Garland Magazine—The stories behind what wemake

#2 Back to the Garden

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With threaded needle I embroider Passersby question my tears My marriage arranged, no longer will I belong, but a foreigner be- Phulkari Song, Balran, Sangrur

Sangrur, Punjab

Head bent, dark strands of straying hair neatly clippedon the top of her head, her eyes were focussed on thefabric stretched within an embroidery hoop held in herleft hand. The right hand pulled a fine steel needle,threaded with a bright turquoise thread of shiny rayon,outward, to the far right of her shoulder, through acoarse vermillion coloured fabric, then back down into

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the fabric and out again. This rhythmic hand-dance wasenacted whilst Nisha sat crossed legged along with ahandful of young girls and women, on an old dhurrielaid out on the cement floor, in a rehabilitation centrerun by ‘Building Bridges India’, in the Sangrur district ofPunjab. This centre is located within the compound ofthe local Gurudwara in Balran, in the Moonak Tehsil ofSangrur, and these women come here to learn the art ofBagh and Phulkari embroidery.

Why were these women in a rehabilitation centre? Whywere they even learning an art that has traditionallybeen handed down from mother to daughter, in thisformalised way? Sangrur, a primarily farming district,suffered considerable loss through mass suicide offarmers. With at least one suicide a day for years, thenumbers were staggering and often left illiterate andmalnourished women, both young and old, burdenedwith their husbands’ debts, without any means ofearning. This Centre sought to rehabilitate these womenby teaching soft skills such as Phulkari work, whichdespite its deep cultural moorings had come intodecline. However, Nisha and the other women I metwith her were not victims of the mass suicides thatSangrur had been witness too. These women came tolearn a skill. It was not specifically about seeking tolearn the traditional art of Phulkari that their mothersand grandmothers no longer practiced, nor could teachthem. The skill was desirable as it could provide incomeand some independence through this.

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Cultivating an Interest

Historically, embroidery holds a very special place inIndia and there are so many different kinds of stitchesthat are classics. Ever since I started embroidering andusing this as an artist, beginning in 1995, I have beenkeen to research, write about and learn as many stitchesas I could. It was with this curiosity that I visited theexhibition of Phulkari at the Indira Gandhi NationalCentre of Arts, New Delhi in 2013. Although I amPunjabi by virtue of my cultural antecedents, I havenever lived in Punjab, nor was I familiar with thetraditional embroidery of this region. This exhibitionpiqued my interest, which was not as much for theembroidered shawls or chaddars that were on display,nor the catalogue text as anticipated, but for the womenwho were there to demonstrate their craft. In talking tothem, I became intrigued about the art of Bagh andPhulkari and also felt a deep sense of regret for notknowing much about this craft or its tradition—a lapsethat I sought to make up for, through the study andresearch I began then and have continued since. I hadnever been to rural Punjab, but in my quest to knowmore, to meet more artisans who did this embroidery, Iembarked on this journey to Sangrur. I had as my guideHarinder Singh, who is passionate about Punjabiyat orthe culture of Punjab and also collaborates with theCentre run by Building Bridges; and Abhishekh, a youngvideo-film-maker who was helping me record this

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journey, in collaboration with Still Waters Media/Bringhomestories.com.

Travelling through the rural landscape of Punjab in themonth of February when unprecedented rainfall hadmowed down the wheat crop, the poignancy of thecentre I was about to visit was brought home. Rainlashed against the car window pane, and on both sides ofthe road, field after field of tender green ears of wheatwere lying on their side instead of standing upright. Theturbaned, Sikh taxi-driver interrupted an otherwisesilent journey with intermittent, sombre commentsabout the incredible loss this would be to the farmers.The precariousness of their fate governed byunpredictable weather, now more than evident, wassomething I was now better able to empathise with.

Phulkari, literally meaning flower-work, was once thecelebrated art of rural Punjab. While the original work iscalled Bagh, where the fabric is completely covered withthread work, Phulkari work draws its technique fromthe Bagh embroideries, but is much lighter and themotifs and stitching are sparsely dotted over the shawlor chaddar. A lot of excellence in Indian traditionalcrafts has been lost in time as a rural economytransformed into an industrial and now digitally-drivenone. But, none has met with quite the same fate asPhulkari.

A daughter of Punjabi families, on both sides, and anembroiderer at that, I don’t know Phulkari work, but I

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am adept at cross-stitch and other such stitches passedon through the Irish nuns at the convent school I studiedin. I later picked up Kantha, which is the running stitchembroidery of Bengal and have even tried my hand atZardozi or metallic thread work, but didn’t considerlearning Phulkari. Basically, I had never seen thisembroidery being done around me, nor was anyonewearing this embroidered fabric, as I was growing up. Ihad been prodding my mother, now in her eighties, forinformation ever since I had seen the exhibition at theIGNCA. She never had anything to share and would gettired with my persistence. But then one day, when Iwalked into her room wearing a brightly colouredPhulkari, which I had picked up on some recent travels,she chided me for not getting her one. And then, as sheheld the embroidered fabric in her hands, fingerscaressing the threads, admiring the fabric, my mothervoiced a lament. She said that Phulkari was never reallyvalued much when she was growing up. Mygrandmother, she revealed, had more interest in cookingthan embroidery and the only Phulkaris she couldrecollect in her childhood years, were a couple thatserved as covers for large steel trunks used for storingthe family woollens during the long and hot summermonths of Delhi.

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Re-Presenting Phulkari in theContemporary World

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Manish Malhotra, 2014, photo courtesy of 1469

The limited practice, of a rather diluted version of therich repertoire of motif and the passion that had beenprevalent in undivided Punjab, had not been vibrantenough to draw my attention as professional textiledesigner. And, as a matter of fact, it was not until 2013that the fashion world even took note of this embroiderycrafting tradition, when Manish Malhotra’sAutumn/Winter collection Threads of Emotionshowcased Phulkari and Bagh work in Western andethnic wear for both men and women. In the same year,he also designed the wardrobe for actress Kareena

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Kapoor, using Phulkari embroidery, for the Bollywoodfilm Jab We Met.

It was also 2013, in April, at the Indira Gandhi NationalCentre for Arts in New Delhi, that I met some womenwho had travelled from Tripri, the modern-day hub ofPhulkari-work, near Patiala. They were in Delhi todemonstrate this art. All of them said that they hadlearned to do Phulkari embroidery out of choice, to fulfilan aspiration, but today, they did this work out ofnecessity and only to earn and keep a roof over theirheads. Each had stories to tell about errant husbandsand hardships borne. Bakshi Rana and Parvati Maasihad come to India from Pakistan at the time of Partitionand had stories to tell about that too, even though theywere very young at the time. The embroidery done bythem during the demonstration was very sparse andmostly used the Holbein stitch employed in Choperather than the fuller darning stitch of the rich Baghthread-work of yore.

Later that same year, another exhibition entitled TheSacred Grid was curated by Jasleen Dhamija anddisplayed at Gallery Art Motif, New Delhi. Theembroidered shawls or wraps were culled from thecollection of Chote Bharany, showcasing some exquisiteexamples of the kind of craftsmanship that this art-formhad seen. Mr. C. L. Bharany grew up around historiansand collectors such as Stella Kramrisch, Dr. MotiChandra and Karl Khandawala, to name a few,developing a fine sense of appreciation of Indian art.

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And today, he owns one of the finest collections of Baghsand Phulkaris that were done in nineteenth and earlytwentieth century, undivided Punjab. In 2014, theNational Museum in Delhi showcased the BharanyCollection which had been donated to the Museum in1976. A Passionate Eye, curated by Giles Tillotsan,featured textiles along with paintings and sculptureswith some vibrant Phulkaris among them. All of this wasinstrumental in inspiring me to know more.

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The Romance of Embroidery in Punjab

Jasleen Dhamija, 2015 photo Abhishekh Anid Dutta,Bringhomestories.com

Jasleen Dhamija is a well-known textile historian and

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also a family friend—in fact a childhood play mate of mymother. Her personal history and involvement with theart of Phulkari, with memories of her grandmother inAbbotabad (Pakistan) a direct contrast to my ownmother’s recollections, became added impetus andinspiration for my continued research of this art,especially from the perspective of an embroiderer.Jasleen recounts her grandmother daily spinning cottonyarn, for weaving the fabric that would later beembellished, while reciting the Gurbani or Pothwarisongs from her childhood—of fondly selecting thecoloured silken threads bought from itinerant Afghanisellers, before deciding on the designs to beembroidered. Dhamija brings her nostalgia for the craftand its romance in the by-gone years, telling us of storiesand songs sung by the women as they sewed, throughwhich she creates a rich narrative of the atmosphere andengagement that lovingly crafted these thread-masterpieces. This fount of lore is a distinctively variantto the stories told by the women embroiderers that Ihave met.

Jasleen tells us that Bagh embroideries, from whichPhulkari is derived, emulate and re-create the chowk -the multiple squares which create the grid that housesthe nakshatras or nine planets, which traditionalastrologers tell us govern our lives. This sacred grid isthe base upon which the altar, the temple, the churchand traditional townships were created. In the case ofthe Baghs, the base of the woven cloth—its warp andweft—is the basis of the sacred grid upon which the

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embroiderer created multiple squares, within squares,creating a rich and powerful pattern. There are fewwomen alive who can tell us what significance these lushfabrics actually had in their lives. Some researchers aresceptical about any significance at all, citing that if thesewere indeed considered family heirlooms, they wouldhave been handed down the generations and thereforewe should be able to see them in the villages of Punjab.But most villages don’t have any of the elaborate Baghsto show. What pieces we do see form part of connoisseurcollections or are available in stores such as 1469, whohave a small presence in New Delhi, Chandigarh andAmritsar. These Phulkaris that are available for sale inthe stores have been purchased from old Punjabifamilies who no longer had any use for them.

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With a Song on Their Lips

In Sangrur, I met seventy-five-year-old Karnael Kaurwho recounted doing Phulkari as a young girl. She saidthat she had inherited about twenty and made about fiveof her own, but had distributed most as now there wasno real value for them. She said that people were notinterested in the elaborately decorated Baghs butpreferred to be given clothes. She brought two pieces tothe Centre, to show us, but they were rather sparselyembroidered. She also narrated that as a young girl,embroidery had been a daily ritual. Each day, aftercompleting the household chores and tending to the

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buffalos that each family had in their homes, she, alongwith her cousins and sisters, would sit in the villagecourt yard Pind ke gate ke peeche [behind the main gateof the village] singing and sewing. The rhythmicmovements of stitch-work lend themselves well tosinging, and throughout history the women of Punjabhave embroidered with a song on their lips.

Phulkari Song

In 1984, while working on a college assignment, I cameacross the writings of historian Ananda K.Coomaraswamy, whose thoughts on the practices inancient Indian art became a strong influence. It was notuntil much later that I was actually able to understandhis ideas, but the impression held strong and as Imatured as a textile designer, I began to understand thesignificance of the things he wrote about. He stressedthat the “inseparable unity of the material and spiritualworld”, such as is evident in the story narrated byKarnael Kaur, was the foundation of Indian culture thatdetermined “the whole character of her social ideals”.He said that the artist was not a special kind of person,but everyman a special kind of artist, otherwise less thana man. He tells us that Vedic art was practical, where the“carpenter, metal-worker and potter and weaverprovided for man’s material requirements” and thatpoetry was also practical, “designed to persuade thegods to deal generously with men.”

Stepping back in time, listening to Karnael Kaur

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reminisce about her childhood reveries as she workedwith needle and thread, I imagine women in everycorner of Punjab, stitching the poetry of the songs theysang as the poetic of thread. I see them in my mind’seye, just like young Nisha in Balran, concentrating withutmost attention, counting warp and weft threads,inserting the threaded needle in and out, in and out,with a song on their lips—not unlike a ‘dhyaan mantra’where worshippers invoke a chosen deity, offeringprayers and themselves as devotees in service of thedeity.

A Bagh exhibited at ‘The Sacred Grid’ exhibition, thatmade an impact upon me, was the mysterious labyrinthor ‘Bhul Bhulaiya’ Bagh. It was a richly coloured shawl[48 x 98 inches, 222 x 250cm] from nineteenth centuryPunjab and the words of this song were displayedalongside it

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Meh bhul gayi I have lost myself Meh ous di yad I have flowed wich dub gayi into his being

The song voices a sentiment that reflects a longing tomerge with the Divine. Immersed in creating a complexrectangular-like coiling form, someone’s plaintive voice,soulfully singing, of losing herself and flowing into his orits being, was the almost audible whisper of threads,tenderly laid, so closely together. Embroidered withuntwisted silk in colours off-white, saffron, yellow and apinkish-red, more magenta than crimson, it was areflective piece. I could not just admire its skilfulembroidery, it made me think much deeper than thecolourful threads laid on the surface of the cloth.

It is curious that a labyrinthine form would becomesomething to reflect upon. However, this labyrinth wasnot just a simple coiling form that started from onepoint, around which lines and then more lines wereencircled. This sharp-edged, almost rectangular-shapedcoiling form actually had three parts, all of whichcommenced at a central point in the shawl and each linethen worked its way around this. The three-pronged coilmade me consider if this was indeed the work of asolitary maiden or if three women had worked upon ittogether. A dramatic change in colour, of the lines, fromred to white or yellow to white, at the sharp angle where

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the lines turned, added to the complexity of thelabyrinth. And, in trying to fathom which began where,the viewing eye did lose its focus, compelling a momentof almost involuntary reflection upon the self. At leastthat was my personal experience as I looked at thispiece, admiring its many facets.

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The Essential Fabric

History tells us that the plains of Punjab were richcotton-growing areas and almost every village had asettlement of weavers who wove the hand spun yarnprovided by their farming neighbours, in exchange foragricultural produce. Spinning was a householdoccupation. This tradition, of the craftsman as “anorganic element in the national life, as a member of avillage community”, as mentioned by Coomaraswamy,continued to some extent, well into the early 20th

century but gradually fell into decline.

The untwisted skeins called pat that were used asembroidery thread for Phulkari work, were importedfrom Afghanistan, Kashmir and Bengal. This silk wasexpensive and therefore not wasted on the reverse of thecloth. Looking at the backs of the densely embroideredBagh chaddars, one can see minute, intermittent, sparsestitches, making it difficult to imagine the richness of theembroidery on the other side of the fabric. To evolve askill of this nature and cover a large fabric, usually 4 x 8

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feet (122 x 244cm) in dimension, in lush thread-workwith precision and skill, implies that this art evolvedover many, many years of carefully consideredworkmanship. Its loss is all the more heartfelt because ofthis.

The stitches were made by counting the threads of thewoven structure of the cloth and were typically made atright angles so that the embroidered patterns reflectedlight, according to the direction of the stitches. Althoughdifficult to imagine through static photographed images,the gentle folds and crease of the shawl when draped,would heighten the quality of light reflected off thesilken yarn. And this is seen to optimum effect in thepatterns of the Chandrama Bagh and Dibiyo-wala-Bagh.Although the basic stitch was a darning stitch, a Holbeinstitch was also used for the Phulkari called Chope andseveral other stitches were also employed for outliningmotifs and edging the piece.

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The Chope and Sainchi Phulkaris

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Detail of a Chope, photo by Gopika Nath

The Chope with its double-sided architectonic pattern,temple motif and bold, stylized peacocks is quite distinctfrom other Phulkari and Bagh embroideries. Stitchedwith golden-yellow thread on a maroon khadibackground, the resplendent peacock associated withmarital love, longing and desire, calls out to its mate andto the dark, hovering clouds to bring rain and fertilisethe earth. Writing about this Phulkari style in the SacredGrid catalogue, Dhamija tells us that the Chope is alsoassociated with the rainy season when the peacock callsout to the dark clouds to descend to the earth andfertilise it.

Sawan da mahina In the month of rain Mor kare

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shor vay the peacock cries incessantly Jiya mera asianache My heart dances, not unlike Jaise nila morevay the blue peacock [Its longing for union with thebeloved is implied]

Despite the absence of the dazzling hues of peacockfeathers in the maroon and gold Chope, its patternrecalls the essence of this folk song, which was morethan likely sung by the women as they sat together, eachcreating their own tapestries of desires to be fulfilled orexpressing a longing that matched that of the yodellingpeacock.

In my research into Bagh and Phulkari embroideries ofPunjab, studying the various designs and patterns, Ihave come to liken them to paintings with a narrativethat is either abstract or in the manner of naive painters.They are filled with stories – untold stories, storiescreatively presented or those that could not be told, butstories that unfolded in the lives of the women thatembroidered them and the families they embraced andwhich embraced them. While Muslim women followedthe dictates of Islam in eschewing any kind of figurativerepresentation, Hindu women were not bound by anysuch code which allowed them to create figurativepieces such as the Sainchi Phulkari. This type ofPhulkari, was done by the women of Haryana and EastPunjab and was closely linked to the mother goddesslocally known as Sanjhi. She is associated withagriculture and is worshipped during the Navratras –nine days and nights of worshipping the goddess. The

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women created the presence of the goddess on the wallsof their homes with colour and clay tiles and she wasalso the inspiration behind the Sainchis. These wrapswhich depict daily village life with its trials, tribulations,joys and aspirations are unlike the geometric andabstract patterns on Bagh chaddars.

The elaborate geometrical designs seen in theembroidered Baghs reflect the Islamic restraint ondrawing of figurative form. However, Sainchisincorporate human figures, animals, flowers and birds,presenting a rich repertoire of designs depicting scenesof everyday life. These are interspersed with stories ofepics and myths as well as personal aspirations anddesires. Each design is an individual work of art,together forging a collective voice of the region. Theseneedle-worked tapestries incorporate elements of socialand national history as well as denoting images ofprogress that bring in colourful imagery of railway-trains carrying people. Some even include aspects ofcolonial life and the integration of the British intoeveryday life of the Punjab region, such as playing agame of Chopat with the locals, where even Godsparticipate. Some Sainchis also portray scenes from locallegends such as the epic love story of Heer and Ranjha,whose romance is associated with Sufi traditions, as wellas that of Sassi and Punnu. While the Baghs with theirmore geometrical patterns are reminiscent of abstractpaintings, the Sainchis are more like visual folk-talesrich with historical events and a cultural past. I find thatthe two deviant styles complement each other and lend

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insight into how cultural differences coexist.

A rare Sainchi on an indigo background, from theBharany collection shown at the Sacred Grid exhibition,2013, is embroidered to simulate the dotted bandhani ortie and dyeing technique where peacock figures arefeatured in pairs with snakes between them.Traditionally this represented the sun and netherworld.Peacocks are sun-birds, also considered the enemy ofsnakes. While the Baghs are sublime in their abstractrepresentation of the grid, the Sainchis are brimmingwith details of human life—everyday activities of thehousehold interspersed with jugglers, wrestlers,mendicants and British officers along with myths andlegends. Another unusual and bold Sainchi depicts thepresence of the mother goddess Shakti through the useof lions—her vehicle or vahana. It is hand-sewn onmadder-dyed khadi and has a profusion of men, womenand animals. Pink and saffron dominate the colourpalette with occasional threads in yellow and off-white.The overall effect is visually quite compelling eventhough the imagery is naive and does not have quite thesophistication of the Bhul Bhulaiya [Labyrinth], BavanBaghs [of fifty-two patterns] and Darshan Dwars, whichrecreate doorways to worship. In another Sainchi withan unusually large lotus motif in the centre representingthe sun, the embroiderer has added a clock to the mix offigures in the central panel, depicting a desire to controltime or perhaps inspired by the novelty of a newlyacquired item. A range of jewellery that dots the clothcanvas could be indicative of longing for what she does

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not have. These sewn, thread jewels form an elaborateghungat that is to be worn across the forehead.

Despite the romance surrounding these embroideriesthat celebrate country life, human and soul union, thePhulkari chaddar was not a delicate fabric. Asmentioned earlier, the plains of Punjab were rich cottongrowing areas. Spinning was a household occupationand the weavers in each village wove the hand-spunyarn, provided by their farming neighbours, in exchangefor food. The fabric was woven on a basic pit loom.Whether or not the coarseness of the fabric wasintentional or something that the women made the mostof, in terms of using the openness of the weave to do“counted thread work”, is not known. This robust, thick,almost coarse fabric was needle-crafted with untwistedsilk. And the fine-craftsmanship of the embroiderer’sneedle, as she counted each thread of the warp and weftbefore inserting it to lay the lustrous silk on the fabric’ssurface, never lets us see this coarse fabric withoutintent. Traditionally, four colours of khaddar weregenerally used and each colour had its own significance.White was used by old women or widows, young girlsand brides-to-be wore red, while blue and black werekept for daily use. Three to four narrow loom clothswere joined to form the complete shawl, typically 4 x 8feet (122 x 244cm) in size. In some areas, particularlyWest Punjab the strips were first embroidered and thenjoined. In East Punjab, the panels were usually joinedfirst and then embroidered across the whole clothincluding the seams, for a more coherent design. The

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predominant colours of silk used were gold and ivory –referred to as marigold and jasmine, or wheat andbarley – reflecting the agricultural tradition of theregion.

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Thirma

Detail of Thirma, photo by Gopika Nath

In north Punjab, another tradition developed which wasknown as Thirma, signifying a white coloured basefabric. This was made exclusively by Hindus and Sikhs.The Thirma was an essential part of a Punjabi girl’swedding trousseau. Its characteristics were red, pink,

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purple, indigo or green thread stitches on a whitekhaddar base. In some pieces, large-scale trianglesinterrupt the long border on opposing sides. Placing ofthese triangles is significant, for when worn by a bride,the triangle falls over her head, symbolizing theauspicious tilak worn on the forehead. A nineteenthcentury Thirma from the north-west region of Punjab(Bharany collection) uses the negative spaces betweenthe bright pink threads to expose the off-white fabric ithas been embroidered on. This brings out the graphiceffect of the pattern. The entire surface of this odhani isdecorated with a lozenge structure on finely woven off-white cloth. The darning stitch with silk threads createsa glistening crimson-pink field, which is consideredauspicious. At the centre of each lozenge, two motifsdepicting the ear of the wheat plant are embroideredwith green thread. The wheat ears are reflective not justof an agricultural tradition, but also carry blessings forfecundity and wealth.

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No Longer a Labour of Love

When I heard about the Phulkari exhibition at theIGNCA, I was told that there was also a group of womenwho had come to demonstrate Phulkari. I was very keento meet someone doing Phulkari in the contemporarycontext. And that was how, in the month of April, in2013, I met Lajwanti, Parvati Maasi, Prito Aunty andBakshi Rana who had travelled from Punjab to

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demonstrate Phulkari embroidery. But, when I heardtheir stories, I realised that they had travelled muchfarther than that. They had all learned Phulkari out ofchoice. It was an aspiration, but none of them did thiswork today for the love of embroidery. They said it wasmajboori that they had to do it in order to earn, to keephome and hearth alive. There was no passion for thecraft. Prito, recounted how she had made her owndowry, yet also spoke of the work she did today asmajboori. When I asked what she would do if she had allthe money she could ask for, her reply was ironical. Shesaid she would like to buy these fabrics—the Phulkaristhat were on sale in the demonstration area—like shehad seen us urban women purchase. She was born inKinnaur village, district Patiala, around 1963. Herparents were poor and did majdoori, mostly makingmanjees. Her mother also earned doing someembroidery work. Although traditionally this art waspracticed mostly as a personal pursuit and notsomething for profit or sale, it was not uncommon forwealthy families to get others to do it for them, eventhough they themselves had learned Phulkari work, andthat was how Prito became exposed to and learned theart. Prito had embroidered chaddars and dupattas aswell as woven punja dhurries to take to her new home.Tinged with sadness, her recollections of this did notcarry any of the romance and nostalgia evoked byDhamija in her recollections.

The Phulkari and Bagh shawls made and worn by thewomen of Punjab, were enormously popular from 1850-

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1950 AD. But where did these exquisite embroideriesoriginate from? Not much is known about the beginningof this tradition, but it is thought that the art of Bagh andPhulkari embroidery came into India with the migrationof the Jat peoples from Central Asia. According toancient European historical records and archaeologicaldiscoveries, the possible forefathers of the modern Jatswere the Scythians, Samaritans and Alans. This traditionof thread decoration, popularised in Punjab, could alsohave drawn inspiration from Gulkari embroidery ofIran, which also means “floral-work”. The word Phulkarifirst appeared in Punjabi literature in the eighteenthcentury and Waris Shah’s historic poem Heer Ranjhadescribes Heer’s trousseau enlisting items of Phulkari.But there are no surviving pieces from before the 1850s.John Grisham, writing on the shawls of Punjab saysthere are apparently no references to Bagh or Phulkariin classical Indian literature, nor are there any survivingpieces from before the 1850s.

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Chandrama Bagh and Wari-da-Bagh

The Chandrama Bagh, or moonlit garden, is one of themost exquisite of Bagh designs and was generallyworked on an indigo dyed background, with a lustrouswhite silken thread creating the silvery surface of themoon. The Chandrama Bagh, we are told, was atreasured family heirloom. In a nineteenth centuryodhani from Punjab, the varying directional movements

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of the stitches create a rich lustrous effect bringing tomind the luminous glow of a full moon. Closerexamination of the lozenges creates a rich variation ofthe sacred grid.

In the midst of this large expanse of a glowing white, asolitary, dark motif draws the viewer’s attention. Is it fornazar—a protection from the evil eye? Or is it theeclipse of the moon? While I like the idea of the latter, itis most likely that the dark motif was intended to wardoff evil, more so since the Baghs were embroidered bywomen for their wedding trousseau or by the olderwomen of the family for their daughters andgranddaughters, to be gifted at their weddings. Thisodhani, from the Bharnay collection shown in theSacred Grid exhibition, is finished with a four sidedborder in the rich colours of gold, representative ofSurya or the sun with occasional hints of pinkish-red,indigo blue and a dull shade of pale, greenish-gold.Although referred to as the Chandrama Bagh, the whiteluminescence of the moon, offset by the colours of thesun, presents a subtle canvas of night giving into day orvice versa. Either way, for the woman who conceivedand embroidered this, even the dark night is apparentlyfilled with light.

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Detail of Ghunghat, Wari-Da-Bagh, photo by GopikaNath

As one entered the Sacred Grid exhibition, the wallimmediately in view, in front, was covered in its entirewidth and length with three gorgeous Baghs measuringapproximately 48 x 96 inches (122 x 244cm) each. In thecentre was an exquisite Wari-da-Bagh. Every inch of thebase fabric was covered in rich golden-yellow silkevoking Surya, the sun, and its invigorating, life-restorative force. The Wari-da-Bagh, as the legend goes,was begun the moment a male child was born, to begiven to his bride as she entered her marital home.Traditionally, the young bride was wrapped in thispowerful fabric embroidered with prayers, dreams andgood wishes, by the groom’s grandmother. The golden

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Bagh often has a smattering of red and blue-black whichsignifies the presence of the tri-gun or three elementsthat form an essential part of our being. Satvik is usuallypresented as yellow for joy, harmony and meditation;red is representative of rajas evoking the powerful andpassionate, with blue-black alluding to tamas which isseen as turgid, deep and all enveloping. Dhamija tells usthat a Wari-da-Bagh can also narrate the family history,where yellow would also signify a harmonious family.She says that through colour variations in theembroidery changes in family life were indicated, wherea moment of joy was implied by the use of red and anembroidered passage in blue-black could reflect a senseof loss.

As I stood looking at the Wari-da-Bagh and pondered onthe romantic notions that surround much of Phulkarilore, I could not help but think of Bakshi Rana, one ofthe artists from Tripri. A refugee of Partition, at the ageof nine years, she had begun doing Phulkari embroiderywhen she was about fifteen years of age. Watchingothers—ik umang jaag uthi— a desire came into beingand she thought she would like to do it too – make somefor her own dowry perhaps. Around the same time, shewas married off to her dead sister’s husband, herbrother-in-law, and widowed five years later at the ageof twenty. This marriage had been arranged to take careof her sister’s children who otherwise may have had todeal with a step-mother who may not have cared aboutthem. Of all the four women I met at IGNCA, BakshiRana seemed the saddest and wore a really haunted

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look. Her sister had four or five children whom shebrought up as her own. As I listened, I couldn’t helpthinking, what a life! There was this fifteen-year-oldwith that faint desire in her heart to do some colourfulembroidery work, reflecting upon and expressing heryoung hearts dreams and desires, when her sister diesand the responsibility of her sibling’s family falls on heryoung shoulders. She doesn’t have the luxury ofchoosing her spouse or the pleasure of bearing her ownchildren, so where then lies the possibility for expressingdesires and aspirations? The mind possibly shuts downall its imaginative faculties when faced with suchcircumstance.

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Partition and Phulkari

When I consider the stories of these women, thehardships they had born, it is no wonder then, thatumang turned into majboori, where the Bagh andPhulkari work of dreams and aspirations gave way to therelatively lacklustre work done today. It makes mewonder whether things would have been different ifPartition had not happened. If life had not beendisrupted through the rather traumatic displacement ofPartition and these women had stayed on in theirvillages in Pakistan. Would they have had differentstories to recount? Would the history of Phulkari haveread differently?

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My father’s family were from the fortress town ofMultan, but in my family, Partition and life in what isnow Pakistan has not been spoken of much. However,through a lot of probing I did manage to unearth somerather distressing experiences faced by two of myfather’s four brothers. The youngest recalled his journeyas a teenager of seventeen years, travelling by trainalone, from Multan to Lahore, where the single mostimportant thing had been to find a safe place to hide,inside trunks or some such, during the night, fearing forhis life. The mood was savage and each night peoplewere massacred on the trains that were crossing over toIndia and Pakistan. Another, older brother, an officer inthe Indian army, travelled by bus to meet other familymembers travelling from Pakistan, and counted eighteento twenty dead bodies for every mile, from Ambala toAmristar—Muslims slain by Hindus and Sikhs. Herecounted one Sikh waving a bloodied sword, shoutingout loud, “chuha nussriya si, maar ditta” (“Thatscuttling mouse, I killed him!”)

Urvashi Butalia in her research interviews, published inThe Other Side of Silence, has also recorded brutalatrocities that came to pass where daughters andmothers were drowned or burned alive, ostensibly toprotect them. And one has heard and read other recordsof violence perpetrated at the time, but, to hear it fromfamily members, who saw and survived it, sent shiversdown my spine. While recalling her experience ofPartition, one of the elderly embroiderers, Parvati,started singing: “Bande teri zindagi Waghe nadiya da

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paani, chaar din di bahar, ho hoshiyaar bandeya,nahin toh royega zaro zaar bandeya” voicing profoundwisdom, reminding herself, and all of us, that our livesare like the waters of the river Wagah, whose preciousdays of bliss may flow without us realising it. So, bepresent and enjoy each day for whatever it brings,otherwise we may shed tears in regret for the rest of ourlives, for this might be the best we get. In this, shereiterates the ideas propounded by Coomaraswamy thatphilosophy, in the Indian realm of thought, “is the key tothe map of life”. Where it is not merely an intellectualpursuit, but it is regarded with deep conviction thatthrough this lies freedom from ignorance or avidya,which masks the reality of being, towards salvation ormoksha.

Phulkari has been one of the biggest losses of Partition,in terms of a cultural practice and heritage which wentinto decline and near oblivion after the devastating fall-out of independence in 1947. An art that was cultivatedprimarily to create the trousseau and dowry of younggirls, who mostly embroidered the shawls and chaddarsthemselves, the traumatic events before and afterPartition cannot have been conducive to flower-workthat celebrated life and its cherished dreams, when somuch unnatural death and heart-searing devastationhad been seen in the region. The Punjabi community isrenowned for its get up and go attitude—of not lettingthe past affect them. But in the realm of thisembroidery, it seems that the past has played asignificant role in not continuing this vibrant tradition.

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Where so many daughters were drowned and burntalive, it is possible that the women questioned the meritof the nazar and prayers that were sewed into theseshawls, gifted to young brides.

But, there have been pockets where Phulkari and Baghembroideries were carried on, albeit in a moreprofessional and commercial way. Paradoxically, thisalso contributed to the decline from the kind ofexcellence seen in the older pieces. Work done forannas and paise rather than with the excitement andanticipation of embroidering your own garden ofdreams, had to incorporate a detached engagementresulting in less soulfully embroidered fabrics. Unlikeblock printing, weaving and other textile arts,embroidery work such as Phulkari is heavily investedwith the passion and presence of the person handlingthe needle and thread.

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Phulkari Today

The embroidered chaddars and shawls that wereproduced in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuryare not part of the contemporary pieces we see in themarket-place today. While drawing from this richtradition in terms of stitch vocabulary, they haveexpanded the colour palette to include a wide range ofmuch brighter hues. The base fabric and thread too havechanged from the earlier robust khadi to translucent

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georgettes and polyester-silks with rayon threadreplacing the mulberry-silk threads used earlier. Themotifs, however, are more judiciously placed, so theground fabric gains greater significance. The darningstitch is used with the Holbein stitch of the earlierChopes, but not to cover the entire fabric as a younggirl’s garden of dreams, but as fillers for motifs sparinglyplaced on the fabric. The resultant effect, with anunlimited colour palette and meagre stitch-work isgaudy, and lacks the over-all sophistication of the earlierwork.

During my visit to the Sangrur District, on the way backto Delhi, we made a brief stop in Patiala, where I boughta couple of Phulkari stoles at the renowned, bustlingmarket of Adalat Bazaar. This market is located in whatwas once the Qila Mubarak complex, built in 1763 by AlaSingh, founder of the Patiala dynasty. At one time, thisfort also housed the royal family of Patiala. This bazaarhas lanes filled with shops that sell the cheaperPhulkaris. The main gate of the Mubarak fort is all butlost in the hustle-bustle of the popular bazaar, wherevibrant, multi-coloured, diaphanous embroidereddupattas flutter in the breeze, hanging alongside otherbrightly coloured wares. And shopkeepers stand outsidetheir stores to tempt custom, chanting fervent eulogiesabout quality of their product. 1469, a small chain ofstores run by Harinder Singh and his wife Kiran,specialises in all things Punjabi. In their effort to re-create some of the lost glory of Bagh embroideries, theywork closely with Building Bridges India, in Sangrur, to

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make small key chains in the tradition of the Baghs ofyore. The girls at this centre are unable to do much morethan two to three inches of this fine work. And unlikethe women in history, who worked from the back,counting the warp and weft threads, these young girlshave the design printed for them and there is no needfor them to count the thread or work from the back ofthe fabric.

March 2015, my attempt at Phulkari, counting thethreads, but working from the front, photo by GopikaNath

On my return from Balran, I was keen to try my hand atPhulkari work in the traditional way, working from theback and counting the warp and weft thread. I procured

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some dark coloured casement where the gap betweenthe warp and weft were significant enough to count andinsert a threaded needle. I was determined to do thisand struggled for over an hour without actuallymanaging to do much. The diagonal stitch wasimpossible but,finally, I did manage a small horizontalband, with vertical upright stitches of about one-inch-long and across four threads vertically. It was anachievement, even though I could not work from theback. This little experiment has remained at that level,because I realised just how much commitment wasrequired to learn the art. It also heightened myunderstanding of the enormous skill and passion thatthe women of yesteryear Punjab had imbued this craftwith. The loss, in the kind of skilled work once done, ispoignant because it is not just the loss of an excellence ina craft, but of a practice that imbues life itself with muchgrace.

Established in 2003, the Nabha Foundation in Nabha,district Patiala, is also working to develop the finernuances of Bagh embroidery, where the girls have beentaught by one of the few women in the region who knewthe art and had learnt it from her mother. Thefoundation claims to have trained over eight hundredwomen, teaching skills, techniques, colour combinations,traditional motifs and designs and knowledge ofPhulkari, to be used in the production of traditional yetcontemporary products. Raman and Kiran were twogirls, from the Nabha Foundation, that I met in Delhi in2015. They had travelled from Patiala for a

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demonstration in conjunction with yet anotherexhibition of Phulkaris at the India International Centre.It was interesting to see that they were able to workusing the counted thread principle devised by Punjabiwomen generations ago, which as discovered throughmy attempt was an exceedingly difficult art. But theywere doing it rather effortlessly. They were shy andhardly spoke and were especially restrained by theirchaperone who had been instructed they not revealmuch information. Nabha Phulkari has purportedlysecured good custom from high end customers andboutiques and their production is based on a smallwork-force, which they covet zealously. I found Ramanto be exceptionally skilled. She was adept at looking at amotif from an old piece and without drawing the motif,but just looking at it, was able to recreate the samepattern on the fabric before her. Unlike the traditionalembroiderers, they did use an embroidery hoop and thefabric they embellished was of a finer count than thetraditional khaddar or khessi, and was mill-made.

One of the older women from Tripri, at the IGNCAPhulkari demonstration in 2013, migrated with herfamily from Pakistan in 1948, when she was six yearsold. Parvati and her family were given governmentquarters in Patiala. Her mother worked in people’shomes, washing clothes and dishes, and Parvati wouldaccompany her. In the evenings, she recounts how theyused to embroider things for themselves and oneevening a Rajasthani baniya passed by their galli, sawthem working and asked them to make some pieces for

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him. The designs were left to them, to draw upon aninherited repertoire, but he gave them the chaddar,golle’ and Anchor-wale lacche. “Usse hum hoshiyar hogaye, kaam karne lag gaye” (“We became wise to theprofitability and started working freelance, earning fiveto twenty-five paisa per motif, making one to two rupeesa day”.)

The Parvati that I met was obese; she was old withfailing eyesight and diabetic but full of stories. Most ofParvati’s family used to spin thread—Gandhi walacharkha. Her mother, Naani and Parvati did spinning,more than embroidery, even though they didembroidery for a living: “mn badde chakkar khaundahai, Na khushi na dukhi – velli nahin baith sakdi hu,mn bahut khush haunda hai, kadhai karde karde”. Themind, she says, goes round and around where she feelsneither happy nor sad, but cannot sit idle. When sheembroiders her mind is at peace. This sense ofequanimity that envelopes one while doing embroidery,is something that I and most contemporary stitcherswould be familiar with. This meditative aspect of the arthas possibly been an important factor in enablingwomen like her to continue doing it, despite being paid apittance for the work. Both Raman and Kiran, from theNabha Foundation, also articulated the same sentimentthat they liked doing the embroidery—“achha lagta ha”!I probed for some deeper insights, but they were unableto articulate any more than this. In the midst of what hasclearly been a huge loss—of a tradition and skill—theindividuals and foundations working to revive the art,

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form a silver lining. In addition, some Punjabi familiescontinue with the tradition of Phulkari as part of ritualssurrounding the wedding ceremony. Aiana, a young Sikhfriend of mine, recounted that during her wedding in2004, when she was being escorted to the weddingmandap, her brothers held the four corners of amodern-day Phulkari over her head. The fabric usedwas not the richly crafted fabric that one has seenthrough exhibitions like the Sacred Grid and APassionate Eye. The embroidery was done on lightchiffon or georgette. Indeed, most of the Phulkariembroidery done today is crafted on similar, lighter anddiaphanous materials, but it’s reassuring to note that theusage is not entirely lost to time or the fickleness offashion trends.

In 2015, Harinder Singh of 1469, whose passion for therevival of Punjabiyat is invigorating, invited me for anexhibition of paintings at India Habitat Centre, Delhi, bya Sikh surgeon settled in the US. As part of thisexhibition, the artist, Mr. Shivdev Singh, had published abook reflecting on the culture of Punjab. He writes ofvisits to his ancestral village in the Bhatinda district ofPunjab where five generations of his family have lived,and recalls the local village pond or toba where thecommunity meets and closeness of the villagecommunity, where everyone seemed related because ofthe shared culture that brought them close together. Thebook is a tribute to his roots and the culture of a Punjabthat younger generations may never have seen, nor arelikely to. Like Mr. Shivdev Singh, second and third

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generation Punjabis, children of families who were oncerefugees on the Indian side of a now-divided Punjab, arealso finding their feet in contemporary society, beyondthe village pond. Some like Shivdev Singh, AianaDhillon-Jain, Harinder and his wife Kiran, aspire torecapture the traditions of their forefathers in smallways in their contemporary lives. Through them thePhulkari tradition may well see a revival, even if, asreferred to in this folk song, the bride or her groom’smother does not embroider this garden of dreams andprayers herself.

Ih phulkari meri maan ne kadhi, My dear mother has embroidered this Phulkari iss noo ghut ghut jhaphiyan paawan I embrace it again and again with affection

It may well have been the beleaguered women of Tripriand others like them, with their love for the craft theysaw growing up, that have kept alive the skill. But it isthe young girls who are being trained in Sangrur andNabha and other such Centres, who enable a possiblerevival—reclaiming the lost embroidered gardens ofPunjab.

As a textile-artist who has espoused the role of artist-craftsperson to bring attention to the nuances of hand-crafting, as practiced in ancient India, through myembroidery work, I have found much to inspire me fromthe embroiderers that I have met and the changes in theway Phulkari is now done. While change is inevitable,

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what I would like to see is the emergence of thepractitioner’s personal investment in the doing of thisembroidery, where the work is invested with qualities ofworkmanship that elevate mere skill to an art. I see thisas a vital component in the practice of Phulkariembroidery, towards sustaining the continuation of thecraft. Whether this comes from increased clientele andvalue accorded for the work which inspires greaterpersonal engagement in the making, or if it comes fromeducated urban artists, such as me, using the stitch intheir own embroidery practices, elevating the craft’svalue by bringing it into the hallowed white cube of thefine art space, it is difficult to say. But, I have made anattempt to learn this, however feeble, which I hope tocontinue learning and incorporating into my art, to lendmy voice to support the revival of a precious legacy.

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GLOSSARY

Annas - Currency unit formerly used in India andPakistan, equal to 1/16 rupee. It was subdivided into 4paise .There were 64 paise in a rupee. The termbelonged to the Muslim monetary system. The anna wasdemonetised as a currency unit when India decimalisedits currency in 1957.

Bagh - Garden

Bavan Bagh – Bavan means fifty-two. The Bavan Bagh

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would have 52 sections with different patterns.. TheBavan Bagh is rare as only a few women were able todesign this. The field is subdivided into 42 or 48rectangles, each containing a different multicolouredmotif. The remaining four or ten motifs are placed in theside or end borders.

Chaddar - Wrap measuring 48 x 96 inches (122 x244cm) approx

Chandrama Bagh - Moonlit garden Charkha -Spinning wheel used by Mahatma Gandhi

Chope - The Chope – a Phulkari variation, with itsdouble sided architectonic pattern has the motif of thetemple along with the peacock, which is associated withmarital love, longing and desire. It is also associatedwith the rainy season when the peacock calls out to thedark clouds to descend to the earth and fertilize it. –Jasleen Dhamija, Sacred Grid exhibition catalogue. It isalso said that this Bagh was given to bride by hergrandmother.

Chopat - Game of dice

Chowk – A courtyard or junction where four pathwaysmeet

Darshan Dwar - Darshan dwars recreate the multipledoorways that lead to the shrines of the local Pirs as wellas the temples and Gurudwaras famous for wishfulfilment. Women embroider their life and pour out

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their longings, asking for blessings. The embroidery isoffered to the shrine when their wishes are fulfilled –Dhamija

Dhurrie – Hand-woven floor covering

Dibiyo-wala- bagh - This Bagh features a combinationof chowk and the sacred grid. The yellow and white isemphasized by the introduction of the smaller red andblack boxes. The border has the powerful panchrangascheme [five colours] with a leheriya [wave]pattern andthe damru, the drum associated with Shiva.

Dupattas – Veil/ wrap/ scarf

Galli - Lane

Ghungat – Veil or is worn over the head, wrapping theshoulders and head falling over the forehead, so that theface is not seen.

Golle - Round Balls [of thread]

Gurbani - Word of the Sikh gurus, usually sung

Gurudwara – Temple or place of worship of SikhCommunity

Heer and Ranjha – One of several popular tragicromances of Punjab. There are several poetic narrationsof the story, the most famous being 'Heer' by Waris Shahwritten in 1766. It tells the story of the love of Heer and

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her lover Ranjha. The story of Heer and Ranjha is saidto have had a happy ending but Waris Shah gave it thetragic end, thus elevating it to the legendary status itenjoys. Waris Shah also suggests that the story of Heerand Ranjha has deeper connotations, beyond theobvious love of a man for a woman, and that it signifiesman’s eternal quest for God.

Lacche – Skeins of embroidery thread

Kadhai – Embroidery

Khadi – Cotton, hand-spun fabric woven on a pit loom,in a plain weave

Khaddar - A coarse, cotton fabric woven on a pit loom,in a plain weave

Maasi – Means mother’s sister but can also be used torefer to someone with respect, by calling her an aunt.

Majboori - Necessity/compulsion

Majdoori - Daily wage labour

Manjees - Beds made from rope – usually Jute

Naani - Maternal grandmother

Nakshatra’s – [Sanskrti] is the term for ‘lunarmansion’ [through which the moon moves in its orbitaround the earth], in Hindu astrology. A nakshatra isone of 27 (sometimes also 28) sectors along the ecliptic-

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path of the sun. Their names are related to the mostprominent asterisms or pattern of stars in the respectivesectors.

Navratras - The beginning of spring and the beginningof autumn are considered important junctions ofclimatic and solar influences. These two periods aretaken as sacred opportunities for the worship of theGoddess Durga. The dates of the festival are determinedaccording to the lunar calendar during these nine nightsand ten days, nine forms of Devi are worshipped.

Nazar – Evil Eye

Odhani – Wrap/ Dupatta

Paise – Pennies, 100 paise make one rupee

Pat – Un-spun, reeled silken thread

Pind - Hometown or village

Peeche - Behind

Pothwari - A dialect of Punjabi spoken widely by thepopulation of the Potohar Plateau in Northern Pakistan.

Punja - Richly patterned Dhurries [rugs] where a tool,which draws it design from the five fingers of the hand,is used to push the weft thread down.

Rajas - [Sanskrit] In Vedic philosophy there are threegunas or attributes of which rajas stands for excitable.

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No value judgement is implied as all guna are indivisibleand mutually qualifying.

Rajasthani baniya - Trader from Rajasthan

Sassi and Punnu - is a famous and tragic folktale oflove told across the length and breadth of Sindh andPunjab. Sindh is one of the four provinces in Pakistan.On the northern side it borders Punjab. The story isabout a woman ready to undergo all the troubles thatwould come her way while seeking to find her fiancé,Punnu, from whom she is separated by his jealousbrother. Sassi endures a difficult and unfulfilled journeythrough rough terrain of a dessert and a hazardousriver. Like the Phoenix, Sassi was engulfed by flamesand all that remained was a heap of her ashes.

Satvik - [Sanskrit] In Vedic philosophy there are threegunas or attributes of which sattva or satvik stands forpurity and is the most rarefied of the three gunas. Novalue judgement is implied as all guna are indivisibleand mutually qualifying.

Tamas - [Sanskrit] In Vedic philosophy there are threegunas or attributes of which tamas implies indifferent,indifferent, lower energies. No value judgement isimplied as all guna are indivisible and mutuallyqualifying.

Tehsil - District

Tilak – Mark worn on the forehead and is created by

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the application of powder or paste. This may be worn ona daily basis or for special religious occasions, such asthe marriage ceremony.

Umang - Hope

Vahana – Vehicle associated with various Hindu Gods,usually in animal form

Wagah – Is a Village in Punjab on the border of Indiaand Pakistan, through which the Wagah River runs.

Wari-da-Bagh - In West Punjab, following the birth ofa boy, on a day appointed by the family astrologer, it wascustomary, to begin a Wari da bagh in amidst singing,dancing. Sweetmeats and red yarn would be distributedand the newborn’s, paternal grandmother wouldembroider the first stitch. This Bagh would be gifted tothe boy’s bride when she entered her marital home.Worked in yellow/gold yarn on a red ground, thecolours symbolised luck and fertility. The whole surfaceis covered with lozenges or diamond sections, eachenclosing a smaller one. In especially elaborate piecesthree different sizes of concentric diamonds/lozengesare found, the smallest was again divided into quarters.The sides and ends usually show various patternsworked in several colours. To produce such a Baghcould take over a year. Regarded as family heirloomsand they may be worn briefly as an act of remembrance.

FURTHER READING

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Butalia, Urvashi. The Other Side of Silence: Voices fromthe Partition of India. Durham, NC: Duke UniversityPress Books, 2000.

Coomaraswamy, Ananda Kentish. The Dance of Siva:Essays on Indian Art and Culture. Mineola, N.Y: DoverPublications, 1985.

———. The Indian Craftsman. Probsthain & Co., 1909.

Dhamija, Jasleen. Asian Embroidery. AbhinavPublications & Crafts Council of India, 2004.

———. The Sacred Grid. New Delhi: Gallery Art Motif,n.d. Krishna, Lal. Phulkari: From the Realm of Women’sCreativity. 2013 edition. New Delhi: Aryan Books, 2013.

Singh, Shivdev. Beyond the Village Pond: Reflections onthe Culture of Punjab. Speaking Tiger Books, 2015.

Tillotson, Giles, ed. A Passionate Eye: Textiles,Paintings and Sculptures from the Bharany Collections.Mumbai: Marg Foundation, 2014.

Tyabji, Laila. ed. Threads & Voices: Behind the IndianTextile Tradition. Published for Marg Publications,2007.

Author

For Gopika Nath, thread is a metaphor for living. AFulbright Scholar and alumnus of Central St. Martins

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School of Art and Design [UK], Gopika Nath is also anart critic, blogger, poet and teacher who lives and worksin Gurgaon, India. Passionate about textiles, she isevolving a contemporary language of thread, throughthe art of embroidery.

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Table of Contents

Sangrur, Punjab 3Cultivating an Interest 5Re-Presenting Phulkari in the Contemporary World 7The Romance of Embroidery in Punjab 10With a Song on Their Lips 12The Essential Fabric 16The Chope and Sainchi Phulkaris 17Thirma 23No Longer a Labour of Love 24Chandrama Bagh and Wari-da-Bagh 26Partition and Phulkari 30Phulkari Today 33GLOSSARY 41FURTHER READING 47Author 48

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