Falak Bilal
Srinagar, Apr 22: In a quiet corner of Lal Bazar, where the rhythm of daily life hums softly against the backdrop of the Valley’s rich artistic heritage, 50-year-old Masrat Jan bends over a delicate object, her hands steady, her gaze intent. With each careful stroke of her brush, she is not just painting intricate patterns—she is rewriting a narrative that has, for centuries, excluded women.
“I never thought of it as breaking a barrier,” Masrat says, pausing briefly from her work. “For me, it was about doing what I loved. But over time, I realized that simply continuing in this field as a woman was, in itself, a statement.”
Marriage could have marked a turning point away from her craft. Instead, it deepened her connection. She married into a family of artisans, where the art was not just a profession but a way of life. Supported by her husband, Maqbool Ahmad, himself an accomplished craftsman, Masrat found both encouragement and partnership.
“My husband never saw this as unusual,” she says. “He always told me, ‘If you have the skill, why should you stop?’ That belief made all the difference.”
In a field where recognition for women is rare, Masrat’s work has not gone unnoticed. She is now a three-time state award winner, a testament to her mastery and perseverance.
Yet, she speaks of her achievements with humility. “Awards are encouraging, but they are not the goal,” she says. “The real reward is when someone appreciates the work, understands the effort behind it.”
Her designs—marked by intricate floral patterns, fine detailing, and a distinct sense of balance—have earned admiration both locally and beyond. But Masrat believes her true contribution lies elsewhere.
Inside her modest workspace, the sound of brushes against paper is often accompanied by conversation and laughter. Over the past few years, Masrat has taken on a new role—that of a mentor.
She has begun training women from her community, many of whom had never considered art as a livelihood. Through patient guidance, she is helping them acquire not just skills, but confidence.
“Initially, many of them were hesitant,” Masrat explains. “They would say, ‘This is not for us.’ But once they started learning, they realized they are just as capable.”
For these women, the craft has become more than creative expression—it is a source of financial independence. “When a woman starts earning, even a little, it changes how she sees herself,” Masrat says. “And it changes how others see her too.”
One of her trainees, Shazia, shares, “I never imagined I could contribute financially to my family. Now, I feel proud. This art has given me a new identity.”
Despite her optimism, Masrat is acutely aware of the challenges facing the craft. Changing market trends, declining demand for handmade products, and limited institutional support have placed traditional artisans under strain.
“Preserving the craft is not just about teaching it,” she says. “Artists need platforms, exposure, and financial security. Otherwise, the younger generation will move away from it.”
She emphasizes the need for stronger government intervention. “There should be more support schemes, better marketing opportunities, and direct connections to larger markets,” she suggests. “If the artisans survive, the art will survive.”
Masrat’s story is not one of loud defiance but of quiet transformation. In a society where roles are often predefined, she has expanded what is possible—not only for herself but for others around her.
Her journey reflects a broader shift taking place across Kashmir, where women are increasingly stepping into spaces once considered out of bounds.
“Art doesn’t belong to men or women,” Masrat says firmly. “It belongs to those who are willing to learn and respect it.”
As the afternoon light filters through her workspace, illuminating rows of delicately painted objects, Masrat returns to her work. There is no sense of finality in what she does—only continuity.
“I want this art to live on,” she says softly. “Not just in museums or shops, but in people’s hands, in their lives.”
In every piece she creates, and in every woman she trains, Masrat Jan is ensuring that Kashmir’s paper-mâché tradition is not merely preserved—but renewed.
And in doing so, she proves that sometimes, the most powerful revolutions begin with a single, steady brushstroke.
