“I hope they feel a sense of peace — a kind of ease, not just physical, but emotional. I hope the garment feels like a space they can return to.”-

This is the answer Chinar Farooqui, founder of homegrown fashion label Injiri gives me when I ask them about the emotion she hopes people associate with the label.

The brand, founded in 2009, creates women's garments as well as interior textiles. Working with artisans to create their simple, meticulously crafted designs with a focus on handweaving, Injiri has found a community of loyal patrons across the globe. In continuing our conversation, Chinar Farooqui shared her hopes for the Injiri community:

“I hope they feel the labour of hands, the intelligence of materials, and the love with which it was made. I hope it reminds them of something true —perhaps a memory from their grandmother’s home, or a moment of silence, or the feeling of sitting near a window on a slow afternoon.”

For me, as a Malayali, Injiri’s latest collection, 'The Notes of Fragrance', was an especially interesting campaign from the label. Inspired by Kerala, they tapped into the essence of my home state and its quiet beauty and grace, to create a collection of garments which“...unfolds like a scent, revealing its beauty in layers. The first impression comes from the colours and patterns—earthy tones, designs and patterns that captivate at first glance. As the fabric breathes and moves, the heart notes emerge, revealing the delicate textures and details that enchant over time. Finally, like a lasting fragrance, the essence of the garment lingers — the steadfast craftsmanship that remains long after the initial allure has faded.” 

This quiet dedication to slow, intentional design decisions is what sets Injiri apart. Their interpretation of a theme is meditative and deep, and never superficial.

“Kerala is a place that teaches you how to see differently," says Chinar. "Its relationship with white, its sense of restraint, its use of gold — not as luxury, but as quiet dignity — moved us deeply. The mundu, the kasavu, the coastal light, the calm after the rain: these are not fashion references; they are atmospheres. For Spring/Summer 2025, we weren’t trying to represent Kerala. We were trying to translate the mood it left us with; the sense of clarity, grace, and deep discipline. The collection uses a lot of whites, blues, some greens, clean structures, and a certain softness. It’s less about narrative, more about essence.”

To learn more about Injiri as a label, I had a longer conversation with Chinar Farooqui. We talked about how Injiri came into being broke down and the tangent of growth it has been on. 

When did your relationship with textiles and storytelling truly begin? Was there a particular memory or turning point that led you towards creating Injiri? How did your academic background influence the way you think about fashion today?

My relationship with textiles began long before Injiri. I grew up in Rajasthan, where I was exposed to handwoven and hand-dyed textiles from my childhood. It was in the 80s and 90s that one found a loom in almost all villages. People still wore what was made by someone in their family or community/village. There was immense respect for raw materials and the materials available, and the natural resources of a place that shaped its craft practices. Also, very importantly the aesthetics of Rajasthan had deep impressions, I was always in awe of it. The way people dressed in these parts always intrigued me a lot. 

But the turning point came during my studies at NID (National Institute of Design), where I was introduced to textiles not just as functional materials but as cultural and historical carriers. I started looking at fabrics as languages, as archives. At NID, we were taught to ask questions: Where does this come from? Who made it? Why does it exist in this form? That academic lens trained me to look at textiles with depth. It moved me away from trends and made me focus on systems of making, regional knowledge, and the time embedded in cloth. Injiri emerged from this way of seeing. The brand has always been less about fashion and more about telling stories through textiles — stories of places, of people, of histories that live quietly within material.

Inception of Injiri was mainly a result of my desire to combine traditional textile practices and traditional ways of making clothes with my artistic sensibilities as a trained artist/painter from MSU Baroda. I was always looking at textiles as my medium to paint. 

As a label and a designer, you've chosen to forego the traditional seasons and fashion week cycles. 

From the beginning, I found it difficult to relate to the structure of fashion seasons. The logic of “newness” every few months did not align with the way traditional handcraft works. A weaver cannot - and should not - work to the rhythm of fashion weeks. A single piece of fabric can take months to make. We’ve built Injiri on the idea that time should be respected. The calendar we follow is our own, guided by the process of making, the seasons of real life, and the deeper cycles of nature and thought.

How have you resisted the need to conform to the existing cycles in the industry as a homegrown brand?

Resisting industry cycles has been both instinctive and deliberate. When you work closely with artisans, you quickly realise that you cannot apply a mass-production mindset to a hand-production world. You cannot rush a handloom or speed up an embroidery process without compromising its soul.

So we built our model differently. We don’t do fashion shows. We don’t release collections to meet a seasonal deadline. Instead, we release work when it is ready, when the fabric feels right, when the story feels complete. There is patience in the way we work, and that patience is part of our ethics. It has allowed us to remain small, rooted, and focused on what matters: the textile, the story, the craftsperson.

What were the early days of Injiri like? Different designers take different approaches to working with artisans.

The early days were slow and uncertain, but deeply formative. I spent a lot of time travelling—meeting weavers, observing processes, listening to stories. I didn’t go with a design agenda. I went with questions. How do you work? What do you make when no one is watching? What is your rhythm?

I realised early on that it’s not enough to bring a design and ask someone to execute it. Traditional crafts come with their own intelligence. The work lies in learning how to collaborate without overpowering that intelligence. In those first few years, Injiri grew not through a business model but through trust - visiting again and again, forming long-term relationships, understanding not just the craft but the person behind it.

Would you be able to share the process of how you work with traditional artisans? Injiri operates almost like an ecosystem of craftspeople across India. How do you nurture those relationships over time?

We work with hundreds of craftspeople across India, each part of a different landscape of skill. Our process is fluid and depends on the context. Sometimes it starts with a textile reference from a museum, or with an old sari found in a market. Sometimes it begins with a conversation. Once a direction is felt, we co-develop the fabric. It’s a back-and-forth. The artisan’s voice is central to the process.

Nurturing these relationships is about more than transactions. It’s about presence. We visit regularly, not just when there is an order. We work with the same people year after year. Many of our collaborators have become like family. We support them in quiet ways, mainly by providing consistent work, sometimes even just listening when they face life challenges. These bonds form the true foundation of Injiri.

What we feel is that we have found very close collaborators in artisans - they work with us and push us to create new things. 

In working with regional weaving techniques like Jamdani, Mashru, and Ikat, how do you decide which craft traditions to explore in each collection? How do you balance simplicity and intricacy in your design language? Which craft forms have shaped Injiri's aesthetic the most?

We try to cover our core craft techniques in each collection. We distribute their usage in summer and winter, as some textiles lend themselves better to summer and some to winter. We don’t approach crafts as fixed categories. We see them as living forms that evolve with touch, with place. Often, it is the textile that calls to us—its language, its silence. Jamdani has shaped Injiri deeply. It allows for poetry in structure. It’s mathematical and lyrical at once. We use the technique throughout all seasons. We work on new forms each year.

Bandhani & Chikankari bring in colour and allow us to work with colour blockings, while Ikat teaches you about illusion, about resisting fixed form. Bhujodi, on the other hand, has helped us think in lines, in rhythm. Each craft reveals something different about our design language. We try to balance intricacy and simplicity by paying attention to where the eye rests. Sometimes one line of Jamdani is enough. Sometimes it’s the silence of white-on-white that says everything. Design, for us, is about knowing when to stop. We try to ensure that the end product carries the essence of the textile-making technique. 

Sustainability is woven into your work in a very organic, non-performative way. What does being a homegrown, conscious brand mean to you personally?

Sustainability, for us, is not a statement. It is a way of living. We do not use the word often, because in the world of handcraft, it is already there—in the reuse of yarn, in the time it takes to make something, in the care given to each thread.

Being homegrown means we are part of the soil we work from. We are answerable to the land, to the artisans, and ourselves. We work with natural dyes, use our textile waste, and invest in slow production, not because it looks good in a campaign, but because that’s how we were taught to value things.

Looking back now, is there a philosophy or lesson from your early years that still anchors you creatively?

One lesson has always stayed with me: begin with respect. Respect the maker, the material, the history. When you approach craft with reverence, it gives back. Another belief is that beauty need not be loud. It can whisper. In fact, most of what I consider beautiful is quiet and almost invisible at first. This understanding still shapes everything we do at Injiri. The quieter something is, the deeper it often is.

Follow Injiri here.

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