“LOUIS VUITTON IS LIKE MCDONALDS”

Kutch is a land of landscapes-of mangroves, sea and desert, earth scorched by sun and salt, forty kinds of grass, small lakes speckling the barrenness, home to hundreds of thousands of birds permanent and transitory, and India's last shrinking haven of nomadic pastoralism. For centuries, the nomads of Kutch, India's westernmost and largest district along the international border with Pakistan, have coloured the land with their art and craft, producing embroidery, mirror work, thread, yarn, wool, weave and artisanship that has few parallels. The 2001 earthquake-7.7 on the Richter scale, its epicentre just north of Bhuj, the district headquarters which killed more than 20,000 people and affected more than 8,000 villages, changed the course of history in Kutch. The massive rebuilding and industrialisation that followed, the first experiment with the 'Gujarat Model' of development, caused unprecedented disruptions in the life of these communities. Power plants, ports, solar farms, and cement and ceramic tile factories sprang up at a furious pace; the clear, shimmering skies were airbrushed with smoke spitting chimneys. This industrialisation required its own army of workers, the kind that are cheap and easily available. The Maldharis, Rabaris, Meghwals, Ahirs, Fakirani Jats, and others of their ilk-nomadic and semi-nomadic communities who had, for ages, criss-crossed the land with few material possessions but a treasure trove of art and culture were that workforce. The communities many of their traditional routes already fenced in by factories, and thousands of hectares of common grazing lands, or gauchar, given away by the Gujarat government to private corporations for a song-were already cornered. Many gave in and many continue to do so. The result is that some of the finest weavers, dyers, and embroiderers of Kutch now work as bathroom cleaners and security guards in big factories, many of which stand on land that was once the giant commons, the very fabric of life in Kutch. Even as Kutch continues to be a centre of craft clusters-its textile and embroidery sold across the world- and fashion designers in India continue to launch collections inspired by the region, the art and craft are becoming inaccessible to the people who make it. The ludi, the black Rabari veil that draped the women from head to toe in an unbroken line, a heritage of multi-generational finesse, is being replaced by cheap polyester versions from the sweatshops of Surat while handmade versions retail from luxury boutiques around the world for prices a Rabari woman can't imagine. The development of Kutch is considered a great success, industrialisation across vast, seemingly empty stretches of land. "Where there was nothing, there are now factories," is a common refrain. This, then, is the story of those empty stretches of land, the ebb and flow of people who walked it, a place where some of India's greatest crafts were born, of people who weren't wealthy but had the skill to create and wear the finest fabrics adorned by the most delicate embroideries. The Vankar (Vankars are a Scheduled Caste community of master weavers) village of Kukma, Bhuj taluka, Tejsi Dhana, a kharad-weaver, stood under the harsh sun, seeing how the light hit. "Dim enough," he said, and carefully carried dried pieces of wood from the babool tree that grows in abundance in Kutch, emptying them in a simmering pot of yarn on an open fire. To get the exact shade of brown, everything mattered, from the time of the day to the number of hours of boiling. He added pomegranate skins to the mix until the yarn turned orange and laid it out to dry. His challenge was to create a perfect shade of green, something that doesn't occur naturally. The following day, he boiled the yarn with a hint of indigo, watching the colours change as he followed carefully studied recipes handed down to his father by his grandfather. "The recipes, the weave, will remain the same," he said. But little else did. The Dhanas came to prominence in a little-known village called Kuran on the border of India and Pakistan, earning a name as the finest bag-weavers; bags that were piled on the humps of camels. With little farming in the area, villagers from Kutch crossed into Badina, Pakistan, to get grain. They returned with bags known as chants, filled to the brim atop camels. The Dhanas' bags were not only big and sturdy but also beautiful, in shades that people had never before seen. "So many hands went into making just one bag," said Tejsi. Weavers formed relationships with shepherds who raised their animals well. Shepherds from the Jat, Rajput, Rabari, Ahir and Meghwal communities provided the wool that was handspun into thread. Camel hair was used in the warp and goat hair in the weft as communities united over the loom. In those simpler times, when the wool was clean, lustrous and beautiful, money mattered less. Sometimes they were paid in milk or ghee, wool, sheep or goat. Back then, relationships ran deep from Thar in Rajasthan to the Rann in Kutch. "In sleeping, in waking, in art, we were one," said Tejsi.A woman from the Rabari

Dana Thomas began her career at the Style section of The Washington Post in the late 1980s, back when the great fashion houses were still intimate and family-owned. Her three books, Fashionopolis: The Price of Fast Fashion and the Future of Clothes, Gods and Kings: The Rise and Fall of Alexander McQueen and John Galliano, and Deluxe: How Luxury Lost Its Luster trace the transformation of these companies into multi-million-dollar giants with questionable practices, and take readers beyond the glitz of the runway to the Chinese factories employing children. Thomas talks to Alia Allana about fashion’s connection with the environment, the enduring appeal of Chanel and why most luxury today is “mass-produced junk”. Dana Thomas began her career at the Style section of The Washington Post in the late 1980s, back when the great fashion houses were still intimate and family-owned.

Kutch is a land of landscapes-of mangroves, sea and desert, earth scorched by sun and salt, forty kinds of grass, small lakes speckling the barrenness, home to hundreds of thousands of birds permanent and transitory, and India's last shrinking haven of nomadic pastoralism. For centuries, the nomads of Kutch, India's westernmost and largest district along the international border with Pakistan, have coloured the land with their art and craft, producing embroidery, mirror work, thread, yarn, wool, weave and artisanship that has few parallels. The 2001 earthquake-7.7 on the Richter scale, its epicentre just north of Bhuj, the district headquarters which killed more than 20,000 people and affected more than 8,000 villages, changed the course of history in Kutch. The massive rebuilding and industrialisation that followed, the first experiment with the 'Gujarat Model' of development, caused unprecedented disruptions in the life of these communities. Power plants, ports, solar farms, and cement and ceramic tile factories sprang up at a furious pace; the clear, shimmering skies were airbrushed with smoke spitting chimneys.This industrialisation required its own army of workers, the kind that are cheap and easily available. The Maldharis, Rabaris, Meghwals, Ahirs, Fakirani Jats, and others of their ilk-nomadic and semi-nomadic communities who had, for ages, criss-crossed the land with few material possessions but a treasure trove of art and culture were that workforce. The communities many of their traditional routes already fenced in by factories, and thousands of hectares of common grazing lands, or gauchar, given away by the Gujarat government to private corporations for a song-were already cornered. Many gave in and many continue to do so. The result is that some of the finest weavers, dyers, and embroiderers of Kutch now work as bathroom cleaners and security guards in big factories, many of which stand on land that was once the giant commons, the very fabric of life in Kutch. Even as Kutch continues to be a centre of craft clusters-its textile and embroidery sold across the world- and fashion designers in India continue to launch collections inspired by the region, the art and craft are becoming inaccessible to the people who make it. The ludi, the black Rabari veil that draped the women from head to toe in an unbroken line, a heritage of multi-generational finesse, is being replaced by cheap polyester versions from the sweatshops of Surat while handmade versions retail from luxury boutiques around the world for prices a Rabari woman can't imagine. The development of Kutch is considered a great success, industrialisation across vast, seemingly empty stretches of land. "Where there was nothing, there are now factories," is a common refrain. This, then, is the story of those empty stretches of land, the ebb and flow of people who walked it, a place where some of India's greatest crafts were born, of people who weren't wealthy but had the skill to create and wear the finest fabrics adorned by the most delicate embroideries. n the Vankar (Vankars are a Scheduled Caste community of master weavers) village of Kukma, Bhuj taluka, Tejsi Dhana, a kharad-weaver, stood under the harsh sun, seeing how the light hit. "Dim enough," he said, and carefully carried dried pieces of wood from the babool tree that grows in abundance in Kutch, emptying them in a simmering pot of yarn on an open fire. To get the exact shade of brown, everything mattered, from the time of the day to the number of hours of boiling. He added pomegranate skins to the mix until the yarn turned orange and laid it out to dry. His challenge was to create a perfect shade of green, something that doesn't occur naturally. The following day, he boiled the yarn with a hint of indigo, watching the colours change as he followed carefully studied recipes handed down to his father by his grandfather. "The recipes, the weave, will remain the same," he said. But little else did. The Dhanas came to prominence in a little-known village called Kuran on the border of India and Pakistan, earning a name as the finest bag-weavers; bags that were piled on the humps of camels. With little farming in the area, villagers from Kutch crossed into Badina, Pakistan, to get grain. They returned with bags known as chants, filled to the brim atop camels. The Dhanas' bags were not only big and sturdy but also beautiful, in shades that people had never before seen. "So many hands went into making just one bag," said Tejsi. Weavers formed relationships with shepherds who raised their animals well. Shepherds from the Jat, Rajput, Rabari, Ahir and Meghwal communities provided the wool that was handspun into thread. Camel hair was used in the warp and goat hair in the weft as communities united over the loom. In those simpler times, when the wool was clean, lustrous and beautiful, money mattered less. Sometimes they were paid in milk or ghee, wool, sheep or goat.

thousands of birds permanent and transitory, and India's last shrinking haven of nomadic pastoralism. For centuries, the nomads of Kutch, India's westernmost and largest district along the international border with Pakistan, have coloured the land with their art and craft, producing embroidery, mirror work, thread, yarn, wool, weave and artisanship that has few parallels.The 2001 earthquake-7.7 on the Richter scale, its epicentre just north of Bhuj, the district headquarters which killed more than 20,000 people and affected more than 8,000 villages, changed the course of history in Kutch. The massive rebuilding and industrialisation that followed, the first experiment with the 'Gujarat Model' of development, caused unprecedented disruptions in the life of these communities. Power plants, ports, solar farms, and cement and ceramic tile factories sprang up at a furious pace; the clear, shimmering skies were airbrushed with smoke spitting chimneys. This industrialisation required its own army of workers, the kind that are cheap and easily available. The Maldharis, Rabaris, Meghwals, Ahirs, Fakirani Jats, and others of their ilk-nomadic and semi-nomadic communities who had, for ages, criss-crossed the land with few material possessions but a treasure trove of art and culture were that workforce. The communities many of their traditional routes already fenced in by factories, and thousands of hectares of common grazing lands, or gauchar, given away by the Gujarat government to private corporations for a song-were already cornered. Many gave in and many continue to do so. The result is that some of the finest weavers, dyers, and embroiderers of Kutch now work as bathroom cleaners and security guards in big factories, many of which stand on land that was once the giant commons, the very fabric of life in Kutch. Even as Kutch continues to be a centre of craft clusters-its textile and embroidery sold across the world- and fashion designers in India continue to launch collections inspired by the region, the art and craft are becoming inaccessible to the people who make it. The ludi, the black Rabari veil that draped the women from head to toe in an unbroken line, a heritage of multi-generational finesse, is being replaced by cheap polyester versions from the sweatshops of Surat while handmade versions retail from luxury boutiques around the world for prices a Rabari woman can't imagine. The development of Kutch is considered a great success, industrialisation across vast, seemingly empty stretches of land. "Where there was nothing, there are now factories," is a common refrain. This, then, is the story of those empty stretches of land, the ebb and flow of people who walked it, a place where some of India's greatest crafts were born, of people who weren't wealthy but had the skill to create and wear the finest fabrics adorned by the most delicate embroideries. The Vankar (Vankars are a Scheduled Caste community of master weavers) village of Kukma, Bhuj taluka, Tejsi Dhana, a kharad-weaver, stood under the harsh sun, seeing how the light hit."Dim enough," he said, and carefully carried dried pieces of wood from the babool tree that grows in abundance in Kutch, emptying them in a simmering pot of yarn on an open fire. To get the exact shade of brown, everything mattered, from the time of the day to the number of hours of boiling. He added pomegranate skins to the mix until the yarn turned orange and laid it out to dry. His challenge was to create a perfect shade of green, something that doesn't occur naturally. The following day, he boiled the yarn with a hint of indigo, watching the colours change as he followed carefully studied recipes handed down to his father by his grandfather. "The recipes, the weave, will remain the same," he said. But little else did. The Dhanas came to prominence in a little-known village called Kuran on the border of India and Pakistan, earning a name as the finest bag-weavers; bags that were piled on the humps of camels. With little farming in the area, villagers from Kutch crossed into Badina, Pakistan, to get grain. They returned with bags known as chants, filled to the brim atop camels. The Dhanas' bags were not only big and sturdy but also beautiful, in shades that people had never before seen. "So many hands went into making just one bag," said Tejsi. Weavers formed relationships with shepherds who raised their animals well. Shepherds from the Jat, Rajput, Rabari, Ahir and Meghwal communities provided the wool that was handspun into thread. Camel hair was used in the warp and goat hair in the weft as communities united over the loom. In those simpler times, when the wool was clean, lustrous and beautiful, money mattered less. Sometimes they were paid in milk or ghee, wool, sheep or goat. Back then, relationships ran deep from Thar in Rajasthan to the Rann in Kutch. "In sleeping, in waking, in art, we were one," said Tejsi.

Kutch is a land of landscapes-of mangroves, sea and desert, earth scorched by sun and salt, forty kinds of grass, small lakes speckling the barrenness, home to hundreds of thousands of birds permanent and transitory, and India's last shrinking haven of nomadic pastoralism. For centuries, the nomads of Kutch, India's westernmost and largest district along the international border with Pakistan, have coloured the land with their art and craft, producing embroidery, mirror work, thread, yarn, wool, weave and artisanship that has few parallels. The 2001 earthquake-7.7 on the Richter scale, its epicentre just north of Bhuj, the district headquarters which killed more than 20,000 people and affected more than 8,000 villages, changed the course of history in Kutch. The massive rebuilding and industrialisation that followed, the first experiment with the 'Gujarat Model' of development, caused unprecedented disruptions in the life of these communities. Power plants, ports, solar farms, and cement and ceramic tile factories sprang up at a furious pace; the clear, shimmering skies were airbrushed with smoke spitting chimneys. This industrialisation required its own army of workers, the kind that are cheap and easily available. The Maldharis, Rabaris, Meghwals, Ahirs, Fakirani Jats, and others of their ilk-nomadic and semi-nomadic communities who had, for ages, criss-crossed the land with few material possessions but a treasure trove of art and culture were that workforce. The communities many of their traditional routes already fenced in by factories, and thousands of hectares of common grazing lands, or gauchar, given away by the Gujarat government to private corporations for a song-were already cornered. Many gave in and many continue to do so. The result is that some of the finest weavers, dyers, and embroiderers of Kutch now work as bathroom cleaners and security guards in big factories, many of which stand on land that was once the giant commons, the very fabric of life in Kutch. Even as Kutch continues to be a centre of craft clusters-its textile and embroidery sold across the world- and fashion designers in India continue to launch collections inspired by the region, the art and craft are becoming inaccessible to the people who make it. The ludi, the black Rabari veil that draped the women from head to toe in an unbroken line, a heritage of multi-generational finesse, is being replaced by cheap polyester versions from the sweatshops of Surat while handmade versions retail from luxury boutiques around the world for prices a Rabari woman can't imagine. The development of Kutch is considered a great success, industrialisation across vast, seemingly empty stretches of land. "Where there was nothing, there are now factories," is a common refrain. This, then, is the story of those empty stretches of land, the ebb and flow of people who walked it, a place where some of India's greatest crafts were born, of people who weren't wealthy but had the skill to create and wear the finest fabrics adorned by the most delicate embroideries. The Vankar (Vankars are a Scheduled Caste community of master weavers) village of Kukma, Bhuj taluka, Tejsi Dhana, a kharad-weaver, stood under the harsh sun, seeing how the light hit. "Dim enough," he said, and carefully carried dried pieces of wood from the babool tree that grows in abundance in Kutch, emptying them in a simmering pot of yarn on an open fire. To get the exact shade of brown, everything mattered, from the time of the day to the number of hours of boiling. He added pomegranate skins to the mix until the yarn turned orange and laid it out to dry. His challenge was to create a perfect shade of green, something that doesn't occur naturally. The following day, he boiled the yarn with a hint of indigo, watching the colours change as he followed carefully studied recipes handed down to his father by his grandfather. "The recipes, the weave, will remain the same," he said. But little else did. The Dhanas came to prominence in a little-known village called Kuran on the border of India and Pakistan, earning a name as the finest bag-weavers; bags that were piled on the humps of camels. With little farming in the area, villagers from Kutch crossed into Badina, Pakistan, to get grain. They returned with bags known as chants, filled to the brim atop camels. The Dhanas' bags were not only big and sturdy but also beautiful, in shades that people had never before seen. "So many hands went into making just one bag," said Tejsi. Weavers formed relationships with shepherds who raised their animals well. Shepherds from the Jat, Rajput, Rabari, Ahir and Meghwal communities provided the wool that was handspun into thread. Camel hair was used in the warp and goat hair in the weft as communities united over the loom. In those simpler times, when the wool was clean, lustrous and beautiful, money mattered less. Sometimes they were paid in milk or ghee, wool, sheep or goat. Back then, relationships ran deep from Thar in Rajasthan to the Rann in Kutch. "In sleeping, in waking, in art, we were one," said Tejsi.

thousands of birds permanent and transitory, and India's last shrinking haven of nomadic pastoralism. For centuries, the nomads of Kutch, India's westernmost and largest district along the international border with Pakistan, have coloured the land with their art and craft, producing embroidery, mirror work, thread, yarn, wool, weave and artisanship that has few parallels.The 2001 earthquake-7.7 on the Richter scale, its epicentre just north of Bhuj, the district headquarters which killed more than 20,000 people and affected more than 8,000 villages, changed the course of history in Kutch. The massive rebuilding and industrialisation that followed, the first experiment with the 'Gujarat Model' of development, caused unprecedented disruptions in the life of these communities. Power plants, ports, solar farms, and cement and ceramic tile factories sprang up at a furious pace; the clear, shimmering skies were airbrushed with smoke spitting chimneys. This industrialisation required its own army of workers, the kind that are cheap and easily available. The Maldharis, Rabaris, Meghwals, Ahirs, Fakirani Jats, and others of their ilk-nomadic and semi-nomadic communities who had, for ages, criss-crossed the land with few material possessions but a treasure trove of art and culture were that workforce. The communities many of their traditional routes already fenced in by factories, and thousands of hectares of common grazing lands, or gauchar, given away by the Gujarat government to private corporations for a song-were already cornered. Many gave in and many continue to do so. The result is that some of the finest weavers, dyers, and embroiderers of Kutch now work as bathroom cleaners and security guards in big factories, many of which stand on land that was once the giant commons, the very fabric of life in Kutch. Even as Kutch continues to be a centre of craft clusters-its textile and embroidery sold across the world- and fashion designers in India continue to launch collections inspired by the region, the art and craft are becoming inaccessible to the people who make it. The ludi, the black Rabari veil that draped the women from head to toe in an unbroken line, a heritage of multi-generational finesse, is being replaced by cheap polyester versions from the sweatshops of Surat while handmade versions retail from luxury boutiques around the world for prices a Rabari woman can't imagine. The development of Kutch is considered a great success, industrialisation across vast, seemingly empty stretches of land. "Where there was nothing, there are now factories," is a common refrain. This, then, is the story of those empty stretches of land, the ebb and flow of people who walked it, a place where some of India's greatest crafts were born, of people who weren't wealthy but had the skill to create and wear the finest fabrics adorned by the most delicate embroideries. The Vankar (Vankars are a Scheduled Caste community of master weavers) village of Kukma, Bhuj taluka, Tejsi Dhana, a kharad-weaver, stood under the harsh sun, seeing how the light hit. "Dim enough," he said, and carefully carried dried pieces of wood from the babool tree that grows in abundance in Kutch, emptying them in a simmering pot of yarn on an open fire. To get the exact shade of brown, everything mattered, from the time of the day to the number of hours of boiling. He added pomegranate skins to the mix until the yarn turned orange and laid it out to dry. His challenge was to create a perfect shade of green, something that doesn't occur naturally. The following day, he boiled the yarn with a hint of indigo, watching the colours change as he followed carefully studied recipes handed down to his father by his grandfather. "The recipes, the weave, will remain the same," he said. But little else did. The Dhanas came to prominence in a little-known village called Kuran on the border of India and Pakistan, earning a name as the finest bag-weavers; bags that were piled on the humps of camels. With little farming in the area, villagers from Kutch crossed into Badina, Pakistan, to get grain. They returned with bags known as chants, filled to the brim atop camels. The Dhanas' bags were not only big and sturdy but also beautiful, in shades that people had never before seen. "So many hands went into making just one bag," said Tejsi. Weavers formed relationships with shepherds who raised their animals well. Shepherds from the Jat, Rajput, Rabari, Ahir and Meghwal communities provided the wool that was handspun into thread. Camel hair was used in the warp and goat hair in the weft as communities united over the loom. In those simpler times, when the wool was clean, lustrous and beautiful, money mattered less. Sometimes they were paid in milk or ghee, wool, sheep or goat. Back then, relationships ran deep from Thar in Rajasthan to the Rann in Kutch. "In sleeping, in waking, in art, we were one," said Tejsi.