The centuries-old Tangail saree craft, celebrated as a UNESCO intangible cultural heritage for its intricate detailing and fine textures, finds itself teetering on the brink of extinction amidst economic pressures and industrialization in Bangladesh’s central Tangail city.
Despite garnering global acclaim, weavers like Ajit Kumar Roy are facing unprecedented challenges. Working with handlooms that once numbered in the dozens have dwindled to just a few as modern automation has eroded traditional craftsmanship’s relevance. Roy, who has been weaving for nearly two decades alongside his family, laments how this prestigious recognition hasn’t mitigated their daily struggles.
“The constant back-and-forth of interlacing warp and weft threads is physically demanding,” said the 35-year-old weaver to AFP. “A single mistake can cause significant issues.”
The traditional lineage continues through a gendered division where men oversee weaving, dyeing, and design, while women prepare yarns, apply starches, and fine-tune the final products.
Traditionally considered a well-paying profession, Tangail saree production has plummeted since the onset of the pandemic. Roy’s factory now only operates with ten looms compared to twenty in his previous tenure. Many other factories have shuttered completely due to declining demand and soaring costs.
As manufacturing shifts away from handlooms, an entire generation is losing touch with their heritage. Ajit Kumar’s son, who has inherited the craft, struggles under the weight of looming obsolescence. Raghunath Basak, a local saree trader and preservationist, faces his own crisis. His family’s seven-generation legacy could soon be at risk as he fears passing this tradition to future generations.
Basak’s worries are compounded by economic hardships. The closure of land ports between Bangladesh and India has stymied export avenues vital for managing fluctuating yarn prices locally. “Saris were once exported via roads, and we imported yarns when local costs soared,” Basak explained, noting his community’s reliance on traditional methods.
Historically symbolizing Bengali identity during East Pakistan’s transition to independence in the 1960s, consumer preferences are now diverging. Kaniz Neera, a regular buyer of Tangail sarees who purchases dozens annually for their distinctive patterns and comfort, sees her own daughter eschewing the garment except for special occasions.
Despite these hurdles, researchers remain cautiously optimistic about the future. Shawon Akand, author of “The Dhaka Silk: The Story of Sari Weavers,” highlights how descendants have innovated upon fine yarn techniques inherited from ancestors while adapting them uniquely to create Tangail sarees. “The craft can adapt and evolve,” he posits.
With cultural symbols like the Tangail saree in peril, preservationists seek tangible support for ongoing artisans. A cover photo featuring a weaver at work underscores this fragile legacy under threat.