GI or DIY? Kashmir’s Battle of Genuine vs. Genius Fakes

Being a Kashmiri myself, having wandered through lanes and by lanes of Srinagar, where the hum of looms meets the glint of copper, I have watched our handicrafts come alive to the beat of heritage. A pashmina shawl isn’t merely warmth; it is patience translated into fabric. A walnut carving isn’t merely furniture; it is a chinar leaf trapped in timber. And paper mâché isn’t painted pulp, but poetry in wood paint. These are gems bearing centuries in their threads and colours.

But into this epic, machines have infiltrated like foxes into a henhouse. To some households, they are gifts; relieving toil, accelerating work, even catapulting families into micro-business. In Srinagar’s tucked-away workshops, often perched on creaky second-floor rentals, semi-mechanized embroidery setups have been given cheeky names such as the “Dastakar Dynamo,” mass-producing Sozni, Aari work suits and shawls for buyers as they hire neighbours. And when a carding machine recently brought back to life the long-forgotten Namda rug, the image of wool fluffing up like a chef tossing salad was close to comedy relief. Machines, when they are kept in their lane, can be quite assistants.

The true comedy starts when they put on disguise. In July, the Handicrafts Department excluded machine-made products from showrooms, even arresting a dealer who affixed a spurious QR code on a power loomed carpet. A rug sporting a forged badge now that’s drama, like a street cat walking into a dog show. Officials deployed 55,000 GI holograms to seal the real, and our brains went wild with thoughts like “Fake shawls? Might as well peddle plastic kangris!”

For a moment, it felt like a long-awaited clean-up was underway. And then arrived August, and with it, a U-turn. Scarcely weeks after insisting on affidavits of genuineness, the government opened the gates again for machine made goods to return to showrooms provided they sported the fig leaf of a label. Traders heaved a sigh of relief, but artisans and purists were left wide eyed, like chinar leaves in a sudden gust of wind. They cried that it was comparable to describing instant coffee as a kahwa ceremony. Well, perhaps it saves time, but where is the soul? The human cost of such deception is savage. I have seen people spinning Changthangi fleece for months, only to deliver pashmina shawls for ₹10000 to middlemen who then march them in London boutiques for lakhs. Carpet knotters in Kulgam, stooped over looms for weeks, get scraps while their rugs earn fortunes in foreign lands. Copper samovars with naqashi etched by sweat-hardened hands are pitted against stamped fakes. Walnut tables that once whispered of chinar leaves are now copied by CNC machines with all the personality of a photocopier. Papier-mâché boxes, born of Persian pulp and Kashmiri patience, must duel with plastic cousins who look like they belong in a bargain bin.

Even wicker willows and crewel rugs, once unmistakable, now drift in a sea of hybrids, such as a Bollywood re-make unsure whether it is comedy, tragedy, or mere noise. And yet, it would be foolish to condemn machines in general. They are not culprits unless we let them steal the show. The crackdown in July taught us what happens when authenticity is enforced, buyers trusted once more, artisans hope once again. The August retreat, though, muddied the waters. Labels do not protect; they are best disclaimers, worst fig leaves.

Across the world, authenticity exceeds QR codes. EU PDO/PGI badges, Indian GI marks, and holograms prevent counterfeits, with blockchain and GI-view apps monitoring supply chains. Legal brawn through the TRIPS Agreement, scrutiny by producer groups, and customs inspections stop counterfeits. Consumers are encouraged to shop at authentic outlets such as Cottage Industries Emporium, verify registries, and not accept offers too good to be true. Emerging technologies such as RFID and AI image recognition bring firepower, however weak enforcement remains.

As a corporate observer, I have an alternative vision. Label hybrids with humor “Handwoven, Machine-Tweaked,” or “Half Loom, Half Zoom” and allow consumers to giggle and choose. Construct cooperatives to eliminate intermediaries so that artisans don’t have to sell their months of work for scraps. Educate young people in design and technology, but for innovation, not copying.

Hitch a ride on e-commerce global trade winds, after all, if American tariffs are nipping at your heels, what better retort than to sell authenticity as the ultimate luxury? From many years spent in boardrooms and markets alike, I have learned that trust is our currency. Guffaw at the surrealness of a carpet displaying a mock QR code, it is market comedy at its best but also protect the seriousness that lies underneath. Machines can carry us, but they cannot do so by pilfering our story. All shawls ought to continue singing about Kashmir, not about a power loom’s imitation. For in our markets, this is not just business; it is the craftsmanship of who we are.

Mirza Mohammad Idrees ul Haq Beigh is an Engineer, IP strategist, registered with Indian institute of corporate affairs as an Independent director.