Aradhana Pandey, TwoCircles.net
Traditional livelihoods in Varanasi are not just allegedly vanishing — they are being replaced by modern alternatives; and with them, the unique skills of countless artisans are fading away. While the city’s charm and culture still attract millions, the artisans who once made Varanasi what it is today are now grappling with the ever-changing landscape of modern life.
Ram Prasad, a tailor who has spent decades stitching garments in the Ghazighat area of Varanasi, embodies the quiet struggle of many artisans whose crafts are slowly fading into obscurity. His small shop, tucked in front of the famous Malai Saav’s Kachori stall, narrates a story of a changing world. Surrounded by the hum of modern life, he still works with his old sewing machine and hopes for the occasional customer.
His voice filled with a quiet nostalgia, he says, “Our shop has been here for years.” “I know how to stitch clothes for both men and women, but these days, no one trusts us with their expensive fabrics. They are afraid we might ruin them.”
Despite the dwindling business, Ram Prasad continues to open and close his shop as he always has and rely mostly on altering old clothes for a handful of loyal customers. “Somehow, I get by,” he adds, his words a mixture of perseverance and resignation.
Like him, many others in Varanasi are grappling with similar challenges. The once-thriving traditional crafts of the city are being overtaken by modern alternatives, leaving behind a community of artisans whose skills are being slowly forgotten. The transformation is evident everywhere, from the streets to the ghats, as the city’s heritage faces the pressures of an ever-changing world.
Many traditional professions, which once formed the backbone of the city’s vibrant culture, are now allegedly fading into obscurity. Old crafts are being replaced by modern alternatives, leaving artisans struggling to survive.
Similarly, in Varanasi’s markets, traditional products like the green leaves used for making plates and bowls have been overtaken by modern, machine-made alternatives. Paper, thermocol and plastic plates are now the norm, pushing the local artisans who once made the traditional leaf plates into financial uncertainty.
This shift is particularly noticeable at Karanghanta’s shops, where once-famous banana leaf plates are now replaced by their synthetic counterparts.
Banarsi saris, a symbol of marital ties in the region, are another story of struggle that is unfolding. The saris, which were once handwoven on traditional handlooms, are now largely produced on power looms. Many artisans have been pushed out of this industry.
Lallan, a handloom weaver from Nagapur village in Varanasi, explains, “We do not have the money to afford power looms. We still weave saris by hand, but it is not enough to survive. We earn only about Rs 150 to 200 a day. While handwoven saris are in demand and are more expensive, the low wages and the time-consuming nature of handloom weaving have made this craft obsolete.”
Senior press photographer BB Yadav, the former president of the Varanasi Journalists’ Association, says, “People come to Varanasi for the experience, but so much has been lost. The rhythm of life and the serenity are gone. The skills of countless artisans, who once dazzled the city with their talent, are fading away. Today, the only thing left are anxieties, struggles and noise. People say times are changing, but what is being lost is rarely acknowledged — it is only mentioned in stories and memories.”
The transformation of Varanasi’s famous ghats is another sign of the changing times. While old professions may be disappearing, new ones are emerging. Flower sellers, tea vendors and even street food hawkers have become a common sight on the ghats. However, competition is fierce, and the profits are meager. Pyarelal, Ramesh and Chotu Bind, three flower vendors, say, “Competition has increased. On a good day, we may earn only Rs 200-300. That is all we have to support our families.” Similarly, Narender Shah, who sells Jhalmuri, and Baljeet Kumar, who sells Khasta Kachoris in Vishweshwarganj, struggle to make ends meet.
For vendors like Kavita Sahni, who has been selling flowers on the ghats for three generations, life has become a constant battle. “Things are not the same as before. Now, everyone wants flowers and lamps for just Rs 10,” she says, reflecting the growing inflation and changing customer expectations. “We are barely managing to keep our families afloat in these difficult times,” she adds. Flower vendors Aniket and Niranjan also share their frustrations, “There is no profit in this business. We keep working as long as we can, but if we are forced off the ghats, we will have no choice but to beg for our livelihood.”