Meet ‘Kantha Didi’ Tajkira Begum, a self-professed go-getter who has sewed together a narrative of personal resilience, professional excellence and social inclusion using Bengal’s revered kantha stitch.
Tajkira Begum, a 53-year-old from Agartore village of Nanoor block in West Bengal’s Birbhum district, leads self-help groups aimed at empowering women through kantha — a centuries-old tradition of stitching patchwork cloth from rags, originating in the rural areas of the state. Here is her story in her own words.
Kantha is an age-old embroidery form, practiced by women in nearly every household of Nanoor, where I come from. It holds a special cultural significance, as it has been lovingly and painstakingly passed down to us by our mothers and grandmothers.
This intricate form of embroidery involves layering old saris and other discarded fabrics, which are then meticulously sewn together with simple, running stitches. Historically, kantha was practiced by women in their homes, turning worn-out textiles into functional items like quilts, blankets, and clothing.
We use them as throws when we sit on the ground in summer, and in the winter we drape it around us to keep warm. Whether it’s the birth of a child, a daughter getting married, or a loved one taking their final goodbye from us, we make sure to present them with a kantha-stitched cloth as a gesture of our deep love and intimacy.
Each piece is unique, often featuring motifs that depict folklore, daily life, and nature, reflecting the artisans’ personal stories and cultural heritage.
Today, Kantha has evolved into a celebrated art form, symbolising resourcefulness and creativity, while also serving as a means of economic empowerment for women in the region.
My journey with Kantha, like most other rural women, began several decades ago. I learnt the craft from my mother, a homemaker. My father was a government school teacher who joined the service on a meagre salary of Rs 40. Our family was respected, but we faced financial hardships throughout my childhood. The entirety of Nanoor block used to be quite poor.
After I got married, I refused to sit idle. I have my father’s blood in me, which makes me a go-getter. In 2001, I formed my first self-help group (SHG) after taking a loan of Rs 1 lakh from the Khadi and Village Industries Commission (KVIC).
Taking such a huge loan was intimidating, and at that point, I only had 10 artisans working with me. I worked day and night to get my business going — walking to markets 5km away in order to save bus fare, and sometimes surviving on simple muri (puffed rice) to cut costs.
My husband, a farmer, has been supportive all along. I wanted to earn and save enough to get my children schooled.
That was back then. Now, my daughter has a master’s degree in English. She’s self-sufficient. More than 350 women work with me currently, under various SHGs.
What are the changes I have seen over the past 20 years? I can confidently say that our humble kantha has changed the destiny of Nanoor. Earlier, you would be hard-pressed to find woman graduates here.
Now we have a woman doctor, quite a few teachers, and even an engineer in every other village in Nanoor. Their mothers have toiled endlessly at the kantha craft to bring forward a generation of self-driven women.
I also train young women from particularly vulnerable backgrounds to use kantha to become financially independent. Single mothers and widowed women engage with me as artisans, producing kantha sarees, dupattas, tablecloths, bedsheets, and more.
I teach them various stitches like jirirun, egufor, cheli, outline, and more. We use these techniques to craft exquisite and ordinary rural sceneries, landscapes, and mythological stories — all on a single piece of cloth.
In 2007, I held my first exhibition in Kolkata, supported by the KVIC. Since then, there’s been no looking back. Our artisanal offerings are sold at government-run Biswa Bangla stores. I have been honoured with national and international awards and travelled to France, the US, Denmark, and Germany.
I love being able to inform and educate people from diverse cultural backgrounds about the beauty of our dear kantha art. However, I strongly believe that my fellow rural sisters and daughters are as capable as me. They too deserve widespread recognition.
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I have also heard a lot of criticism for my efforts and ideas — society does not always look kindly on determined women. But I have tried to shield my artisans from these things. Dealing with late payments from clients sometimes meant that I had to pawn my jewellery to make sure my artisans got paid. I never compromise on that.
Gradually, I came up with an idea to bring my artisans every bit of the fame (and the earnings) they deserve. Why should I go out of my village to approach the world? What if the world comes to Nanoor to discover our talents directly?
I am going to build an arts and crafts hub in Nanoor, which could bring together tourists and handloom connoisseurs from all over. The district magistrate has recently sanctioned permission to make this hub. I hope and pray that I receive enough support to make this dream come true.
One of my proudest moments has been to meet and talk with Didi, West Bengal’s Chief Minister Mamata Banerjee. I presented her with a kantha shawl with her smiling face on it. She told me, “You remind me of the power of Bengal’s mothers.” I agree with her. I believe that the women of Nanoor can keep leading change for our nation.
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Sukanya Roy is a freelance journalist based out of Kolkata. She is a 2023 Village Square Fellow.
