Imagine the summer of 1929: a pivotal moment when Kamaladevi Chattopadhyay, a leading figure in India’s fight for freedom, arrived in Berlin for the International Alliance of Women for Suffrage and Equal Citizenship conference. India was under British rule, and its representatives had no national flag to display – a glaring symbol of their subjugated status.
Kamaladevi, now widely recognized by her single name, found this omission intolerable. In an act of bold defiance, she and her fellow delegates took scissors to their own saris, meticulously crafting a unique flag to proudly wave at the conference’s opening ceremony.
“Nobody regretted sacrificing their beautiful garments,” she later reflected in her biography. “Instead, we felt truly free and liberated.”
Through this simple yet profound act, these women instantly transformed the sari from mere clothing into a powerful political statement.
This ancient garment, still gracing modern red carpets and runways, is far more than a draped piece of fabric. For centuries, the six-to-nine-yard sari has embodied empowerment, facilitated global trade, served as diplomatic soft power, and symbolized profound resistance.
This rich narrative is the core of the ‘New York Sari’ exhibition at the New York Historical, running through April. The display illuminates the sari’s intricate connection to the Indian subcontinent’s history, and surprisingly, its role in shaping New York City and the United States. As curator Salonee Bhaman explained to visitors, it’s a story of ‘migration, diaspora, and struggle’ intricately woven into the fabric itself.
The New York Historical’s exhibition features numerous saris that significantly influenced American culture. Among them is the sari worn by Shahana Hanif, the first South Asian woman elected to the New York City Council, at her 2021 swearing-in, displayed alongside a sari once sold at Jagjit Singh’s famous Fifth Avenue store.
“It functions as a canvas upon which people have crafted their own narratives,” Ms. Bhaman further elaborated. She herself exemplified this, wearing a floral, bronze-colored silk sari – a garment sometimes spelled ‘saree’ – styled unconventionally over leggings and secured with a gold-buckled belt, rather than the traditional wrap over a petticoat.
Conceived roughly 20 months ago by the New York Historical and the Center for Women’s History, the exhibition opens amidst a surge of anti-immigration sentiment and strict measures against immigrants in various American cities. As featured artist Shradha Kochhar remarked, presenting an exhibition that highlights the profound influence of the South Asian immigrant community on New York’s history is inherently a rebellious act.
In early September, 29-year-old Ms. Kochhar was personally navigating her own challenging visa renewal process. As she installed her artwork at the Historical, she received texts from friends warning her of immigration officers in her Crown Heights neighborhood.
The pervasive ‘good immigrant versus bad immigrant’ narrative weighed heavily on her mind as she worked. “I cried throughout the entire installation,” she confessed.
This compelling exhibition is a collaboration between Salonee Bhaman, curatorial scholar at the Center for Women’s History (left), and Anna Danziger Halperin, the center’s director.
Before British colonization in the 18th century, India was a global leader in textile manufacturing and export, with its exquisite fabrics reaching distant markets like Mexico. Historian William Dalrymple details this in his book, “The Anarchy: the East India Company, Corporate Violence, and the Pillage of an Empire.”
As Dalrymple notes, it’s no coincidence that many English words related to textiles – such as chintz, calico, shawl, pajamas, khaki, dungarees, cummerbund, and taffetas – have Indian roots.
The arrival of the British marked a devastating shift. They replaced India’s native kala cotton with seeds imported from Alabama, effectively dismantling the thriving local weaving industry. Raw cotton was shipped from India to England, mass-produced into cloth, and then sold back to the Indian populace.
Amidst this economic upheaval, donning handwoven Indian saris became a quiet yet powerful act of rebellion for women like Kamaladevi, whose inspiring story is prominently featured in the exhibition.
Suchitra Mattai’s evocative sculpture, “she arose (from a pool of tears),” crafted from recycled saris, beautifully portrays a dancer engaged in Bharatnatyam, a classical Indian dance.
Displayed alongside Kamaladevi’s narrative is Ms. Kochhar’s airy, sculptural piece, resembling whipped cream, meticulously crafted from kala cotton she personally spun in the United States.
Further into the exhibition, a striking grainy photograph captures activist Gloria Steinem wearing a sari during her 1957 visit to India. In her autobiography, ‘My Life on the Road,’ Steinem recounts how she learned to drape a sari suitable for playing tennis and studied India’s independence movement’s peaceful protest methods with Kamaladevi, later integrating these strategies into the 1970s feminist movement in the United States.
The exhibition also honors Jagjit Singh, an activist aligned with Mahatma Gandhi. Forced to flee India for New York in the 1920s due to a British arrest warrant, Singh established a successful Indian textile and sari boutique on Fifth Avenue. His clientele included celebrities like Yul Brynner, Eleanor Roosevelt, and prominent Hollywood costume designers.
Shradha Kochhar’s powerful sculpture, “Rest/Release,” is meticulously created from kala cotton, which she handspun herself in the United States.
Singh masterfully used his influence among New York’s elite to champion India’s independence from abroad. He forged strong alliances with leaders of the American civil rights movement and successfully lobbied Congress for the 1946 Luce-Cellar Act, a landmark achievement that enabled South Asian immigrants to gain U.S. citizenship.
Adrienne Ingrum, a visitor, expressed her admiration: “I’m truly proud of the New York Historical Society for showcasing such a vital exhibition. It shines a light on an often-unrecognized segment of our community – those who have been here since the 1800s.” The experience even inspired her to consider wearing a sari.
“This exhibit, I believe, broadens our perception of acceptable fashion within the city,” she concluded.