In the shadow of India’s soaring skyscrapers and humming factories, a quiet revolution is taking root. Far from the technology parks and shopping malls that have come to define modern India, masterful hands continue to weave stories into silk, coax life from clay, and transform metal into heirlooms. They are The Revivalists—a determined coalition of master craftspeople, visionary designers, and cultural guardians who stand as the last line of defence of traditions that have defined the subcontinent for centuries. As mass production threatens to erase what machines cannot replicate—the human touch—these custodians of craft have made it their mission to ensure that skills passed down through countless generations don’t vanish in the span of just one. Their workshops have become zeitgeist battlegrounds where heritage fights for its survival, and their tools—from looms to hammers—are weapons against cultural amnesia.
In a world rapidly embracing mass production and digital alternatives, The Revivalists stand as vital bridges between India’s rich cultural heritage and its uncertain future. These dedicated artisans and custodians of craft, who navigate the delicate balance between authenticity and adaptation, remind us that true sustainability lies not in abandoning the old ways, but in recognising their enduring relevance in our modern lives. This is their story.
Cast in Clay: Kaavi Art, Goa
In the artistic enclave of Adpai village in Ponda, North Goa, Sagar Naik Mule carries forward a centuries-old legacy of craftsmanship. Kaavi stands out for its unique technique and deep-rooted cultural significance. “Kaav means red clay,” explains Mule. “I belong to an artists’ village—Kalakaransa, as we call it locally,” he says. Historically, this region was known for its wooden boat-building traditions, a craft that predates Portuguese colonisation. “Craftsmanship and draftsmanship flourished here, passed down through generations. That's how I became aware of art. In the old days, people in Goa used to build homes, walls, and stoves with clay. During festivals, a fresh layer of clay would be applied to walls, and this practice evolved into an art form,” he says.
Kaavi murals, which date back nearly 700 years, were originally used in temple architecture—beautifying borders, ceilings, and mandala patterns. The art involves engraving intricate designs into layers of white lime plaster applied over a red clay base. “Seashells were abundant in Goa, so people would burn them to create wall putty, mixing it with jaggery and sand. Once polished, it turned white, and artisans would carve designs with metal tools, giving the murals an embossed effect,” Mule explains.
When the Portuguese arrived, they recognised the artistic brilliance of Kaavi and began incorporating it into church interiors. “They renamed it ‘Bhata Bhati’ in Konkani,” says Mule. However, the art form required extensive labour and costly materials, which led to its decline over the past 150 years. “The repetitive stencil work and time-consuming process meant it never gained widespread promotion,” he says. Determined to revive this lost tradition, Mule embarked on an artistic journey with no formal guidance. PM Narendra Modi highlighted his work in Mann Ki Baat in 2021. Following this, the Goa Board incorporated it into history textbooks to promote its revival and preservation.
The Process
It begins with the preparation of a lime plaster base, made by mixing lime, derived from burning seashells, washed river sand, and jaggery. This mixture is allowed to ferment for two weeks, resulting in a smooth, homogeneous substance that hardens upon application. Once the base is prepared, a layer of lime and red laterite soil is applied to the wet walls using a steel trowel. After about an hour, artists begin etching intricate geometric patterns and motifs onto the surface, using tools such as rulers, compasses, and steel bodkins, exposing the white plaster beneath. As the artwork dries, it is periodically sprayed with water and polished with smooth river pebbles over several days to prevent cracking and ensure its durability. The art itself is typically monochromatic, using red from the laterite soil and white from the natural plaster.
Waxing Eloquent: Chola Wax Art, Swamimalai, Tamil Nadu
Twenty minutes from Kumbakonam lies Swamimalai, a remote village where nearly 90 per cent of its residents are engaged in Chola wax casting—an ancient craft dating back to the Chola dynasty—also known as Chola Bronze. The traditional handcrafting technique has remained unchanged for millennia. These panchaloha idols are created by pouring various metals into carefully prepared casts. At Shri Rajan Industries along the Swamimalai road, the front yard displays numerous bronze statues, with Nataraja figures being the most prominent—a speciality of the region. In the backyard workshop, skilled artisans chisel new pieces using traditional hand tools.
“We make one mould for one piece. Every piece is unique,” explains General Manager Suresh Rajan. “Even our largest pieces are single casts—a tradition dating back more than 1,000 years,” he adds. What makes this craft remarkable is its environmental footprint. “We don’t use machinery or electricity,” Rajan says. Senior artist Prabhakar demonstrates the meticulous process, beginning with a mixture of honey beeswax and tree resin. “Beeswax alone is too soft. The resin helps the mould harden within seconds,” he explains while shaping a small Parvati hand. The artisans then coat the wax model with special clay from the Cauvery River—its natural salt content makes it ideal for this purpose. After sun-drying, the mould is heated at an angle, allowing the wax to melt away, hence ‘lost wax’.
Once cooled, the mould is broken, revealing a unique bronze piece that can never be exactly replicated. Rajan, who runs an academy teaching this technique, emphasises, “This craft takes almost seven years to master, sometimes longer.” A single large piece can require up to a year to complete, with prices ranging from Rs 2,000 to over Rs 2 lakh.
The Process
Artisans first create a detailed wax model using beeswax, resin, and groundnut oil, capturing fine details like fingernails and jewellery. The model is coated with layers of clay, starting with a mix of alluvial soil, paddy husk, and cow dung, followed by clay and sand for strength. Once the mould dries, it is heated to melt the wax, leaving a hollow cavity. An alloy of five metals—copper, zinc, tin, silver, and gold (panchaloha)—is melted at around 1400C and poured into the mould. After cooling, the mould is broken, and the sculpture is refined by chiselling, filing, and polishing. The final bronze statues often show a rich dark brown or greenish patina, reflecting the alloy’s composition and natural oxidation.
Patterns of Glory: Chettinad Athangudi Tiles, Tamil Nadu
In pastoral Athangudi, where time slows beneath the scorching Tamil Nadu sun, a vanishing craft still flourishes under tin roofs. Here at the Loganayaki Ambal tile factory, near the historic Athangudi Palace, Muthugaman and his wife Devi labour from dawn until dusk, their skilled hands preserving an environmental marvel that few outside Sivaganga district recognise: Athangudi tiles. While Muthugaman meticulously makes each tile—pressing, pouring, and polishing them with practised precision, Devi is his equal partner in effort. Their synchronised movements are evidence of decades of shared craftsmanship. “For close to two centuries, the Chettiyar community has been handmaking Athangudi tiles, after they were imported them from Japan in the early 18th century,” says RM Venkateshnan, owner of Loganayaki Ambal Tile factory.
Originally, during the royal Tamil era, artisans used silk and natural dyes derived from vegetables and limestone. Later, glass became the preferred medium. With precision, Muthugaman pours colourful oxides into designated sections. “Athangudi sand is unique. Lacking riverbed sand, we source it from nearby forests. Its high laterite content keeps the tiles glossy, even after years of wear,” he explains. Strict mining regulations mean sand is transported to factories in bullock carts, adding to the challenge.
“We can only produce up to 200 tiles daily using basic tools. The entire process—from sourcing raw materials to a finished tile—takes up to 30 days,” he says. Unlike conventional tiles that undergo high-temperature firing, Athangudi tiles are sun-dried, making them an eco-friendly alternative with minimal environmental impact. Currently, only 50 villages in Chettinad continue the traditional craft. “These tiles have health benefits,” claims Devi as she holds a colourful ‘Kannadi Poo-Kai’ patterned tile in her hand. “Since they are repeatedly soaked and dried, water evaporates quickly, preventing dampness and structural damage,” she points out.
The Process
Athangudi tile making begins with sieving and grinding local sand and clay, then mixing them with cement and water. A glass slab forms the base, with a wooden frame and metal stencil shaping the design. Coloured oxides are carefully poured into the pattern, followed by layers of dry and wet mortar. After drying overnight, the tiles are submerged in water to cure, then sun-dried, allowing the glass base to detach naturally, revealing a glossy finish. Their colour palette—featuring red, green, blue, mustard yellow, and grey—complements geometric and floral motifs, often inspired by Victorian designs.
Ace Up His Sleeve: Ganjifa Card Painters, Mysuru, Karnataka
Mysuru's Ganjifa—locally known as God’s play—is a traditional Indian card game featuring hand-painted circular cards that was popularised during the Mughal period. In the 17th and 18th centuries, Ganjifa flourished in Indian royal courts, especially among women in the zenana. The Mughal variant, Moghul Ganjifa, feature 96 cards in eight suits of 12. Adapted from Persian designs, it retained names like Wazir (minister) and Shah (king). The Wodeyar royal family of Mysuru extensively patronised this art form to serve an educational purpose by depicting stories from Hindu scriptures. The Dashavatar Ganjifa, featuring the 10 incarnations of Lord Vishnu across 120 cards, remains the most renowned of the 18 variations. Over time, Indian and Persian motifs merged with French suit symbols.
Derived from the Persian word Ganjifeh (playing cards), Ganjifa—once embellished with ivory, mother-of-pearl, and gemstones—were popular across medieval India. Each region had its own variant—Navadurga Ganjifa from Odisha, Sawantwadi Ganjifa from Maharashtra, and others. Today, Mysuru is the only place where this game is still played. “There’s lack of governmental support and funding, insufficient appreciation for authentic, handcrafted art, limited public awareness and patronage and difficulty distinguishing original works from cheap imitations,” says Shri Raghupathi Bhatta, who rediscovered 200-year-old Ganjifa originals in the Mysore Palace in the early 1980s. He paints scenes from the Ramayana, Mahabharata, and Upanishads. “I grind and mix natural colours myself and use squirrel hair brushes,” he shares. The painstaking process reflects in the cost—an authentic Ganjifa card set ranges from `15,000 to `90,000, with customised versions priced even higher. Each set takes at least a month to complete.
The Process
These hand-painted, circular or oval cards are crafted from cloth, paper, or sandalwood. The base is layered, glued, and primed with a paste of refined flour or chalk before being polished. Artists then sketch intricate designs inspired by Hindu epics and scriptures, using natural dyes from minerals and vegetables. Details like jewellery and architecture are enhanced using gesso work-zinc oxide and Arabic gum relief with gold foil, adding a luminous finish.
Hands On: The Leather and Shadow Puppetry, Sindhudurg Maharashtra
In the quiet town of Sindhudurg, an ancient tradition of intricate leather puppetry—once a vital part of shadow theatre—has found a shelter in the Thakar Adivasi Kala Angan Museum and Art Gallery, founded by Parshuram Gangavane. This fading art form closely resembles Andhra Pradesh’s Tholu Bommalata and Kolkata’s Putul Nach, where large wooden puppets are used in theatrical performances. The Thakar Adivasi community has 11 traditional art forms, three of which were revived by the Gangavane family. “My father introduced Kalsutri Bhavlya (string puppetry), Chitra Kathi, and Chamdecha Bhavlya (shadow puppetry),” says Gangavane.
Tracing the art’s origins, Gangavane explains that the Thakars were jungle-dwellers without formal education who created entertainment by illustrating Ramayana and Mahabharata stories on peepal leaves. Some crafted wooden puppets while others fashioned shadow puppets from sheepskin. Though never documented in writing, these visual storytelling traditions thrived orally. Parshuram’s son, Chetan Gangavane, elaborates on the unique elements of their craft. “Our leather puppetry performances use distinct musical instruments, including the mridangam, zaanj, zanjar, samal, veena, hiroba, taal, huduk, dona wadya, and tuntunhe,” he says. Despite their dedication, the Gangavane family struggles against fading public awareness and a lack of government support.
The Process
Artisans begin by preparing goat or buffalo hides, softening them through processes like soaking in limewater and scraping to achieve a smooth surface. Designs are then drawn on both sides of the leather, outlined in black, and filled with colours such as red, green, blue, and yellow—each symbolising specific characters: blue for Rama and Krishna, green for Anjaneya, and yellow for sages. After colouring, the leather is perforated with small designs using chisels. The pieces are assembled with movable joints, allowing dynamic performances where puppeteers skillfully manipulate the figures against a backlit screen, narrating stories from the Ramayana and Mahabharata.
The Sound of Time: Copper Art, Nirona Village, Gujarat
In a narrow passage in Nirona village, Gujarat, the Sidhik family are the guardians of a fading art form. Their copper studio, permeated with metallic scents and the gentle chimes of bells, represents one of the last strongholds of traditional bell-making that originated in Sindh, now Pakistan. Husen Sidhik, 76, who began crafting these bells when he was 12 years old, explains the bell’s cultural significance: “Their ringing recalls a time when India and Pakistan were one, bound by shared traditions and a pastoral way of life without borders.” Working alongside son Umar (43) and nephew Salim (26), he creates bells producing three sounds for different livestock. “The sound varies based on our hammering technique,” he says. Each bell carries a name reflecting its function—Chota Paila, Do Dingla, and Paila Dingla among them.
Faruk, Husen’s grandson, explains how innovation fuels their craft, leading them to expand beyond bells to chimes, candleholders, and even bell xylophones. “Back in the day, we only had sweet, medium, and bitter sounds. Inspired by new sonic possibilities, we created our own musical scale,” he says. Environmental consciousness underpins their work. After seven generations in Nirona, the Sidhiks remain the sole artisans specialising in this traditional craft. Their dedication is evident in their production timeline—from small bells taking three hours to larger creations requiring 20 days, with prices ranging from Rs 50 to Rs 20,000.
The Process
The making of a Nirona copper bell is a meticulous, eco-friendly process. Artisans begin by sourcing scrap iron from local junkyards, embodying an eco-friendly approach to their craft. A rectangular strip of iron is manually hammered into a cylindrical shape, with its edges locked together without welding. A dome-shaped crown is added, and a loop is attached for hanging. The bell is then coated in a brass-copper mix, wrapped in mud-soaked cotton, and baked to achieve its golden hue. After cooling, a wooden clapper is fitted, and precise hammering fine-tunes its pitch, creating distinct sounds tailored for different purposes.
Stitch in Time: Toda Embroidery, Nilgiris, Tamil Nadu
The Toda tribe, originally Dravidian, has called Tamil Nadu’s Nilgiri Hills home for nearly 3,500 years. Known for their unique embroidery, which earned a GI tag in 2013, the craft—practiced by women—follows a precise reverse-stitch method, where thread is woven into the fabric’s warp and weft, giving it a machine-like finish without rough edges. However, in recent years as young women from the Toda, or Tudas, community leave their ancestral lands for education and employment, a centuries-old tradition teeters on the brink of extinction. Toda embroiderer Poofnila Kuttan, whose son Nasmudi Kuttan and daughter-in-law Sneha Kuttan help her around, says, “I do the embroidery by using a single stitch darning needle on coarse cotton cloth, creating a reversible design. The patterns are inspired by animals and celestial bodies, reflecting the Toda community’s reverence for nature. I use red and black threads on a white or off-white cotton background. But I fear the knowledge, which is passed down through generations may soon be lost forever.”
To keep the craft relevant, artisans are adapting. “Now, we embroider purses, spectacle cases, shopping bags, cushion covers, even iPad sleeves and mobile phone covers. Perhaps through these new forms, our connection to nature and cultural identity will endure,” she says. Her mission is clear: “Our embroidery speaks of who we are, and we are determined it will not be silenced.”
The Process
The process begins with a coarse, off-white cotton base fabric, onto which red and black woollen threads are embroidered using a reverse-stitch technique. Remarkably, no embroidery frame is used; instead, artisans rely on counting the warp and weft threads to achieve precise designs. Common motifs include stylised flowers, zigzag lines representing huts, and geometric shapes like diamonds and triangles. The reversible nature of this embroidery ensures that both sides of the fabric are equally adorned.
Water World: Jal Sanjhi Art, Udaipur, Rajasthan
In the heart of old Udaipur, Rajesh Vaishnav preserves the ancient tradition of Jal Sanjhi as its 19th-generation custodian. This 500-year-old art form has found sanctuary in his ancestral temple-house near Jagdish Temple, a historic structure featuring a centuries-old Govardhan temple below with living quarters situated above. The Vaishnav family stands tall in Udaipur as generational guardians of this royal artistic tradition. Though Rajesh occasionally receives help from his son Ankur, their precious cultural heritage is teetering on the brink of disappearance, struggling to maintain relevance amid evolving artistic sensibilities and demands.
Vaishnav proudly displays his weathered stencils, some dating back 450 years to his great-grandfather’s time; the Maharajas of Mewar were patrons. “Sanjhi stands out as one of the most adaptable storytelling forms. Sanjh means evening. This art connects deeply to Sandhya Mata and Lord Krishna. Legend says Radha would create Jal Sanjhi for Krishna by painting water with flowers—a tradition still practiced in Braj and Vrindavan,” he says. Committed to traditional eco-friendly practices, Vaishnav only uses natural colours from stones, minerals, and powders. The stencils however demand the most time, with some requiring 15 days to perfect. “Sanjhi can be made from flowers, dry fruits, or even lentils, but water-based Sanjhi requires intense concentration. Only when one Sanjhi is erased can another be created the next evening,” he adds. After 40 years of practice, Vaishnav can complete a 2x3 ft painting in two hours, while larger works may take up to 10 hours. These paintings typically last one day, though glass coverings can extend their life to two days. The art’s essence lies in the precise cutting of intricate stencils and the careful layering technique that leaves the background undisturbed.
The Process
The process begins by treating water a day before painting, boiling it and mixing substances to help powdered colours float. The water is then poured into a shallow vessel, and a base colour, typically white, is sprinkled over it. Artists use stencils made from thin rice paper to apply powdered colours in layers. Intricate details are added with additional stencils, and sometimes real flower petals or sparkles are incorporated. Artists use natural stone colours, which float better than modern chemicals. Jal Sanjhi art is usually created during Pitru-Paksha, a lunar phase in the Hindu calendar, and displayed in temples
