The Trousseau as Time Capsule: How Craft, Memory, and Ritual Weave Tradition into the Everyday

A trousseau coheres by telling stories and keeping histories. The “trousse” in trousseau is not coincidental. The word speaks to an old European ritual: the careful assembling of clothes, linens, and other essentials, which were traditionally folded into cedar-lined hope chests for the bride-to-be. In Victorian England, this practice evolved into a social affair known as the trousseau tea, where affluent families displayed chests with fine china, hand-embroidered linens, and heirloom jewellery.

Closer to home, the idea found expression in the Punjabi daaj, where daughters were gifted a starter kit of objects to ease their transition into married life: a sandook (trunk), manja (bed), charkha (spinning wheel), pakkhi (fan), and innu (pot stand). In Rajasthan, clothing, jewellery, and other valuables were stored in an ornate wooden chest known as the damchiya (see our inaugural issue for its backstory).

Across Rabari villages in Gujarat, the trousseau takes on another rhythm. In the afternoons, women break from daily chores and embroider and mend in quiet choreography. And as hands work to craft the bride’s ghagro (skirt), kanchali (blouse), and ludi (veil), voices rise in Lagna Geet, trousseau songs that chronicle tales of love and new beginnings. While the rituals vary across geographies, the sentiment remains unchanged — the trousseau is both functional and deeply emotional; it’s a vessel of memory and tradition. So, how do you build one that lasts for years to come? Seven of India’s leading designers point to a single thread: craft. From Parsi Gara to Pashmina, Shibori to Kanjivaram, these handmade pieces serve as a loom, weaving stories of love meant to last a lifetime.

Chanderi: Woven in Light

In the 11th century, a small hamlet lay hidden amidst the hills of the Vindhyachal Range in Madhya Pradesh. A centuries-old loom. Threads spun from cotton and silk. And one weave that remains famous for its ethereal lightness: Chanderi. Beloved by Mughal emperor Jahangir and the royal family of Scindia alike. Sanjay Garg, founder of Raw Mango, shares why it remains timeless.

Why it endures: “Many believe that Chanderi was almost like glass, invisible fabric floating on the body in a sense. Its weightlessness is described as ‘bunni hui hawa’ — woven air — and that makes it perfect for modern-day brides. It works for our topography and India’s sweltering heat,” says Garg.

Most memorable pieces: “One of our Chanderi saris is part of the Victoria & Albert Museum’sm(London) collection; it’s a striking orange drape with a pink crow motif. I remember one of my first Chanderi saris had little sparrows on it. Then came the Radha collection, which was a celebration of our use of colourways. We also introduced Ganga Jamuni saris, which were reversible pieces with contrasting borders on each side. There’s also the Ek Jutiya sari, with four distinct coloured borders, and the Nal Pherwa, a three-shuttle weave that creates intricate contrasts. Each piece is a testament to Chanderi’s versatility and our commitment to its evolution over the last 15 years,” he explains.

Shibori: Ties to the Past

The process of creating Shibori begins with tying or clamping the cloth before dipping it into dye to form patterns. This method has remained largely the same across borders and civilisations, from 1st century A.D. Peru and 5th century A.D. China to early 20th century India. But the result? A one -of- a kind piece, every single time. Riddhi Jain Satija, co-founder of Studio Medium, tells us more.

Why she loves it: “It invites a dialogue between material and maker; the fabric speaks back. The process is rooted in restraint, patience, and discipline, and always carries an element of unpredictability. No two moments, no two patterns are ever the same,” explains Satija.

Her favourite style: “The Handsfree Sari. We’ve reimagined the sari by integrating an engineered Shibori sleeve, which ensures a perfect fit for all body types. The result is a style that retains the integrity of the craft, while offering a universally flattering silhouette for women of all ages,” she says.

Zari: The Golden Touch

Once reserved for weaving sacred symbols and fabrics for aristocracy, the art of real zari — pure metallic yarns made of real gold and silver — finds its roots in Persia, where ‘zar’ means gold. Its journey to India saw it flourish in the hands of master craftsmen in Surat and Banaras. Over the years, real zari textiles have fallen out of favour. But designer duo Swati Agarwal and Sunaina Jalan are bringing it back. Here’s why.

Why it’s timeless: “Traditionally, Banarasi saris were bought and worn to mark the list of special occasions of a woman’s lif— a marriage or a trousseau, childbirth or grihapravesh. These sariswere always woven with zari made from gold and silver, as these metals have traditionally been considered auspicious to mark special occasions. Apart from this, the pure zari also helped with creating the softest and finest textiles, as they were more malleable,” explains Agarwal.

Behind the craft: “From design table to loom is a period of 9-14 months, depending upon the complexity of the design and the processes of making a graph and punching cards, and then dyeing and warping the yarn. Phase two of the production is when the loom starts and weaving actually begins. After that, anywhere between three to nine months are needed, depending on the weave and complexity of the design,” she adds.

Gara: A Garden in Bloom

The story of Parsi Gara begins in the 19th century, when Parsi entrepreneurs sailed to China to trade opium, tea, and cotton. The empty crates returned with exquisite silks embroidered with phoenixes, lotuses, and fish — gifts for their wives, who styled them with frilled blouses, high heels, and brooches. It is these heirlooms, brought to life through worn experience, that inspired textile designer Ashdeen Lilaowala to revive this craft, one stitch at a time

What makes it special: “Its lifelike quality sets it apart; the burst of flora, fauna, and exotic birds seem almost real, like artwork. Just like a marriage meant to last, Garas have endured through generations and still hold immense value. It’s something you can wear many years from now, style differently, and pass on as an heirloom,” says Lilaowala.

A fond memory: “My mother in our family Gara. It was a beautiful black sari embroidered by my great-grandmother. Over the years, it has also been worn by my sisters, aunts, and couple of others in the family,” he adds.

An unexpected anecdote: “One of my aunts owned a stunning Parsi Gara sari. She was so proud of it until I pointed out that the ornate designs she thought were butterflies were actually bats — a Taoist symbol for good fortune in China. This story has now become a bit of a legend in our family,” he recalls with a smile.

Banarasi: Silk Through the Ages

Banarasi saris trace their origins back to the Vedic era, when “hiranya vastra,” meaning golden cloth, was draped on deities. By the Mughal period, Varanasi had become the epicentre of silk weaving, blending Persian motifs — jasmines, paisleys, and fauna — with Indian knowhow to create the iconic silks known today. Palak Shah, co-founder of Ekaya Banaras, shares how newage brides can make them their own.

Her earliest memory: “I was just two when I began accompanying my father to the office. While he worked, I would wander around, playing with fabric swatches and stitching little dresses for my dolls from leftover textiles. Sundays were sacred — we would visit the weavers, sit in their homes, share meals, and become part of their world. That closeness to the craft and

its people shaped everything I know and love about the Banarasi,” says Shah.

Why it’s special Now: “My family and I have been working with Banarasis for 120 years. While the techniques and processes remain intact, the new-age Banarasi has found its own identity. Today, it’s all about how you drape it and make it your own. I’ve crafted boots from Banarasis and often style my saris with belts. It’s about bringing a sense of playfulness to every fold,” she adds.

Kanjivaram: Echoes of Temple Bells

Brilliant, jewel-toned colours. Temple motifs that span from elephants and peacocks to scenes from the Ramayana and Mahabharata. And a 400-year-old legacy woven in the silk paradise of Kanchipuram, Tamil Nadu. Designer Latha Puttanna tells us more.

Her first Kanjivaram: “I got married very young, and back then it was all about going to a few iconic stores in Bengaluru — like Vijayalakshmi on MG Road and the bustling shops in Chickpet. It was tradition for the entire family to come along for the selection, especially the women from the in-laws’ side. After a lot of searching, I found a beautiful red Kanjivaram with a navy-blue border. It’s one of my favourite saris till date,” she remembers.

Why it’s timeless: “Motifs like lions, horses, and sculptures from Hampi reflect local history and architecture. A traditionally woven Kanjivaram sari carries that legacy forward. That’s why it’s something you pass on, not just wear,” she adds.

Her advice to brides: “Pick something that you love and can see yourself wearing for years. I still wear my wedding sari, and it feels as beautiful as the day I chose it. Avoid excessive embellishments. If it’s a handwoven sari, let it shine in its purest form,” she says.

Pashmina: Soft as a Cloud

For fashion insiders, pashminas are to the ’90s what the Hermès scarf was to the ’80s. Sourced from Himalayan mountain goats reared by the Changpas, a nomadic tribe in Ladakh, these rare fibres are then sent to Kashmir, where they’re woven into the finest shawls. The result? What the world reveres as ‘soft gold’. Jyotika Jhalani, creative director and founder of Janavi, shares why.

Her favourite memory: “We would spend our summers in Kashmir. During those months, the family Pashminas would reappear like old friends, folded into cupboards, passed between shoulders, worn to the garden, to evening walks. One morning in Srinagar — I must have been around seven — I was sitting at a wooden desk, doing my homework. It was early, and cold, and I had wrapped myself in my mother’s Pashmina, a reversible shawl in soft pink and sky blue. I was using an ink pen, the kind you dip into a pot, and of course, I managed to tip the whole jar over. Blue ink spread across the shawl. I panicked and then knocked over my glass of milk. It spilled everywhere — over my notebook, over the shawl — and in that strange, silent mess, something unbelievable happened: the enzymes of the milk lifted the ink. The ink slowly disappeared. That shawl still exists. My mother kept it. And to me, that moment was the beginning of a lifelong love,” shares Jhalani.

On bridal pieces: “At Janavi, we never try to force the material into a trend. Instead, we look at what already exists in our craft and ask: how can we make this feel more personal, more wearable for someone stepping into a new chapter of life? We began adapting traditional embroidery techniques onto laceedged Pashminas, and then onto full cashmere saris. Now, we’re able to go further, offering brides completely bespoke pieces with hand-painted elements, personalised motifs, or heirloom references woven in. The artisans are fully part of that journey, and the magic happens in collaboration,” she says.

This story appears in Manifest India’s Issue 03. Subscribe here for more stories like this.