Why One Heritage Embroiderer Demands the Same Respect as International Luxury Brands

Asif Shaikh works to preserve traditional skills while innovating. “My goal has always been to keep traditional weaving alive yet also push its boundaries. We can’t just repeat old motifs; we have to evolve. Innovation keeps the craft relevant.”

But at the same time traditional methods remain his bedrock. “I keep to the old processes. The artisans who work with me have been trained in the same techniques that were used decades ago. I do not compromise on that because authenticity is what defines the quality of our work.”

The ‘karchob’ or the traditional Indian embroidery frame is where all his work is done. The word comes from the sound “kart-kart” that happens when the frame is tightened. The frame itself came to India from Persia via Central India. “I learned by observing master artisans who worked on it, spending hours beside them. Over the years, I mastered how to mount, stretch, and handle different fabrics for precise embroidery.”

Many people wrongly call it the ‘kartli’ as they usually misunderstand the origin of the word. You can’t sit on a karchob; it’s a professional frame for embroidery. Whatever is done on it is called ‘karchobi work’. That’s the correct term.”

So all his fine embroidery, intricate gold embroidery, beetle wings, metalwork—happens here. This frame is the heart of traditional Indian hand embroidery.

“When I began, embroidery was considered decorative, not design. We were suppliers hidden behind fashion houses. Now, embroidery is design itself—part of storytelling. There’s more experimentation: mixing chikan with zardozi, using metallic threads on linens, even sustainable fibres. But sadly, there’s also dilution because everyone claims to be an artisan now.”

One of his successful experiments is where he weaves a special material—peacock feathers, perhaps the first time ever with an extra-weft technique—on a naturally dyed fabric where the warp and weft are cotton and silk, and the feathers are inserted as an extra weft. Designers and curators have appreciated the innovation because it revived extra-weft weaving in a new way.

However, he says, the initial idea came from textile conservator Martand Singh, who championed the revival of traditional Indian textiles, weaving and dyeing traditions. “He initiated the idea for the Festival of India exhibition years ago. He experimented with innovative materials like peacock feathers for royal commissions, including work for the Royal family of Bhutan. A company from Banaras designs and makes the exquisite ceremonial textiles and other fabrics for the Royal family.”

The weaving is done on a modified pit loom—small adjustments to control tension when inserting feathers. “Traditional looms are versatile if you know how to modify them. I worked with a local loom technician for this. We tested several prototypes to make sure the quills wouldn’t break. The adjustment mainly involves the shuttle pressure and reed spacing.”

The fabric remains strong despite the delicate feathers by balancing the warp and weft tension. “The cotton-silk base gives strength, and we use a fine reed count. The feather portions are spaced evenly, so there’s no strain. It’s a matter of precision.

“The colours used are all natural. Indigo for blue, henna for greenish-brown tones, lac for reds, myrobalan for yellows. I also use pomegranate rind and iron for grey shades. No chemical mordants—only alum or natural fixatives. The peacock feather already has so many hues—blues, greens, bronze, violet. I build around that palette. For example, a base of indigo brings out the iridescence of the feather.”

The embroidery on it has also been developed by Asif, “though the woven fabric itself is from Banaras. The idea was to create something never seen before—combining woven peacock feathers and beetle wings with gold-plated silver embroidery. It’s unique; no one has tried it before.”

The feathers remain vibrant and do not change colour over time as long as they’re kept away from moisture and strong sunlight. Natural feathers have remarkable longevity.

Asif explains how the feathers are inserted into the weave: “Each feather is stripped into fine quills, cleaned, and softened with natural oil so it bends easily. The weaver then inserts each quill carefully on the loom while weaving. It becomes part of the weft. The process is time-consuming —only about six inches of fabric can be made in a day. One scarf or shawl can take more than two weeks depending on size and the density of feather insertions.

He elaborates how and when he started working with feathers and how he developed the technique: “The idea came when I saw artisans using bird feathers for decorative work. I experimented with peacock feathers because they are naturally strong and beautiful. After a lot of trials, we achieved a way to insert them without breaking the fibres or damaging the feather sheen.

“This was around 2015. Initially, I was doing surface embellishment on hand-woven fabric, and then thought of weaving them. I collaborated with a master weaver in Madhya Pradesh, and after months of trials, we produced the first stable piece. People couldn’t believe it was handwoven. But when they touched it and saw the real feather texture, they were fascinated. They value the craftsmanship. Collectors, museums, and fashion designers have shown interest.”

Asif trained local weavers to handle the technique. “They already know traditional extra-weft weaving like brocade, so they adapted easily once they learnt how delicate the feathers are.”

At present, about four artisans, mostly from Madhya Pradesh, who were earlier making maheshwari and chanderi textiles are working on this project. “I helped them with this new skill so that they can diversify their work and earn better. We are training more, but it’s not easy because it needs patience and precision. Each feather insertion must align with the warp threads perfectly.”

Sourcing the feathers was not easy as peacocks are a protected species. “Everything must go through the proper legal process and authorised centres. We do not harm any birds. The feathers are also collected from temple areas and farms once the birds moult. Then they are washed, sorted by length and colour, and treated to make them more flexible.” The washing has its own set of challenges since dust and oil can dull the colour. The main challenge is to keep the iridescence intact.

The woven fabric needs gentle hand care, like a pashmina. It’s more of a luxury textile—meant for art, not daily use. “It’s wearable art. Each piece is unique because no two feathers are identical. We also use natural dyes so every batch has its own tone.”

A few designers have used this unique fabric in accents—collars, cuffs, borders. It’s not suitable for full garments because of the fragility, but for panels or stoles it works beautifully. This innovation has since been showcased at several craft fairs and design shows like the Delhi Crafts Council exhibitions and the India Design ID event. A few pieces have also been acquired by textile museums and private collectors. The Crafts Museum in Delhi and some international collectors showed interest.

Another work that he has revived is beetle wings embroidery which used to be a feature of Queen Victoria’s gowns. Sourced from Thailand, these are natural beetle wings, not some synthetic substitutes. He shows a handwoven fabric with a 300-count fineness, and 7,000 beetle wings embroidered on it. Historically, beetle wings were sourced from Assam, he says but is not too sure about it.

An interesting aspect of this is the way he has experimented with William Morris’s designs from the 18th–19th centuries, which were originally made for prints in the UK. “We adapted them by creating stencils, modifying the designs slightly for embroidery. This is the first time such work has been done in the world,” he claims.

The plan is to expand production, but slowly, keeping quality paramount. The market response in terms of pricing has not been bad. “It’s niche. A scarf can cost around ₹30,000 to ₹40,000 depending on design and size. People who appreciate handcrafts and sustainability understand that it’s worth it.” The clients include both Indian buyers who collect handloom art, and international galleries interested in sustainable luxury textiles.”

Apart from peacock, Asif has experimented with duck and rooster feathers, “but they didn’t have the same strength or beauty. Peacock is unmatched. It also holds cultural significance.”

He is also experimenting with banana fibre, nettle, and natural metallic threads. “India has so many forgotten materials waiting to be explored.”

Can this technique be commercialised in any way? “Perhaps in limited editions—collaborations with designers who value handcraft. But mass production would destroy the essence.”

Has he thought of patenting it? “I’ve thought about it, but I prefer open sharing within the craft community. Knowledge should circulate so that more artisans can benefit. I also want people to feel wonder when they see or wear this fabric.”

The motivation to keep going on such projects is “the joy of creating something that bridges craft, nature, and design. Every piece teaches me patience. Seeing people’s reaction makes all the effort worthwhile.”

The larger vision for such craft innovations is to show that Indian handlooms can be contemporary without losing authenticity. “We have immense knowledge; we just need to apply it creatively. Sustainability shouldn’t be a trend—it should be a way of life.”

His advice for young designers is that they should “learn from artisans. Spend time in workshops. Respect materials. Don’t rush for fame; focus on craft. The best designs emerge from understanding the process deeply.”

Asif has been at his craft since he was seven-eight—“not physically strong” so watched his father tailor garments (one among the best in Ahmedabad), and one day saw his mother embroidering with some women on a cut cloth. “I couldn’t do that, so I started embroidering on round frames.

“As a child I also began by making drawings using only dots from a pencil.” The image forms through tiny dots, sometimes connecting them where needed. It’s called stripling art and that’s how “I learned precision, patience, and composition. Slowly, I moved from paper to fabric. I began applying the same patience of dots into threads, beads, and textures. Over time, that led me into embroidery. Even today, I treat each stitch like a dot. Each stitch is deliberate; it builds the larger picture.”

Breaks in studies due to a weak disposition, and a certificate course in interior design led him to practice both interiors and embroidery where he would design furniture and incorporate craft into interiors. He started work as a tailor’s assistant in Ahmedabad. “I used to observe how embroidery transformed a plain fabric. That fascination led me to learn stitches from karigars. Slowly I built my own studio. It’s been more than thirty years now.”

As he met master weavers and artisans all over the country, he learnt about Indian textiles and techniques and used those in his practice. His work was much appreciated but around 2002 he wanted to move to the US. “Destiny” however held sway and he continued to stay on, even as most of his family migrated, and thereafter, encouraged by the encomiums, embarked on research and revival projects.

From 2008, when Asif started travelling overseas and shared his work there, people remarked they had never seen “that kind of quality.” In 2010, he started going to the US, and “I saw tears in people’s eyes because they hadn’t seen such work. Since then, I’ve been going there every year for a month, presenting my work to museums and audiences.”

Ask him that one moment that defined his career, he replies, “When I saw my first piece displayed in a museum in Paris. It wasn’t about fame; it was about validation that Indian craft belongs in that space. I stood quietly and watched people stare at it—that was enough.”

What is it that he would like to change—about how the world sees Indian embroidery? “I’d want them to see it as design, not decoration. Embroidery is architecture on cloth—planned, engineered, precise. It’s not just pretty; it’s intelligent.”

Has he ever thought of expanding commercially—maybe launching his own label? “I’ve been approached, but I’m cautious. The moment you scale up, you risk losing control over quality. I’d rather remain small and pure. But yes, someday, if I find the right partner who understands the philosophy, maybe.”

That philosophy is simple—respect the craft. “Everything else follows from that—honesty to material, to time, to skill.”

He no longer sees himself as a designer. He’d rather call himself “an artist. I’ve crossed that line. I no longer think about trends or collections. I think in terms of expressions. That’s a big evolution and it took me years to unlearn what design school taught and to rediscover what my hands already knew.”

Ask him if he had unlimited resources, what project would he start next? “A research centre for natural material innovation—where artisans, designers, and scientists work together. We’d explore fibres from banana, nettle, coconut, and even agricultural waste. The goal: create new textiles with zero harm.”

India, he says, is more than ready for such integration. “The world is realising that true innovation lies in tradition. We just need to trust our own heritage and give it a modern platform.” Two years down the line, he will “stop taking custom orders. I’ll create whatever I will feel inspired to make and buyers will have to choose from those. This is because we’re exploring new fibres and techniques.”

Any advice for an artisan from a small village or town, who wants to be where he is now? “I tell artisans to create with balance. Make 80% of your work market models—the kind that gives you bread and butter. Make 10% of the highest quality possible—something worthy of a ‘Seal of Excellence’. And make another 10% purely for your heart and soul. That 10% will bring you name and fame. Listen to yourself, focus on achieving the highest quality of craftsmanship, and keep working. In my case, there are no designs or patterns—just the motifs I’ve revived through research. The quality of embroidery itself defines the piece.”

For upcoming designers as also those who use embroidery only as embellishment, Asif urges: “Don’t chase trends. Learn one craft deeply—respect its roots, experiment responsibly. And remember, design is not about ego; it’s about empathy.

“Don’t treat embroidery as just decoration—it’s a language. Each motif, each thread has a story. Respect that, and your work will have depth.

Ask him the most valuable lesson this journey has taught him and he declares, “Patience. Nature doesn’t rush, and neither should we. Also, humility—because every feather, every thread reminds you how small human effort is compared to nature’s design.”

He describes his journey thus: “A life woven with gold—sometimes fragile, but shining because of love for the craft.”