People can fabricate stories, spin lies, weave a web of deceit and lack moral fibre. Lives can be interwoven, or hang by a thread. Folks can be dyed in the wool, or the wool can be pulled over someone’s eyes. A person can have tangled nerves, or lose the thread of an argument. These idioms derive from the ancient art of weaving.

Considering the Indus Valley has been producing cotton textiles continuously for at least 7,000 years, there are far fewer references to weaving in South Asian languages than one would expect. ‘Tana bana’ [warp and weft] describes the intricacies of a situation, while ‘Jitni chadar utna paaon phailao’ [only stretch as much as the size of your sheet] warns against over-reaching ambition.

The more sinister associations with spinning and weaving emerged from Greek mythology. Athena, the goddess of wisdom and crafts, punished her rival Arachne by turning her into a spider, destined to have her webs forever destroyed. The three Fates control destiny by spinning the thread of life at birth, measuring how long a person lives or cutting the thread of life. These myths and others reinforced weaving as magical, often with dubious moral intentions.

Textiles are also a form of storytelling. In a Roman tale, Philomela was raped and her tongue cut out, but she weaved her story so her sister could take revenge. The 11th century Bayeux Tapestry depicts the conquest of England by William the Conqueror. In recent times, the Afghan war rugs, first woven during the invasion by the Soviet Union, incorporate tanks, helicopters and landmines as design motifs, weave conflict maps and depict the destruction of New York’s Twin Towers.

From ancient myths to modern political symbolism, there exists an intricate relationship between textiles and storytelling across all cultures

Chilean arpilleras [burlaps] were secretly embroidered images depicting missing persons and torture during the Pinochet military regime. Mexico’s Bordamos Feminicidios embroidered stories of women killed between 1885 and 2009. The Underground Railroad quilts were said to depict escape routes for slaves in America.

The motifs on wedding clothes embroidered in Pakistani villages reflect the personality of the bride-to-be for her in-laws, and often depict the surrounding landscape, including thorns and dogs’ paw prints. The adage, ‘When life gives you scraps, make a quilt’ evokes the beautiful Rilli quilting of Sindh. Many feminist artists have turned embroidery and quilting into an expressive art, depicting their domestic lives or motherhood. Eva Hesse’s sculptures made fibre into a mainstream art material.

Clothing styles tell their own story. Gandhi’s loincloth was an act of cultural resistance, as was the wearing of homespun khaadi. The Gandhi cap was stitched by Bi Amma and later adopted by Jawaharlal Nehru. The sumptuous fashions of the Mughals can be seen as historical texts of invasion. Stitched clothing was introduced into a culture that only wore unstitched wraps.

Pyjamas and coats from Central Asia, and brocades and embroidery from Persia were reinterpreted by local craftspersons, creating a confluence of cultures — the Ganga-Jamuni tehzeeb. Romantic names were given to the highly refined Dhaka muslin — baft hawa [woven air], shabnam [evening dew], and aab-i-ravaan [flowing water]. The British textile factories, unable to reproduce their quality, ensured that weaving Dhaka muslin became illegal.

The extravagant fashions of Marie Antoinette and her courtiers symbolised social inequality during the French Revolution. Princess Diana wore her famous headline grabbing ‘revenge dress’ after Prince Charles revealed in an interview that he had been unfaithful during their marriage.

The women’s right advocate Amelia Bloomer, inspired by Turkish women’s shalwars, popularised trousers for women in 1885, but it was not till women took over men’s factory jobs during WWII that more women wore trousers. This soon became a fashion statement of independence, adopted by Coco Chanel and Hollywood actresses. Women were not allowed to wear trousers on the US Senate floor until 1993, and the phrase ‘Who wears the pants?’ remains a symbol of domestic authority.

Napoleon’s hat, the Mao suit, Z A Bhutto’s announcement of the shalwar qameez as a national dress, the tartans of Scottish nationalists and Che Guevera’s beret acquired political dimensions, as has the euphemism ‘wardi’ [uniform] in Pakistan.

Clothing was always an identifier in tribal cultures, such as the red shukas of the Maasai tribes, the feather headdresses of Native Americans, the turbans of India and Pakistan, and even the cross-dressing of khwaja siras. Today, fashion houses create their own ‘tribes’, announcing style or class as an exclusive identity.

Durriya Kazi is a Karachi-based artist.
She may be reached at
durriyakazi1918@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, EOS, October 27th, 2024