Long before borders were built and empires fell, before railways cut across forests and textiles became brands, there were threads — threads that travelled from India to Uzbekistan, from Persia to Anatolia, bartered, gifted, stitched, and worn. These threads carried stories, soaked in natural dyes and the secrets of generations of women who passed their needlework from mother to daughter.
It is this legacy that Iranian journalist-turned-collector David Housego and his partner Mandeep Nagi, design consultant and co-founder of Shades of India, have brought to Chennai. At The Folly, nestled within the compound of Amethyst, the exhibition 'Bukhara: A Journey on the Silk Route' opened with an intimate conversation, transporting those present far from the Coromandel Coast to the embroidered heartlands of Central Asia, on Tuesday. David's and Mandeep's private collection, part of the exhibition, showcases rare examples of Suzani embroidery and Ikat weaving. The name "Bukhara" nods to Bukhara in modern-day Uzbekistan, once a pivotal node along the Silk Route and a thriving centre of textile innovation.
A journey in threads
"I began collecting during my years reporting in Iran," David shared during the evening's talk. "Textiles were everywhere — market stalls, homes, even roadways — and each piece hinted at a history far older than the nation-states we now know." But as Seref Oxen, Istanbul-based textile scholar and guest speaker of the evening, added, "Suzani wasn’t born overnight."
Indeed, the word "Suzani" comes from the Persian word for needle. These are large embroidered textiles, often made by brides and their families as part of a dowry. But what might appear as mere decoration — vines, flowers, suns, moons — are rich in symbolism. "The movement of flowers in some pieces," said Seref, pointing to one of the wall-hung embroideries, "They speak of fertility, continuity, protection."
Displayed on the walls were stunning textiles, each more mesmerising with different patterns and fabrics. The Shakhrisabz Suzani (240x200 cm), stitched with silk on Adrass fabric, glowed with mandala-like medallions in gold and cobalt blue, arranged around a flaming fuchsia ground. The Bukhara Suzani (244x163 cm), with its field of crimson circular motifs bordered by delicate vines, invited closer inspection — its repeated flower forms added to the vibrance of the designs.
One wall featured two coats — Chapan robes. The first, with a striking yellow-ground Ikat (170x130 cm), showcased the fluid flame-like patterns that made Ikat a favourite among Central Asian nobility. Next to it hung a brocaded Chapan with Ikat lining (180x140 cm), a garment that whispered of luxury — the outer silk glistening with intricate metallic threads, its inner Ikat boldly red and white. These were textiles not just for the body, but for the spirit.
In the corner lay a Beshir rug from the 19th century (390x165 cm), its woollen surface dense with repeating diamond motifs. "These tribal rugs often had animal figures and talismanic shapes woven into them," shared Seref. "Most were made by women, although some silk preparation and dyeing work was done by men. It was communal labour."
Throughout the evening, the conversation drifted between memory and method. David recalled travelling across Afghanistan and Iran, sometimes with nothing but a jeep and a map. "The first Suzani I saw was in Kabul. I bought two of them then — for prices that seem ridiculous today."
Seref interjected with a tale of his own, of an American dealer in Istanbul who once traded a Mercedes for three Suzanis. These textiles had definitely laid an impact on them.
When asked about dyes, Seref explained, "Before the 1880s, all dyes were natural. Cochineal, an insect dye, gave us the deep reds and purples you see here. Later, synthetic dyes made production faster but robbed the textiles of some depth."
Despite their age, many of the textiles on display have retained their vibrancy. A detail shot, blown up on the wall, showed a close-up of interlocking loops in saffron, indigo, and black — still radiant. "When you chemically strip the grime you find psychedelic colours underneath,” Seref explained."
There was also discussion of the loss of memory. David shared, "Today, people ask for a 'blue Suzani' or a 'pink one'— as if these were décor objects. But without their cultural context, we lose the story."
Exhibitions like this, then, are more than aesthetic showcases — they are acts of preservation. As Seref pointed out, most museum collections are never displayed. "In some institutions, items are kept in deep storage — retrieval can take six months or more. Smaller exhibitions like this offer visibility."
The evening closed with a Q&A session, where questions ranged from pictorial Suzanis (rare, but they exist) to the presence of Indian textiles in Central Asia. "It’s not surprising," Seref said, gesturing at a Chapan. "Trade routes connected India, China, Persia, and beyond. These were cultures in constant conversation."
As visitors trickled out, many lingered in front of the pieces, reluctant to leave their silent stories behind.
The textile glossary and trivia
Suzani
Suzani means “needle-crafted” in Tajik — a fitting name for these masterpieces of embroidery. Girls received suzanis as part of their wedding dowry, lovingly stitched over years by women in their families. Each suzani was a canvas of heritage, often started at birth and completed for marriage.
Celebrating imperfection Suzani panels were embroidered in strips, then stitched together — mismatches weren’t flaws, they were humility before God. The final product celebrated imperfection as a divine contrast to human effort.
Designs from the Silk Road
Influences in Suzani patterns travelled as far as China, India, Persia and the Ottoman world.
Floral bouquets, cosmic rosettes, Mughal gardens — each region stitched its own story. Tashkent’s suzanis included symbols like oy (moon) and sitara (stars) — mythology turned into a pattern.
Textile capitals of Central Asia
Bukhara, Kokand and the Ferghan Valley were 19th-century hubs of textile brilliance. Bukhara stood at the crossroads of art, trade and Islamic culture — until colonial powers drew the curtain on its golden age.
A Renaissance in thread
From the late 1700s to early 1900s, textiles expressed wealth, identity and artistry in Central Asia.This was the region’s brief but dazzling cultural revival before Soviet rule altered everything.
Flower Power and Cosmic Forces
Ferghan Valley designs bloomed with nodding poppies and vines — an Indian echo. Bukhara’s motifs included tulips, carnations, and sun-symbol rosettes believed to channel cosmic energy.
The Ikat illusion
Ikat, meaning “to bind” in Malay-Indonesian, is a pre-weaving dyeing technique requiring incredible precision. Threads were dyed before weaving – imagine painting a picture before your canvas is even stretched. Who Made What? In ikat production, men did the spinning, dyeing and weaving – women tended to the silkworms.
Dyers were often organised by community: Jewish artisans worked with indigo and green, Tajiks with reds and yellows.
Robes that spoke of rank Chapans (robes) weren’t just clothing — layered and luxurious, they signalled wealth and status.
Some were polished with egg white and a mallet for a chintz-like sheen.
Nature, myth and abstraction
Ikats echoed the desert’s symbols: moons, stars, snakes, turtles — and the geometry of mosque tiles. Their bold forms and colours have been likened to Matisse and modernist painting. When colour meant powerCentral Asian textiles were drenched in natural dyes — red for vitality, green for life, blue for protection.
Colours weren’t random — they carried coded cultural meanings passed through generations.
The end of a golden thread
Russian colonisation brought cheaper imports that undercut centuries of tradition. The First World War and Soviet rule dismantled nomadic cultures and their unique textile crafts.