When Aratrikka was born in Melbourne I knew her wardrobe would not be one wardrobe. It would be two — one for the world she'd grow up in, and one for the world her grandmother grew up in. The atelier is named for her because it is built for that crossing.
Two karigars in the Naqshbandi cluster spent eight loom-weeks on the pallu of a single saree this April. This is what that looks like — the silver-gilt zari, the kadhua technique, and the quiet patience of a loom that does not hurry.
There is a difference, and it shows up in the finishing. Curators choose a piece off a rack in Mumbai or Delhi and re-photograph it. Makers visit the loom twice a year, name the karigar, and cut the piece to your measurements in Melbourne. We are the second kind.
A Diwali in Melbourne is not a Diwali in Mumbai. The light is drier, the evenings are longer, the brunches outnumber the pujas. The wardrobe should know the difference — and ours does.
Aratrikkaz is named for my daughter. We carry the name in both scripts she will grow up between — the one her mother grew up reading, and the one her teachers in Melbourne will read.