Heritage Crisis / Zari Work Feature

Collection: Threads of Surat

The Battle for Authentic Zari Reveals Deeper Faultlines in Indian Craftwork

In an era where authenticity is increasingly elusive, the ancient, hand-engineered craft of zari is caught in a deepening crisis. Pure zari, painstakingly wrought from silver, gold and copper in Surat’s shrinking cottage clusters, is now overshadowed by an ever-expanding tide of cheap metallic substitutes. As precious metal prices soar, purity wavers, and fakes flood the market, the last generation of real-zari makers confronts a future as fragile as the filaments they draw.

Richa Bansal

3 December 2025

10 minutes

Long Story, Cut Short

Surat’s pure-zari craft is in steep decline, squeezed between soaring metal prices, falling demand, and a deluge of cheap plastic and metallic imitations.
Generational artisans, already dwindling, face unsustainable economics — low margins, delayed payments, expensive inputs, and virtually no policy support.
Despite the GI tag, heritage knowledge, and niche global demand, the survival of real zari now hinges on revival efforts, fair branding, and sustained recognition before the craft slips beyond recovery.

The precious metal heart of real zari is in crisis. From nearly 30 families processing silver a few decades ago, barely four or five remain today. With demand shrinking, costs climbing, and the younger generation turning away, the survival of this centuries-old craft hangs by a thread — its future uncertain, and its decline starkly visible.

Dwindling Lineage The precious metal heart of real zari is in crisis. From nearly 30 families processing silver a few decades ago, barely four or five remain today. With demand shrinking, costs climbing, and the younger generation turning away, the survival of this centuries-old craft hangs by a thread — its future uncertain, and its decline starkly visible. Richa Bansal / texfash

In a world when you can't tell the fake from real, the ancient hand-engineered craft of jari or zari has been in inextricable knots for a long, long time now.

Once meant for no less than royalty and the gods, and more currently the GI tag notwithstanding, as far back as in 2010, it's decline into the artificial — plastic metallic film and other variations — means it is a mechanised industry. What suffers, as quiet as the real, is the cottage industry which works with copper, gold and silver, more the former.

While efforts have begun to use the GI tag for ingredient branding, as the cost of the precious metal soars, what sinks is the demand for the pure zari. In comparison, copper runs better. “Silver has become a kind of gamble—an investment market, not craft material anymore,” lament some third and fourth generation key practitioners, who could well be the last to craft those intricate yet delicate embellishments that add depth, glitz and an understated glam or high-voltage sparkle to the traditional six-yards, the bias cut kurti or a simple trim as it travels continents.

Local Genius: The Tapi’s Quiet Role

When you talk zari what invariably comes to mind is Varanasi or some place down south where lustrous silks hold sway. But a lesser-known but key global hub for zari, not much in the know of the lay person, are the ‘real’ zari makers of Surat, confined largely to the old parts of the city in narrow lanes and by-lanes that often end in some warren, much like the craft caught in entrenched coils, not all of its own making. Walk through those winding paths, wizened wooden doors on either side treasure a cottage-industry-forged hand-engineered craft.

Treasurer at the Surat Jari Manufacturers Association, Sandip Rana’s avowal runs deep: “Our zari depends on the water of the Tapi River, on the land that is Surat, and on the skill of the workers here. Zari cannot be made just anywhere. To make it, you need Tapi’s water, Surat’s land, and Surat’s craftspersons”.

The ‘original’ zari—silver, gold, copper and German brass wire (mood)—is still made in homes, every house a small unit. “Real zari work is an art — it’s not just about production, it’s about heritage. And, this craft can’t be replicated anywhere else. Only Surat’s water, land, and people can make it”, he reiterates yet again, affirming that the metallic wires of varying width made “on this soil” have a unique glean and quality that others “simply cannot match.”

Besides, the colouring process remains a “secret”, with each manufacturer either continuing with the formula — temperature, chemicals, timing — what earlier generations did or innovating too, and that’s what makes the difference in shine and durability.

The demand mainly comes from designers and exporters, with specifications like thickness, glint, and flexibility. So the gauge, the twist, the polish — all are customised.

While copper-based zari takes around two days, the silver-coated variety could require three to four as the electroplating process and then the drying takes time. “We can’t rush it because it affects the final finish and excellence.”

All processes, barring a few like the winding, which use small machines, the main work — drawing, twisting, polishing — are done manually. The zari processor, Sandip informs, is made only in Surat.

The home is where children get initiated into the art, first by simply observing their parents and grandparents, and by the time they are into their late teens, they know the workings of the furnace, the spinning, the electroplating et al, as natural almost as playing a game of cricket in those backroads that have preserved this artisanal work for hundreds of years. “Everything is traditional and passed down through generations. There’s no formal training,” avers Sandip whose Mahadevi Jari Traders manufactures zardozi zari.

The women work mainly in winding, cutting, and polishing, while the men handle the plating and drawing. “This line requires constant effort. Even then, it doesn’t bring huge profits,” rues he, whose community practices this craft in the largest numbers.

Tradition Under Strain: Market Realities

The first step in the making of silver or gold zari, called the pavtha, entails melting the precious metal in a furnace followed by several other steps. From 25-30 units till some years back, only around 4–5 families remain. The making of the taar or the wire is unique to this port town. The Pavtha Walas, a family known to be doing this work for generations, today faces a bleak future. This in spite of the fact that the kind of wire they make is not made elsewhere in the country. “Pakistan makes some, and in France there are a few people making jari. But they don’t allow us to enter their markets because of secrecy and high prices. Their labour is expensive, and while our products are cheaper, they don’t achieve the same finish as the French ones,” informs Paresh Bhai, a real zari manufacturer.

His succinct outline of the situation is that despite falling demand and rising costs, his family continues in the business because of tradition, trust, and the niche demand that still exists. Generations have changed, consumption has dropped, and younger people are not interested in wearing or making traditional zari. Sarees with real gold and silver are now too dear — only those who can afford ₹3 lakh or more will buy them. “Although our loyal customers still come to us for real work, if prices keep rising and orders decline further, we’ll have to stop operations in the next couple of years,” he warns with a resigned shrug.

Hasmukh Bhai who’s family rolls out the wires in finished form echoes. “The cost of inputs has increased, but the selling price hasn’t. Getting the raw materials is not easy. Silver quality has changed; copper wire also is not as pure. Suppliers mix alloys to cut cost. Purity control is an issue too, and when purity goes down, shine and strength also suffer. Threads break during weaving. This way production loss also increases. “Earlier we could make 30 kilos in a day; now we barely make 15.”

With the implementation of GST paperwork has increased. Small artisans can’t handle so much documentation; they don’t even have proper accounts. So they shut down slowly.”

Another zari maker said: “Earlier we had around 30-40 artisans in one unit; now, hardly 10 remain. This is because there is less demand and also less interest.”

The Chinese metallic yarn, plastic zari has captured most of the market. Many Indian traders buy, repack and sell it as an Indian product. Following this trend, many artisans had to change their profession. Some went into embroidery work, others into small businesses.

“The price of the fake zari is one-third of ours. Also, everyone is switching to machine work, and handmade zari takes time. Although machine-made looks similar and is cheaper, the shine and finish of real zari, handmade with silver or gold, can never be matched. The machines can make the look but not the soul. Right now, many fake products use the name ‘Surat Zari’. We have lost our reputation because of these fakes. Besides, customers cannot tell the difference between plastic and real zari. They just look at price.

“In earlier times, zari work was considered an art, a matter of pride. Now people see it as labour."

Real zari, he informs, can be identified by touch and shine. “Genuine zari is cool to touch, soft, and doesn’t break easily. Imitation feels rough and has a different reflection. When you burn a small piece, imitation smells like plastic.”

Coming back to price, Sandip informs that real zari costs four to five times more. If imitation is ₹1,000 per kilo, real would be around ₹4,000–₹5,000. With gold or silver plating, the cost goes higher.

Adding to the woes is the slow payment cycle. Earlier, wholesalers used to pay within 15 days; now it takes two to three months. This affects the cash flow. Workers still have to be paid weekly. “We manage somehow, by rotating money, taking small advances. Sometimes from personal savings.”

Surat’s Real Zari

Some processes of the craft survive through 4–5 remaining families, each sustaining labour-intensive metalwork despite shrinking demand and escalating input volatility across silver, copper, and alloys.
Producers say purity fluctuations in silver and copper are eroding shine, durability, and weaving stability, increasing breakage and slowing production significantly across small units.
Artisans report falling daily output, dropping from around 30 kilos earlier to roughly 15 kilos now, driven by weaker inputs and soaring operational costs.
Delayed payments of two to three months obstruct cash flow, forcing households to rotate money, seek advances, or divert personal savings to maintain continuity.
Despite the Surat Zari Craft GI 171, unchecked imitation and repackaged imports continue to distort the market and weaken the craft’s hard-earned reputation.

The Imitation Surge

Plastic and Chinese metallic yarn dominate the mass market, selling at one-third the price of real zari and displacing artisanal production across regions.
Machine-made variants provide speed and uniformity, prompting artisans to shift trades entirely, often into embroidery, retail, or small urban businesses.
Customers struggle to distinguish real metalwork, enabling counterfeit ‘Surat Zari’ products to proliferate and erode trust among buyers and wholesalers.
Younger generations avoid entering the field due to long hours, low margins, and minimal institutional support, accelerating attrition across skilled families.
The absence of subsidies for pure silver or gold work leaves traditional makers excluded from schemes that largely prioritise mechanised embroidery.

Margins Under Pressure: Costs Rising Fast

A shrinking market and earnings on the slide for the real, and a burgeoning market for the fake is ensuring Gen Next is not drawn to the craft. “None of them want to continue. They say this is hard work. I understand them. My son earns far more abroad working regular hours, with weekends off. Here we work till 9:00 pm, even with injuries,” says Anil Bhai Gajjar, a third generation practitioner who has revived and designed some major works, most importantly a 2000-year-old flag at the Parsi Iranshah at the heritage town of Udvada, about 100 km from Surat.

Talking about Gen Next he said that although he did work with some students from design institutes, “They come, take photos, write projects, and go back. For them it’s just an assignment. No one stays to learn the actual process. The younger generation has no patience for handwork. They want quick income and easy schedules. Zari needs consistent support and recognition. Not just one-time visits.”

Skilled artisans are declining. Most of those left are ageing. “After them, I don’t know what will happen.”

When it comes to government or any organisational support, he says “there are schemes on paper, but nothing practical. For real zari, no subsidies or grants. “If I did machine embroidery, I’d get government help. But for real silver work—nothing.”

Although only the zari from Surat has received the GI tag, registered as ‘Surat Zari Craft’ GI 171, it has so far not been able to do much to preserve the sanctity of the craft form. It had been brought in when dumping of cheap fakes from countries like China was threatening it, but now the ever growing deluge of imitation and plastic zari being manufactured by the thousands, also in Surat, sans nary a thought for the pollution it brings, plus soaring labour costs and expensive machine maintenance are huge deterrents. Besides, the smaller artisans cannot afford the machines.

While the export demand is steady, margins are getting tighter. The US, the Gulf countries and the UK are the main buyers, importing both ‘finished’ products and raw materials; the ‘finished’ zari goes for hand embroidery, fashion garments, and traditional wear. The raw material also goes to places like Dubai, where handwork is done.

Within India, the domestic market is huge. South India, especially Tamil Nadu, uses zari extensively for weaving Kanjeevaram and other silk sarees, Varanasi for Banarasi sarees, Rajasthan and Gujarat for embroidery.

A shrinking market and earnings on the slide for the real, and a burgeoning market for the fake is ensuring Gen Next is not drawn to the craft. Richa Bansal / texfash

Craft Revival: What Must Change

“Surat already dominates the thread supply chain. If awareness increases and we continue certifying products through GI tagging, the future is bright. What we need now is revival of pure handmade craftsmanship and marketing support. We’re trying to create small clusters of trained women who can take orders collectively,” says Darshana Jardosh, former Minister of State for railways and textiles. She has set up her own manufacturing unit to make gift items based on zari and other crafts.

These clusters, she informed, work like small cooperatives which helps in sharing of materials, handle bulk orders, and maintain consistent quality.

Her suggestion for preserving traditional crafts in general is two-fold —
documentation and training. Every traditional art should be documented properly: its methods, tools, motifs, everything. And training should happen continuously. Otherwise, when an artisan dies, the skill dies with them.

Surat, she says, offers both challenges and opportunities. It’s a city of production and enterprise, but traditions get buried under its speed. “If we can preserve just a fraction of its old artistry, it’ll add immense cultural value.”

For Hasmukh Bhai, zari is not just business; it’s “legacy. Whatever we do, we still do it with pride. Earlier, zari work was pride of Surat. Now we struggle to keep it alive”, and contradicts himself in the next breath: “In spite of all the challenges, the craft continues to thrive because zari is not just a product — it’s the identity of Surat. Generations have lived by it, and it will continue.”

Concludes Sandip Bhai, “Zari work is art. It connects to our temples, our weddings, our culture. If we don’t preserve it, it will be lost forever and once lost, no one can bring it back."

Zari needs consistent support and recognition. Not just one-time visits. Skilled artisans are declining. Most of those left are ageing. Richa Bansal / texfash

Although only the zari from Surat has received the GI tag, registered as ‘Surat Zari Craft’ GI 171, it has so far not been able to do much to preserve the sanctity of the craft form.

Tagged but Tenuous Although only the zari from Surat has received the GI tag, registered as ‘Surat Zari Craft’ GI 171, it has so far not been able to do much to preserve the sanctity of the craft form. Richa Bansal / texfash

Family Trade: A Fragile Inheritance

He stopped studying chartered accountancy after five years to step into the world of zari as a third generation member but has dissuaded his own from carrying on with the business “because survival is tough. Orders come months in advance, payments are delayed. Suppose a sari costs ₹1,00,000, the customer pays only ₹20,000–₹30,000 as advance. For the remaining ₹70,000, I have to bear the cost till delivery, and by the time the sari is ready, silver prices may have doubled. So profit margins vanish. It’s hard to survive. I do so only because I use my stock and reinvest daily. I put my own money into production. But frankly, if I put that money in the share market, I’d earn more. Even just holding silver gives better returns than manufacturing.”

Anil Bhai Gajjar has a tiny weaving unit in Varanasi where he develops and weaves fabrics and designs, and two retail points catering to walk-ins and orders from temples and devotees from all over the country. He has 25 full time artisans and takes in around 9-10 as part time during peak wedding seasons, with some even working from home. He shows the picture of a sari where the border alone costs ₹5–8 lakh. “Our workmanship is par excellence. We charge for pure raw material and hand work. Designers who have made it big and market themselves give imitation or machine work mostly,” he alleges.

His wife who helps him run the store in Surat, highlights their shortcoming as marketers. “We do not know how to market or brand ourselves. So we would like to work for and with the designers. It should be a level playing field but most do not respond to queries. Our work with one designer was not a pleasant experience.”

Ask him what has changed most across generations, and he replies: “Earlier it was art; now it’s business. For my grandfather, zari was sacred work—done with devotion. Today people see it only as a commercial product. The soul of the craft is disappearing.

“We continue for the few who understand. If even one person out of a hundred appreciates real work, that’s enough to keep us going."

Safeguarding traditional crafts depends on two complementary efforts: documentation and training. Every heritage art form must be recorded with care — its processes, tools, motifs, and nuances. Training, too, must be sustained and passed on deliberately. Without these, when an artisan passes away, the knowledge and skill are lost with them. In pic: Darshana Jardosh, former Minister of State for railways and textiles at her manufacturing unit.

Preserving Traditional Crafts Safeguarding traditional crafts depends on two complementary efforts: documentation and training. Every heritage art form must be recorded with care — its processes, tools, motifs, and nuances. Training, too, must be sustained and passed on deliberately. Without these, when an artisan passes away, the knowledge and skill are lost with them. In pic: Darshana Jardosh, former Minister of State for railways and textiles at her manufacturing unit. Ami Handicrafts

Richa Bansal

RICHA BANSAL has more than 30 years of media industry experience, of which the last 20 years have been with leading fashion magazines in both B2B and B2C domains. Her areas of interest are traditional textiles and fabrics, retail operations, case studies, branding stories, and interview-driven features.

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