The road between the city of Lucknow and the town of Mahmudabad in northern India bumps past a vivid spectrum of color. Acres of lush fields—bright and green in this especially fertile area in the province of Uttar Pradesh, just east of New Delhi—stretch between tiny towns whose shabby produce stands and busy shops are painted in equally bold blues and yellows. And then there are the saris, in bright shades of deep purple, striking turquoise and an eye-popping pink that’s just a shade below Day-Glo.
The 35-mile stretch twists and dips to Mahmudabad Qila—which means fort in the Urdu language—the sprawling ancestral home of the Raja of Mahmudabad, whose family has occupied the location for more than 600 years. One only has to squint to envision the decaying palace in its heyday, when the elaborate rose-colored chandeliers were free of heavy cobwebs and the vast library—still stocked with 40,000 tomes, including early editions of Shakespeare—thrived.
But deep inside the fort, there is a treasure of a different sort today—a small, whitewashed workroom, where a group of women from the tiny town gather six days a week to meet and sew. They sit on the floor and chat, their light murmurs mixing with the hum of hand-cranked sewing machines (a necessity, as the electricity only works for about four hours a day). Their fi ngers move lightly over beautiful creations: hand-spun cotton tunics with delicate embroidery; vibrant, buttoned coats in wool and cotton, and bold patchwork scarves, many with the exquisite embroidery for which the region is famous. When fi nished, the pieces will be sold under the name Qilasaaz at private trunk shows in the U.S. and Europe.
The Qilasaaz project is the child, in many ways, of Vijay Khan, wife of the current Raja and known as the Rani. The couple, along with their two grown sons, live most of the year in a crumbling palace in Lucknow, but Khan has traveled to the Qila nearly every week since she started the project almost 15 years ago. Twice a year, she packs up the fi nished pieces and takes them to cities such as London, New York and Paris for private sales, which earn enough money to keep the operation—and many of the women—afl oat for another year.
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“Poverty is the biggest problem for these women,” says the elegant Khan, who was educated at Smith College and Cambridge University. “They never had any job opportunities before. My purpose was to give them a way to earn a regular income—something they can depend on for the first time in their lives.”
More than 30 women are now on the Qilasaaz payroll, and another 30 currently do piecework with the hopes of eventually coming into the workshop full-time. All of the fabric sourced for the pieces comes from local shops specializing in fi ne linen, pure pashmina and khadi, a hand-loomed cotton, providing even more support to the region’s artisans. The operation essentially works as a small cooperative: Because Khan—who has assumed the hefty roles of manager, designer, public relations representative and sales agent—cannot be at the fort every day, the women of Qilasaaz are responsible for governing themselves. Major decisions are made only after consulting the entire workshop. “These women have more than money now,” Khan remarks. “They have a new sense of confidence.”
The Qilasaaz collection has earned a loyal following by word of mouth from its society-heavy clientele. “People have a respect for handloomed, hand-stitched and hand-embroidered,” says Khan, amid the hum of the sunny workroom. “Each piece that is created here is distinct and special, and our customers understand that.”
Many of the embroidery techniques used in Qilasaaz pieces are a fading art in rapidly modernizing India, and their unique, high-quality craftsmanship has led two museums—the Calico Museum of Textiles in Ahmedabad, India, and the Whitworth Art Gallery in Manchester, England—to commission samplers for their collections. “These are techniques that have been used and passed down for generations,” says Khan, who will cohost the next sale in New York at the end of November. “This work has helped keep such traditions alive.”
But while Qilasaaz’s pieces have been scooped up by appreciative shoppers from Manhattan to Hong Kong, it’s clear they mean the most to the women who make them. When Khan stands to leave, the women smother her with gentle hugs and genuine grins. Their warmth lingers the whole bumpy ride back.
This article appeared in WWD Scoop, a special publication to WWD available to subscribers.