The lost art of chikankari

The Lost Art of Chikankari: Reviving India’s Most Sophisticated Embroidery

June 2026 | 8 min read | By Tanirah

From the writings of a Greek diplomat in the 3rd century BC to the lanes of Lucknow — the story of Chikankari is one of survival, reinvention, and extraordinary craft.

There is a craft so ancient, so quietly extraordinary, that its traces appear in the writings of a Greek diplomat visiting the court of Chandragupta Maurya in the 3rd century BC. A craft so refined that a single dupatta could take months — sometimes longer — to complete. A craft so deeply woven into the soul of Lucknow that the city and the embroidery have become, over centuries, inseparable.

This is the story of Chikankari — where it came from, what it survived, what it became, and why it matters more today than ever before.

What Is Chikankari? The Meaning Behind the Name

Before we trace the history, it helps to understand the word itself.

Chikankari derives from the Persian word chikan or chikeen, meaning embroidery —specifically, the creation of delicate patterns on fabric. The suﬃx kari means work or craft. Together, Chikankari simply means "the work of embroidery." Some scholars also trace the word to the East Bengal language, where chikan meant "fine." Others suggest it may refer to a small coin (siquin) worth four rupees — the price at which the early work was sold.

What is certain is that the word, whatever its root, describes one of the most sophisticated embroidery traditions the world has ever produced.

Ancient Origins: 3rd Century BC

The earliest known reference to what may be Chikankari comes from Megasthenes, a Greek diplomat who served as ambassador to the court of Chandragupta Maurya around 302–288 BC. In his work Indika — now lost but preserved in fragments quoted by later writers —Megasthenes described Indians wearing flowered muslins. Historians and textile scholars have long interpreted this as an indirect reference to white-on-white embroidered muslin, the defining characteristic of classical Chikankari.

Later, in the famous Ajanta cave paintings (5th–7th century CE), figures are depicted wearing garments with what appear to be white embroidered patterns. The Bagh cave paintings carry similar visual references. These are not definitive proof — no physical examples of Chikankari survive from before the early 19th century, given the fragility of fine muslin over centuries — but together with Megasthenes' account, they form a compelling thread of indirect evidence that the tradition of white-on-white embroidered muslin is genuinely ancient.

What we know for certain is that the craft, as it exists today, has its documented, flourishing roots in the Mughal era.

The Mughal Court and Noor Jahan: 17th Century

The story most widely told — and most historically grounded — is of Noor Jahan, the Empress of the Mughal Empire and wife of Emperor Jahangir. Born Mehr-un-Nissa in 1577 to Persian nobility, Noor Jahan married Jahangir in 1611 and became one of the most powerful women in Mughal history. She is widely credited with introducing the Persian tradition of fine white embroidery to the Mughal court in the 17th century. Herself said to be a trained embroideress with a deep appreciation for needlework, Noor Jahan brought the craft into the royal sphere — and with imperial patronage, it flourished.

Under Mughal patronage, Chikankari was refined and formalised in dedicated karkhanas — royal workshops within the palace complex — where the entire production process was structured into distinct stages:

Chapai — the block printing of the pattern onto the fabric using washable dye

Chikankari — the embroidery itself, worked in white cotton thread

Washing — the final stage that removes the block-print markings and reveals the true beauty of the finished work

In its Mughal form, Chikankari was exclusively white thread on white fabric — specifically on tanzeb or mulmul, the finest sheer muslin. No colour. No contrast. Only the interplay of light, shadow, and texture is created by the stitches. It was, in the truest sense, an embroidery that rewarded those who looked closely.

It was also a craft that only the wealthy could aﬀord. The time, skill, and mastery required meant that Chikankari garments were worn as symbols of culture, refinement, and status — exclusively by the nobility and the court.

The 32 Stitches: A Language of Their Own

At its most sophisticated, classical Chikankari comprised 32 distinct stitches — each with its own name, its own technique, and its own level of diﬃculty. Together, they created a complete visual language capable of producing everything from delicate flat shadow work to raised, three-dimensional embroidery that seemed to bloom from the surface of the fabric.

Some of the most celebrated stitches include:

Tepchi — a long-running stitch, the most basic and the foundation of many designs
Bakhia — shadow work done from the reverse of the fabric, creating a subtle mirrored pattern.
Khatao — an appliqué technique involving cut fabric.
Murri — a tiny, precise knot stitch resembling a grain of rice; extraordinarily fine and time-consuming.
Phanda — similar to murri but round; considered among the most skilled stitches in the repertoire.
Jali — perhaps the most technically demanding of all, involving the careful separation of warp and weft threads to create an open, net-like mesh within the fabric itself.
Janjira — a chain stitch forming fine borders and outlines.
Gitti, Daraz, Ghaspatti, Chana Patti, Ohanda — each creating distinct textures, fills, and decorative eﬀects

The stitches were broadly categorised into three types: flat stitches (like tepchi and bakhia), embossed or raised stitches (like murri and phanda), and jali stitches (the open mesh work). A master karigar would spend years — sometimes an entire apprenticeship — learning to execute all three categories with precision.

The Persian Connection

The Persian influence on Chikankari runs deep and should not be understated.

Noor Jahan herself came from Persian nobility — her father, Mirza Ghiyas Beg, was a Persian noble who migrated to the Mughal court. The tradition of fine white embroidery she introduced was rooted in Persian textile culture. The word chikan is Persian. The motifs — floral creepers, jasmine, rose, mango, grapevines — echo both Persian decorative arts and the floral patterns of Mughal architecture.

Chikankari is, in many ways, a Persian art form that found its greatest expression on Indian soil and in an Indian city.

After the Mughals: Lucknow and a New Home for Chikankari

The decline of the Mughal Empire in the 18th century could have ended Chikankari, but the craft found new life in Lucknow under the patronage of the Nawabs of Awadh. Known for its rich culture, art, poetry, and architecture, Lucknow attracted skilled artisans from across North India.

At the same time, India’s textile industry, particularly in Bengal, was struggling due to European industrialisation and the influx of machine-made fabrics, which disrupted traditional weaving communities. Unlike many textile centres, Lucknow survived because its strength lay in cultural patronage rather than mass production.

As a result, Chikankari became deeply rooted in the city’s identity, flourishing within its artisan communities and neighbourhoods. In the 1830s,” King Nasir-ud-Din Haidar further promoted the craft by gifting finely embroidered Chikankari pieces to British officials, helping establish Lucknow as the global home of Chikankari.”

The 19th Century: Recognition and Expansion

By the 19th century, Chikankari had gained widespread recognition, attracting British collectors, international buyers, and India’s elite families. This period marked a time of prosperity for Lucknow’s artisan communities, with steady employment and strong appreciation for the craft’s intricate workmanship.

Historically, Chikankari was also gender-neutral. Delicately embroidered kurtas, topis, and dupattas were worn by both men and women, reflecting their origins in royal and aristocratic circles. While much of the embroidery was created by women working from their homes, the finished garments were embraced across genders, making Chikankari a versatile and widely admired art form.

The Fusion Era: Early 2000s and the Explosion of Demand

The early 2000s brought a transformation that would change Chikankari forever.

Designers and manufacturers began experimenting with new silhouettes and more accessible fabrics. Lehengas, anarkalis, and western-influenced cuts began to carry Chikankari embroidery. New fabrics — modal, rayon, viscose, georgette, linen — replaced traditional muslin and cotton. The craft moved beyond the traditional kurta into every corner of the wardrobe.

Most significantly, Chikankari became aﬀordable. Mass production, simplified stitch patterns, and the use of machine stitching for some elements brought the price down and the demand up dramatically.

The results were remarkable by any economic measure. Chikankari became India's most popular and most demanded handicraft. It contributed significantly to the textile economy of Uttar Pradesh, employing hundreds of thousands of people across Lucknow and its surrounding districts. It reached boutiques in London, New York, and Dubai. It found its way onto film sets, runways, and Instagram feeds.

Lucknow received the prestigious Geographical Indication (GI) tag for Chikankari in 2008, formally recognising the city as the exclusive hub of authentic Lucknowi Chikan. Today, over 6,000 families are involved in the craft in and around Lucknow, with approximately 90 per cent of artisans being women.

The Cost of Popularity: What Chikankari Lost

But success came at a cost that is rarely spoken about honestly. Over the past 25 years, something quietly devastating has happened to Chikankari. The craft that was once known for its extraordinary intricacy — for the months of work that went into a single dupatta, for the mastery required to execute phanda, jali, and murri stitches — became known instead for its aﬀordability and its volume.

Machine-made stitches began replacing hand embroidery. Production cycles compressed from months to hours. The 32 stitches were reduced to three or four that could be executed quickly, on any fabric, at any price point. Ghaspatti, Bakhia, chana patti — functional and attractive, but fast.

Phanda, jali, murri — the stitches that required the greatest skill, the longest apprenticeship, the most breathtaking results — began to disappear. Not because anyone decided to abandon them, but because the market stopped asking for them. The karigar stopped teaching what no one was willing to pay for. The knowledge, which lived not in books but in hands, began to fade.

The craft that had survived the fall of empires, the colonial destruction of India's textile industry, and the collapse of its original patrons was being quietly hollowed out by its own popularity.

What Tanirah Believes: Fashion and Authenticity Can Coexist

We started Tanirah because we understand both sides of this story — and because we refuse to accept that they are in conflict.

Tanisha grew up in Lucknow. She studied at NIFT. She has sat with karigar families and understood firsthand what is at stake — not just economically, but culturally. The knowledge of those 32 stitches is not written in any textbook. It lives in the hands. And when those hands stop practising, the knowledge dies with them.

At the same time, we are not here to lecture the market. We understand that trends exist for a reason. A young woman today does not want to wear the silhouette her grandmother wore — and she should not have to. Fashion moves, and Chikankari must move with it. That is why at Tanirah, we experiment constantly with silhouettes. Co-ords, structured Kurtis, contemporary cuts — pieces that belong in today's wardrobe and feel at home in today's world. We want the woman who loves fashion to look at Tanirah and feel that

Chikankari is not a dusty relic from another era. It is alive. It is relevant. It is made for her. But we refuse to let that experimentation come at the cost of the craft's soul. The silhouettes may be new. The fabrics may be modern. But the embroidery we put on them carries the sophistication of the original tradition. We believe you can have both — a piece that excites the fashion lover and honours the karigar. A design that the new generation falls in love with, that also carries the quiet weight of centuries of craft in every stitch.

That is the balance Tanirah is built on. And it is a balance we take seriously with every single piece we make.

Frequently Asked Questions About Chikankari

What is Chikankari embroidery? Chikankari is a traditional hand embroidery technique originating from Lucknow, India. It involves intricate white thread work — originally white on white muslin — using up to 32 distinct stitches. Today, it is done on a range of fabrics, including cotton, modal, georgette, and linen, in both traditional and contemporary silhouettes.

Where does Chikankari come from? Chikankari is native to Lucknow, Uttar Pradesh, India, and holds a Geographical Indication (GI) tag recognising Lucknow as the exclusive hub of authentic Lucknowi Chikankari.

Who introduced Chikankari in India? The most widely accepted historical account credits Empress Noor Jahan, wife of Mughal Emperor Jahangir, with introducing the Persian tradition of fine white embroidery to the Mughal court in the 17th century.

How many stitches are there in Chikankari? Classical Chikankari comprises 32 distinct stitches, categorised into flat stitches (tepchi, bakhia), embossed or raised stitches (murri, phanda), and jali or mesh stitches.

Is Chikankari hand-embroidered? Authentic Lucknowi Chikankari is entirely hand-embroidered. However, machine-made imitations are widely available. Genuine hand embroidery can be identified by slight irregularities in the stitching — a mark of human craft rather than mechanical reproduction.

What fabrics are used for Chikankari? Originally done on fine white muslin (mulmul or tanzeb), Chikankari is now embroidered on cotton, modal, georgette, rayon, viscose, linen, organza, and chiﬀon.

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