Kantha: more than just a running stitch

Arjina Bibi’s fondest memories of her baaper bari (father’s house) in West Bengal’s North 24 Parganas district are about her mother and grandmother. “I can see my grandmother's style reflected in my kantha work – the way she cross-layered stitches and filled in embroidered flowers,” she says of the needlecraft she inherited. “Whatever I know, I have learnt by observing them. I still stitch the way they did,” Arjina adds.

A kantha craftsperson for three decades now, Arjina says this skill has helped her contribute substantially to her family’s finances. Now in her late-forties, she leads an all-woman group of six kantha artisans who are commissioned work by local traders.

It is a hot July afternoon in the outskirts of Barasat city in West Bengal’s North 24 Parganas district when we meet Arjina at her workplace. Boxes of threads, scissors and tracing papers lie scattered across a makeshift karkhana (workshop) set up in the living room of her neighbour and colleague Nooranahar Bibi. The women are embroidering on fabrics using a running stitch typical to the craft of kantha.

“My husband works as a distributor of kantha items,” says 35-year-old Nooranahar. “I help him by taking up some of the embroidery work.” Her husband Mohammad Jalaluddin, 43, and his family have been engaged in the kantha trade for three generations. “He is a skilled kantha artisan and quite good at the embroidery,” adds Nooranahar with a small smile.

Teasing Jalaluddin who is within earshot, Arjina says, “Meye’ra beshi bhalo banaye, kyaeno ki amra mon diye shikhechi, ar mon diye kantha banayi. Chele’ra toh ei shob ke kaaj mene chole [Women stitch better kanthas because we have an emotional link to the craft. Men see it only as an occupation].”

“My husband works as a butcher. In the early days of our marriage, he would earn around 800 rupees every month,” says Arjina. “But I wanted to put my skills to use and earn a living.”

Arjina recalls helping her mother pull out threads from fraying old fabrics, by hand when she was a young girl and with needles when she began to pick up the craft of kantha. These fine threads would then be used to bind old clothes together using the kantha phor – the characteristic running stitch which would turn scraps into bedsheets, quilts, and table covers for the family to use.

“My mother would not let us discard our worn-out saris and dhotis,” says Arjina. Repurposing them would not only weave a touch of mother’s personal style into the ‘new’ household items, but would lessen the pinch when money was hard to come by. “I never felt that we lacked anything as a young girl,” says Arjina.

So when she arrived 30 years ago in Barasat from Guma village after her marriage, Arjina joined a group of kantha artisans which was being formed by the women in her neighbourhood with the help of local textile distributors like Jalaluddin.

Twenty-eight years in, Arjina now heads the cluster on the basis of seniority and skill.

“Distributors of kantha items employ artisans in groups of 6-8 members,” explains Arjina. The work commissioned to the cluster is then distributed amongst the members.

Arjina’s cluster receives 30-35 orders every month. “We draw many variations of a design as samples for the distributors to choose from,” says Arjina. With every commissioned work, members receive the final design, fabric, two-ply threads, and other stitching supplies from distributors. The artisans draw the design on tracing paper and use it as a reference while embroidering. They usually work on jackets, suit sets, saris or quilts. The fabrics they use are cotton, silk, khadi and even organza.

Orders increase to 40-45 commissions every month during the Durga Puja festivities. “Many artisans join the clusters during this time to meet the high demand,” says Jalaluddin, who is the main distributor working with Arjina’s cluster of artisans. He travels to Kolkata and Barasat city a few times every month to receive the raw materials for orders and to deliver the finished work. He earns between Rs. 40,000 and 50,000 every month as a maker and distributor of kantha items.

Each karigar draws an individual income based on the intricacy of their embroidery, the length of article and complexity of the design. The average monthly income for members of Arjina’s cluster is Rs. 8,000-10,000. As the head karigar of the cluster, Arjina earns between 10,000 and 12,000 rupees. She also crafts pieces independently for an additional 2,000-3,000 rupees every month, often recruiting Jalaluddin’s help in selling these pieces through exhibitions and fairs.

This helps Arjina contribute substantially to her family’s finances. She lives in a seven-member household with her husband and her son’s family. Both men work at the butcher shop they own, bringing home a monthly income of slightly over Rs. 25,000.

“Kantha has become much more than a simple running stitch,” says Arjina.

There has been a surge in the demand for kantha products over the last few decades. No doubt in some small measure due to the ‘repurposing’ aspect of the craft – a trend much in vogue these days.

An 'upcycled' fashion is even promoted by mainstream commercial brands.

In 2008, a Geographical Indication (GI) tag was awarded to West Bengal’s nakshi kantha, one of the two popular forms of kantha embroidery. The other style is called par tola.

Nakshi borrows from nature – flowers, animals, even human forms. Par tola on the other hand has geometric shapes. “Nakshi was practiced mainly by Hindu women because imitation of living beings is prohibited in Islam. Muslim women were experts in par tola,” explains Arjina. “Now there are no such distinctions,” she adds, “we know and practice all forms of kantha to get enough work.”

“Such an intricate design takes me over a month to complete,” says Arjina, pointing to a sari she had worked on which would earn her Rs. 2,000-3,000. The item would go on to be sold for at least 10,000 rupees in the market, but Arjina says artisans like her do not get a fair share of the profit. “Despite the surge in demand, profit margins for us artisans are low."

Arjina works for 4 hours every day on kantha. “Us women have to look after our families too,” she says. “I also travel with Jalaluddin to nearby towns or the city centre. I speak with vendors, deliver finished pieces, receive fresh orders and resources, and collect payments for the karigars,” Arjina says, explaining her additional responsibilities as the head karigar of her cluster.

“[But] I find it all worthwhile,” Arjina adds. “I love what I do and this craft has supported my family through some tough times.”

Despite her love for the craft, she is reluctant to see her grandchildren take it up. “My income is not fixed and depends on the demand of kantha products which keeps changing,” Arjina explains. “I want my grandchildren to study and get a stable government job.”

Nooranahar, who is working next to Arjina, nods in agreement. “Even though this is a craft I learnt from my mother, I am reluctant to pass it down to my daughters,” she says, a mother of three young girls. “I want them to focus on their education so that they can make a better life for themselves." Nooranahar is a high-school graduate herself.

Despite the hesitance in passing on the craft in their own families, Nooranahar and Arjina do not want kantha to fade out. Showing pictures of Japanese tourists visiting her workshop, Nooranahar says, “It makes me happy to know that our skill is appreciated even by those outside our culture.” Both women appreciate the efforts of the state government to nurture kantha through fairs, international exports and foreign tour groups.

“Long after we are gone, I hope someone practising the craft will keep our knowledge and skill alive,” says Nooranahar.