As I draw the beautiful series of Awadh & The Season of Mangoes, on our official Instagram handle, to a close for this year, I would like to conclude it, by talking of how Chikankari travelled from Homes to Artisans, in our lived, recent history.

In these photos, I am wearing my Mother in Law’s Taagha (unreeled raw cotton thread), Chikankari saree, embroidered by her and my aunts in law, for the former’s personal use.

It’s a white beauty on Voile fabric, a popular choice, back in the 60s – 70s, for regular wear.

The saree has Ambi motifs all over the borders till the end, painstakingly embroidered with Shadow, Jaali and Hool. Its palla is embroidered so intricately and neatly, that it looks like lace! It has two distinct Ambis – one in border, like a running Mango artwork, and one in the Grand Ambi motif.

The saree has been worn by her for almost 60 seasons of Mango fruiting, and has now come to me.

It has yellowed in places with age, and is in a delicate condition. It will now be enjoyed and preserved by me, for oncoming seasons of the Mango.

My mother in law, and I got talking this summer, and as she handed me this treasure, she related the story of the culture of Chikankari done in old Lucknow homes.

She said, “Chikankari was first done in homes only, by the ladies of old families.”

I have heard this many times from my Taiji, mausis, older ladies, maternal grandmother, to know she is right!

These facts might not be documented officially, but they are the ones that still exist in lived realities, conveyed by memories, and sustained by regular practice.

After all, this is how we hand down family recipes, unguents, potions that heal, worshipping rituals, then why not textile traditions?!.

The very revered ancient Indian way of documenting – Smriti and Shruti.

Nothing is spoon fed through paper documentation, making it very easy for the undeserving to replicate and rapidly commercialise.

It is given by memory, conversations, heirlooms, and re-created, preserved and sustained by those who make the required effort! The knowledge will stay or disappear, as per the “Purushaartha” of the future generations!

If no one in the family seeks, a willing outsider from the family gets them.

If it is gatekept to just the family, and not shared with the willing one outside, the art itself halts; till the time someone does Tapasya (meticulous research, study, journey to learn, piece it back and allow the knowledge to dawn on you), and brings it back in practice, like Bhagiratha brought Maa Ganga to nurture this Earth.

We are a living derivative of our ancestors, after all.

It is the ancient Indian way of thinking, and might appear almost radical to the senses today, that rely on being spoon fed, over simulated and getting things easily, with the click of a button!

Coming back to the saree, my mother in law related, how the ladies would make a day of it.

They would take a manual rickshaw to Chowk, the old market of Lucknow, and buy yardages of Voile, Kota, Tanzeb etc.

Then they would go down to the Rangrez (the dyer), and get them dyed in desired colours.

After a couple of days, they would again collect their dyed sarees (or not, if they decided to keep them white), and visit the Chhapai gullies. There they would ask the Chappa wala to print their sarees.

He would make space for the ladies, and they would spend house choosing their motifs and getting them printed in the patterns they desired.

The oncoming days would be spent in finishing household chores, and sitting curled up with their beautiful projects, the sarees! They would chat, exchange anecdotes, even argue or quarrel, then laugh & make up, and embroider, cocooned in their own World.

I asked them why they did this, when they could certainly afford someone to embroider for them? Her simple reply was “And who taught them beta? Chikankari always travelled from homes to commercial spaces. Just like knitting, pickle & papad making. This is what we did.”

I was amazed at losing my own memory so quickly.

My own alma mater, La Martiniere Girls College in Lucknow, gave us the project of embroidering Chikankari kurtas for ourselves, in SUPW class. This was 1990s.

I remember going with my parents to Chowk, selecting a cotton fabric (cambric by now and pre dyed in soft pink), going to Chhapai unit, and getting it printed with motifs of shadow work only.

“Do shadow, you wont be able to do other stitches in such a short time, as you aren’t in the habit, and you are studying too,” Mummy remarked.

The shop owner, a perfect gentleman, offered to get it made and give it to us, that I could pass off as my own.

No! Came the reply in unison from all three of us.

“She will either make it, or leave it incomplete and get minus marks. She won’t pass off anyone’s work as hers,” said Papa. I completely agreed with him.

This is exactly what happened as well.

When the day of the school exhibition came, one line of work was left incomplete with the frame still on it, and needle thread also tucked in the fabric.

The teachers scolded me for not having completed my work, and I hung my head.

It taught me, that good work and intention, also requires meticulous planning to see light of the day. I thank them for teaching this important lesson in discipline!

Some girls did buy embroidered pieces directly from Chowk, and hung them. Some tried passing their elders work as theirs. The teachers gave them a sneering look and exactly delivered the verdict, disqualifying the pieces.

To the protestations that followed, they pointed to my work and said, “At least this one made the effort, even if just shadow and incomplete, her work is neat.” My hung head rose slightly at this reluctant praise, and I beamed sideways at a classmate, who gave a thumbs up to me quietly! I realised maybe I am not that hopeless after all.

How could I forget this entire episode? Is our brain now that over simulated?

Later our teacher, gathered us, and related how Chikankari, Leheriya, Mukaish, Bandhani, etc was earlier done in the homes of Lucknow.

She told us that ladies from more well placed families, in fact, taught them to the women of a burgeoning class of migrants from villages to the city.

This later empowered the newly settled in the city, women from the village, to open their own embroidery group, teach them, and create a commercial market, that thrives to this date.

Our teacher lamented that the World is moving to readymade garments, and she opined “All of you are training yourselves to get jobs in competitive offices. Will these arts die from homes? This is why I make you do them in SUPW, even though I know most of you don’t care.”

As she predicted, some parents later protested that such tedious activities, and  “obsolete concept” like SUPW must be disbanded for ladies who should later train to become doctors & engineers.

Science won. Art lost!

Now I am not saying we shouldn’t have studied to get into competitive fields, I just reflect, that it was such a time when both Science & Art, couldn’t survive in one’s life. Having one, meant letting go of the other.

Maybe, now this can be changed to bring back the balance of having both.

My mother in law related to me, how all ladies in the homes know Chikankari in her generation; but no one knows how to do it, just after that.

My older sister in law, who has seen around 75 summers, was known to make the best jaalis in the whole family.

When I telephoned and asked her, she was taken aback, momentarily, laughed nervously, and said, “Oh yes! I used to. Now who does all this. Maybe come over some time. I will show you.”

On asking my head artisan to verify this claim, of Chikankari travelling from homes to them, she said, “Of course! But, I thought this is common knowledge. Isn’t it now travelling from my home to further down? The pattern is in front of you.”

Yes, all this knowledge is always in front of us, but we try finding them in documentations, rather than pausing and reflecting on lived realities in our homes .

The author of this blog post is from Lucknow, and the views, opinions and experiences written here, are her own. She is the co-founder of Meiraas.