Dear Indians, 

You know me. I have been here for as long as this civilization has existed. I am, quite literally, and metaphorically, the thread that binds the entire civilisation together.

I am the thread that the weavers of Banaras meticulously weave. I am the thread that the weavers of Paithan patiently transform into Paithani. I am the thread that the weavers of Sualkuchi carefully draw into the rich silks of Assam. I am the thread that the weavers of Sambalpur weave into stories of Odisha. I am the thread that becomes Jamdani, Kosa, Kutch and Patola. I am Chanderi. I am Kanjeevaram. I am Phulkari. I am Leheria. I am Mangalgiri. I am Ikat. I am Kalamkari. I am Narayan Peth. I am Nauvari. I am Madisar. I am Chikankari. I am Kasavu. I am Chettinad. I am Molakalmuru. 

The names go on…You are probably coming across some of these names for the first time here. 

I am the thread woven by meticulous, patient hands into what you know as Handloom. Handloom can offer a different way of imagining unity: not through manufactured imposition but a sense of realization of oneness that has been inherited, lived and woven together across generations.

I take different forms in different places, shaped by different hands and carrying different stories. 

Yet, beneath all these names and forms, I remain one. A thread that ultimately becomes handloom. A thread that is abstract but is brought to life by countless weavers across the country. Different looms, different patterns, different names, but the same thread running through them all. 

Perhaps that is why I am more than a textile. I embody something this civilisation has understood for millennia, the Vedāntic idea that the One can manifest as many, that difference in form does not negate unity in essence. I am that philosophy, quite literally, crystallised into a thread. You will find me everywhere you go—in villages, draped around idols in ancient temples, worn at weddings, carried through festivals and enmeshed into everyday life. Different names, different manifestations, but the same thread.

I am in songs sung by your grandmother, bhajans made immortal by Meerabai and ballads archiving the glory of the kings and queens of this great land. They mention me, reference me and remember me. Because, I have been there through the ages. I have witnessed the story of this land being woven- by events, by people, by culture, by ritual, by dharma.

I have witnessed some of the most historic and watershed moments of this civilization. From the Vedic age to the stroke of midnight of 14–15 August 1947 , when India finally achieved independence from British rule, I have been there. I accompanied Swami Vivekananda at the World Parliament of Religions, where his famous words, “Sisters and Brothers of America…” reverberated. 

I was there when Ahilyabai Holkar, the great queen of Indore, brought weavers from Paithan to Maheshwar to revive the local economy. I became the Maheshwari weave. At one point, I became a symbol of the freedom struggle. At another, I became a symbol of social reform. I have always been central to India's economy, travelling far beyond its borders, carrying stories of its people and its civilization wherever I went. I have accompanied Rani Jhansi and Rani Tarabai to the battlefield. I have embodied the powerful resilience of the nine yard saree and the silent strength of the six yard saree. I am in our classrooms, in our boardrooms, in our courts, our streets, our secretariats, our fields and farms, trams and trains, buses and boats.

And recently, I had my viral moment. You probably used me as a hashtag as well. 

Thank you, National Handloom Week.

So many of you posted photographs and videos of me. Very pretty, I must say. This time, it was particularly wonderful to see men join in too- in their veshtis and dhotis. I loved watching you scroll through your galleries, find old photographs, revisit memories and share them with the world.

But my absolute viral moment came when a group of former Naxal women walked the ramp in Chhattisgarh, adorned in the famous Kosa silk. Suddenly, I was everywhere. In newspapers, on television, across social media. I was trending, by the way. I was “cool”.

I have always been there with you.

During pujas and festivals. At weddings. Adorned by women in boardrooms. In the Parliament. In villages and cities. Around idols in temples. In moments of celebration, transition and everyday life.

I was always there.

The difference was that, this time, you noticed me.

And now that I have your attention, I want to tell you something.

I am not merely an aesthetic for you to admire, wear or feel proud of. Of course, I am all of those things. But my beauty is rooted in something much deeper: philosophy, spirituality, craftsmanship and, most importantly, the memory of a civilisation.

Every thread carries traces of centuries of thought, skill and lived experience. Every weave is an archive. It tells you where people lived, what they believed, how they celebrated, what they valued and how they connected with one another.

I am a reminder that you were always connected. I am a reminder of Oneness that is all pervading.