible impact on the quality of stitches that took shape in a form of art. Too precious to let go, even when we grew out of them, so it was passed on within siblings and cousins. Not related to affordability but rarity. Trust me when I tell you, all of us were asked where we got our outfits from, leftover laces and trimmed ends would end up being purses, hand mittens, baby cloths, hair accessories and beads into bracelets. The biggest question was: were these skills acquired only for hobbies and passing free time? Or is it a heritage, history and craft we’re losing in the name of fast fashion and mass production, compromising on quality, sustainability and creative touches. Wasn’t trend still a thing still back then? Why should it matter at all?
The little things matter
In South Asia, heritage often comes
wrapped in textiles but so do systemic
gender roles. Rajduti is reweaving this
narrative.
Made with care
Artisans put love and care into every piece
they create. It creates confidence,
personality and exchange of skills and
knowledge. The time and effort, passed on
through generations to ensure not just
creativity, but a security backup for
unstable times.
For generations, South Asian women, especially those in rural communities, have been the silent backbone of our cultural identity. Their hands have woven the fabrics, carved the details, and embroidered the memories of our heritage into existence. Yet, too often, they’ve remained invisible, undervalued, underpaid, and overlooked in the very narratives they’ve helped build. I believe preserving culture means preserving the people behind it. Empowering women and gender-diverse artisans is not charity or pity, it is restoration. It is recognizing that traditional craftsmanship is not just beautiful, but economically and culturally vital. These artisans are not just workers; they are custodians of heritage, and their leadership in the revival of ethical, heritage-rooted fashion matters deeply
When we lose these skills, we lose more than economic potential; we lose stories, languages, traditions, and feminine histories that rarely make it into textbooks. We lose a part of ourselves. Traditional South Asian techniques are at risk of extinction. Empowering the women who hold this knowledge means protecting heritage while creating sustainable income. What I wonder sometimes is if only we introduced these modern technologies to at least help guide these artisans, how much more financial stability these artists would be able to create. Infusing technology and creativity has historically shown possibilities for wonderful innovations. While you can’t put a price tag on art, there is no denying that financial autonomy allows women to make decisions that benefit their families, communities, and futures. It is one of the effective ways to reduce generational poverty.
Courtesy
Courtesy
I also believe that institutionalising this form of artwork, even if it is unofficial, should be valued, treasured and shared. When we create space for women and gender-diverse individuals to tell their own stories, we reshape what leadership, artistry, and influence look like in our region.
I go back to my grandmother, whose memory is still stitched in my heart with the glossy threads and her unique stitching styles. My only regrets, never asking or remotely showing interest in learning her ways; I would have been a proud legacy holder.
I surely know, somewhere my passion for adding heritage and traditional elements in fashion and style, even if it is through just a statement piece of jewellery, is heavily inspired by her.
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