There is an art form – ancient, intricate, and astonishing – that may not live to see another generation: the Jamdani sari.

So I urge you to buy a Jamdani sari. For your mother. For your daughter. For the love of anything still made with human hands. Because if we continue on this path, Jamdani will vanish. And with it, a legacy.

Few products of Bengali craftsmanship have truly stunned me, but the Jamdani does – every time. It is not just mere clothing; it is poetry woven into fabric. At its best, a Jamdani sari rivals anything you might find hanging in a museum – sophisticated, versatile, transcendent.

This isn’t hyperbole. Under the patronage of the Mughals, the Jamdani – woven from the finest cotton called kapas, native to the lush floodplains of Bengal – achieved global renown.

The rivers surrounding Dhaka nourished the cotton and the artisans alike. Their water added a natural sheen to the threads, while the soil’s heat and moisture nurtured the raw material. From these perfect conditions emerged saris so light and sheer they were said to float in the air.

The Julahas – the master weavers – turned thread into marvels.

But then came the British. And with them, the factory. Colonial trade policies flooded...

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