The Invisible Weavers of Kashmir

Kashmir’s pashmina glows in global markets, while the women behind it remain in the shadows of their own homes.

- Kulsuma Bano

When I began my postgraduate research on women in pashmina work in Baramulla, I imagined I was studying a traditional art form.

I did not expect to walk into a world where women’s hands sustain an industry that forgets their names.

Every household I visited had the same sound in the background: the soft, steady whirr of a spinning wheel. It was almost musical.

But behind that sound lay a silence about ownership, pay, and recognition.

Pashmina is a symbol of heritage, patience, and pride in Kashmir. A single shawl can travel from a small village in Baramulla to a boutique in Delhi or Paris, fetching thousands of rupees.

But the woman who spins the wool into fine yarn may earn less than what a city café charges for a cup of coffee.

I met Sara, a 23-year-old spinner, one cold morning in her modest home. Her fingers moved fast and sure over the spindle, twisting the fine fibres of raw wool into perfect threads.

“I start before sunrise,” she told me, her eyes fixed on her work. “Once I finish my house chores, I sit here till late evening.”

She worked beside her brother, but when it came to money, the control shifted. “He decides how to spend it. I only get a small amount for myself.”

That pattern was everywhere I looked. Women produced the yarn, the most delicate and time-consuming part of the process, while men handled the selling and transactions. They travelled to markets, negotiated prices, and brought back the earnings.

At home, women worked long hours, often under poor light, and rarely saw the real value of what they created.