Where you get the most – and the most out of – colour this season. Four professionals in the natural dyeing industry tell us why democratised systems need to be the future.

The exuberance – the impact of colour, has always been reflected in Indian textiles. But, clearly, the greatest delight, brightly coloured and printed Indian- origin textiles, were exported in high quantities by the European East India companies pre– Industrial Revolution. And if we may take the liberty to say so, even added “fashion” to the wardrobe of the common European. 

Colour turns the mood of summer, moves clothes right into the city night or a working day, and into another season. Fashion’s strongest stimulus for consumers is that it strikes you before fabric, fit, and feel. However, neon-bright chemical-laden concoctions discarded into rivers, ever-deteriorating work conditions and, more often than not, poverty line wages are the true cost of the season’s brights in fashion’s synthetic dyeing systems. 

Frequently suggested as an alternative, natural dyes on an industrial level introduce their own set of pollution problems. Mostly green-washed for the buyer, natural dyes in untraceable supply chains are often fixed with chemical mordants. Counterintuitive mass production systems need to be democratised for real impact. So, how can smaller localised setups go about democratising fashion’s dyeing systems? 

From hair to fabric, dyeing in India has a plant-based history. Sisters Juhi and Janhavi Vyas of the label Akané combine amorphous shapes and sophisticated colours in hand-dyed floral prints through eco-dyeing forged leaves, bundle dyeing flowers and tie-dye techniques like shibori with plant-based pigments. The brand takes its sustainability badge seriously through naturally dyed slow fashion. Tesu: Flame of the forest flowers, lac, catechu, madder root and sappan wood may sound unrelated to fashion, but they’re now as familiar to the sisters as thread and needle. “Earlier, tesu flowers were used to make pigments for holi, and madder root was found in Ayurvedic medicine. Lac is a resin widely used for bangles,” Janhavi explains. “It’s about going back in time and evolving the use of plants."

Based in Mumbai, Akané is challenging both the notion that lasting dye jobs must be from synthetic industrial systems and that natural dyeing systems must exist only rurally.

“Who made my clothes?” – this is a question we all need to be asking brands and ourselves. Most ‘sustainable’ tags are industrial surface-level- good-behaviour on untracked skill outsourcing. However, from raw material manufacturers and skilled labour employers down to brands, transparency at every step seems more attainable in smaller setups.

“Where is everything coming from? There’s attention to detail in localised setups,” Juhi explains. “Where are the fabrics coming from, the dyes and the flowers? Are people happy making these products?” 

Artisans and garment workers in India and across the globe saw drastic pay reductions or job losses as fashion brands cancelled large orders since the pandemic hit. As a result, millions living on poverty wages were left in desperate situations – unable to pay for basic needs such as food, water, and shelter while stranded in cities with no means of transportation. 

With the pandemic highlighting the extreme difficulties faced by this group, it is essential to re-engineer systems. “Bengaluru is now a corporate city where ecosystems of craft people can very easily dissipate,” says Padmini Govind of Tharangini – Bengaluru’s oldest block- printing studio. 

The way to prevent this collapse? “Pay the artisans well, give them private medical insurance, paid leaves, everything they get at a corporate sector otherwise, they would not be able to afford to be a full-time artisan in a city like Bengaluru. It’s an expensive city.” 

Technically a democratised system is all about finding an ethical balance. However, fundamentally it’s about recognising the unrecognised and celebrating their contribution. 

Tharangini Studio creates printed textiles with pure, natural plant-based dyes and discharge printing using natural plant resins. “We’ve been keeping the same metric of using natural dyes before it was a hashtag on Instagram,” Govind explains, before comparing with a smile: “And now there is a value and validation attached to this, which we’re happy about.” 

Finding her greatest ally in digitisation, she also points out how traceable production chains connect the artisan to the consumer. “Visually, they see who’s wearing their work, so it is an exciting moment; they get a rush out of it,” she adds. It is a story of who they are and the story of the work they do, just like tangible monetary corporate profits. 

As a wearer, an array of emotions wrap a garment with a readable backstory, like the comforting blanket of sea breeze in the summer of love. The “provenance of things” holds great value in Govind’s opinion. “It’s nice to showcase the provenance of who we are by connecting to our local craft ecosystem of Bengaluru,” she adds. 

“At the end of the day, all human hands are making your product. There is no intervention from automation or a machine,” underscores Govind. Localised setups allow discussions on the feasibility of the design, so you don’t go too far into the process and realise the design doesn’t work. Beyond the economic savings, it’s about the respect rendered to the skill. 

An advocate of “no hierarchy” setups, she believes viewing herself as “only a facilitator” in the business, her job to mesh the ideas of designers and brands with those of the artisans at her studio is better executed. 

Riddhi Jain Satija of Delhi-based label Studio Medium also points out how “an international acceptance and demand arises out of a regard for the process (natural dyeing), the materials, the aesthetic, and because it’s sustainable.”

American poet Ezra Pound rightly said: “Technique is the test of sincerity, if a thing isn’t worth getting the technique to say, it is of inferior value.” The scale of localised setups permits close connectivity for skill transfer without compromise. 

“The dyeing technique is the inspiration,” says Anuradha Singh, the head of Jaipur- based Nila House, working extensively with indigo. “What needs to be done with that technique is help put it in context with what today’s consumers want.” 

“In village-owned producer and community groups, skill and technique can be retained because the ownership remains.” She points out that when the ownership remains, artisans see the value of the skill they hold both – nationally and internationally. 

“You can’t industrialise natural dye. It’s a very slow, patient, beautiful process that takes time. So you can’t just do it in large quantities, which makes it sustainable,” explains Singh. And in economic terms? If you hyper localise, you create small community-driven industry systems that are self-sustaining within each other.” 

Apart from metric value, the ‘reach’ of skill can be rescaled too. A few days back, the picturesque Nila House space played host to a group of Ladakhi women creating beautiful weaves with yak wool that loses its original texture in contact with synthetic dyes. Referencing their seven-day natural dyeing workshop, Singh says: “The industry needs work on knowledge exchange and training among communities.” 

It is only human to measure profitability in ‘stable financial income channels’ and ‘well-being through growth.’ If one sees another fail, cognitive frameworks are alarmed by the risks. Younger generations in artisan families have witnessed business models dwindle on a lack of market demand. 

The cost of design education in India is also an often neglected but crucial barrier. “Kids from artisan families usually end up in BA and BCom courses due to the fee structure of design institutes,” she points out. A more accessible and inclusive model of design education can create a space for the younger generation of artisans to hone market adaptability to their generational skills. Nila House has instituted a scholarship for artisan kids willing to pursue design careers. 

We’ve all considered the carbon footprint of our clothes, but what is the water footprint? Coined by Arjen Y. Hoekstra, in simple words, the water footprint is the quantitative utilisation of fresh water in the production or supply of goods and services by a particular person or group. 

“Synthetic dyeing systems result in effluents reaching water bodies that animals often drink. It’s also very toxic for people working with them closely over prolonged periods,” explains Juhi Vyas of Akané. “With natural dyes, you have a chance to be responsible for how the water will end up.” 

While most of their processes use steaming methods to transfer colour, in other cases, they stick to the use of alum, myrobalan seeds and iron to keep the water completely toxin-free. 

“It’s something as simple as soap,” reveals Singh of Nila House. “Traditionally, systems like ours use aritha (soap berries) in our washing process.” From the pre-processing of fabric to post-processing, everything needs to be “all natural so the water can go right back into the ground.” 

Chemical mordants are the most divisive material in natural dyeing. If fixed with chemical mordants, natural dyes do not fare much better on the controversy scale. “Avoiding chemical mordants allows us to recycle all our water in-house,” points out Govind of Tharangini. 

The slowdown philosophy is essentially at the heart of sustainable production: Focusing on artisanal skill, collaborative and traceable local supply chains, fair wages and aware sourcing of raw materials. Along with reducing water consumption and eliminating chemical use, a democratised system can marry earth-friendly to fashion-forward.

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