Artisans Take Centre Stage at BRICS—But the Real Work Happens After
By Shweta Sonali — 2026-11-02
Copper. Silver plating. Three days for a single glass. That's Mahesh Chandra Verma's truth, and he brought it to Parliament House without flinching.
The BRICS Parliamentary Forum held in late October gave India's artisans a platform—that word gets thrown around too much, but here it meant something real. At an exhibition running alongside the forum at Parliament House, craftspeople from five regions of the country spread their work in front of international delegates. Silver-plated metalwork from Saharanpur. Sheesham wood carvings, fine as lace. Ikat sarees from Telangana, some with Kalamkari details stitched in. Patiala handlooms. Makhana products from Bihar.
What strikes you reading the accounts isn't the craft itself—everyone knows Indian artisans can make beautiful things. It's what they wanted to say about why it mattered to them that events like this exist.
Verma, the metalworker, was straightforward about it. "We get to come onto a somewhat bigger platform, and that is the advantage." Not glamorous. Not spiritual or noble. An advantage. He understands: international eyes mean orders, and orders mean his people work.
The Direct Path to Survival
Md. Atir Ansari, who carves sheesham wood in the fine tradition of Saharanpur, said something similar but bolder. "Through such platforms, we also get orders, and our work reaches not just people in India but also abroad. Our artisans get work through this as well." His family has state and national awards. His craft holds Geographical Indication status. Yet what he emphasised wasn't the recognition—it was the work it generates. Orders. Employment for artisans.
This matters because handloom and handicraft sectors are squeezed. Machine-made goods undercut them. Imports do. Younger people aren't learning the trades. The platforms that do exist, the exhibitions, the government schemes—they're not decoration. They're infrastructure for survival.
Shankar, showing ikat textiles from Telangana, talked about adapting traditional techniques to appeal to younger consumers. He wasn't choosing between preservation and change. He was doing both, because that's the only way forward. And what did he emphasise about the exhibition? "When we appear in the media, our products reach more people, and they become interested in wearing them."
Exposure. Reach. Interest. These aren't marketing words to him. They're market access.
The Daughter and the Award-Winner
Kiran, presenting handlooms from Patiala, exhibited pieces created by her mother, Lajwant, a Padma Shri awardee. The collection got positive responses—visitors were buying, then returning to buy again. Not a boutique story; a recurring customer story. Real transaction. She noted, almost in passing, that the stall's items were handmade, not machine-produced. You'd think that would be obvious by now, but apparently it isn't—it needed stating.
The makhana story is slightly different, because the product itself shifted. Rajeev Rajan Jha from Darbhanga brought around 18 to 20 makhana products—brownies, ready-to-use kheer, flavoured items, flour, roasted variants. Once makhana gained recognition as a superfood, demand increased. Prices moved. In 2020-21, makhana sold for roughly 600 rupees per kilogram. Current domestic premium market prices sit between 1,500 and 2,700 rupees per kilogram.
International exhibitions helped. The G20, BRICS, the Commonwealth Conference of Speakers and Presiding Officers—foreign delegates tasted the products, expressed interest. For producers in regions like Darbhanga, which face recurring floods and development challenges, that wider market exposure isn't nice. It strengthens returns. It matters.
Why These Platforms Actually Work
What's unstated in all this but absolutely clear: artisans don't come to exhibitions because they want to network or find inspiration. They come because exhibitions create visibility that leads to orders. Orders lead to employment. Employment keeps tradition alive, not because tradition itself is sacred, but because it's how people survive.
The handloom and handicraft sectors have absorbed centuries of disruption—British mills, machine imports, power looms, cheaper synthetics. They've adapted, shrunk, held on. They're still here. But they're not held up by nostalgia or policy. They're held up by people who need to sell their work to people who want to buy it.
Platforms that connect these two groups—exhibitions, international forums, media coverage—aren't supplementary. They're essential. And when Verma calls participation at a BRICS summit an advantage, he's not overstating. He's being precise.
The full account of the exhibition lists the crafts and the regions. What it documents, quietly, is that survival for Indian artisans isn't about being traditional. It's about being seen.