Sozni artisans struggle to sustain Kashmir’s timeless craft

Falak Bilal
Srinagar, Apr 30: In a modest workspace tucked within the old quarters of the city, the soft rhythm of needle and thread continues a tradition that has defined Kashmir’s artistic identity for generations. For veteran sozni artisan Shabir Ahmad Mir, each stitch on fine Pashmina is not merely decoration—it is a legacy shaped by patience, skill, and inherited pride.

Raised in a household where embroidery was both livelihood and language, Mir recalls learning the craft at a young age under his father’s guidance. “We didn’t just learn how to stitch; we learned how to see beauty in detail,” he says, gently stretching a half-finished shawl across his hands. “Every thread carries a part of our story.”
Sozni embroidery, known for its intricate needlework on luxurious Pashmina, has long been celebrated as one of Kashmir’s finest artistic traditions. Yet, behind the elegance that captivates global markets lies a quieter narrative of hardship.
Mir, who has spent decades perfecting his craft, speaks candidly about the challenges artisans face today. “The world admires our work, but the artisan remains unseen,” he says. “We invest months into a single piece, yet the returns are often not enough to sustain a family.”
According to him, the biggest hurdle is the absence of direct access to buyers. Layers of intermediaries dominate the trade, leaving artisans with only a fraction of the final price. “Middlemen control the market. By the time a shawl reaches the customer, its value has multiplied—but not for the person who made it,” he adds.
Despite these realities, Mir has not put down his needle. His commitment, he says, is driven by a deeper responsibility. “If we stop, this art will fade. And with it, a part of Kashmir’s identity will disappear.”
He believes that meaningful change lies in building platforms where artisans can connect directly with customers, ensuring fair compensation and recognition. “We don’t ask for charity,” Mir emphasizes. “We ask for fairness—so that our work is valued the way it deserves to be.”
As younger generations drift toward more secure professions, the future of sozni hangs in a delicate balance. For artisans like Mir, preserving this centuries-old tradition is no longer just about craft—it is about survival.
“Our art has lived through time,” he reflects. “Now it depends on whether society chooses to keep it alive.”