What you are about to read is not just an interview. It is a transmission. A gesture passed down through time, a living beauty, a sacred connection between the artisan and the divine. The interview is long, dense, almost meditative. I invite you to read it as one enters a temple : slowly, with reverence.
Chinar Farooqui, Founder of Injiri
Chinar Farooqui, the Founder of Injiri, is a textile designer. Over the years, she has come to see herself more as a person of materials, of time, and of the many quiet processes that go into making cloth. She says that the most meaningful part of her education didn’t happen in classrooms. It happened on slow journeys to craft clusters, in long conversations with weavers and dyers, and in watching hands move, repeating the same gesture a thousand times until it became second nature.
In this interview, we delve into the rich tapestry of Injiri’s history and philosophy, a sacred ode to the ancient craft of Indian textiles. This brand venerates the timeless wisdom passed down through generations, elevating it to a realm of reverence and ethical devotion. Inspired by India’s sacred traditions woven into every fiber, Injiri collaborates intimately with artisans and local communities, honoring the patience, devotion, and respect embedded in their craft. Their slow fashion approach celebrates the imperfect beauty and genuine authenticity of each piece, transforming garments into vessels of stories, memory, and cultural soul. In doing so, they forge a profound connection between tradition and sustainability, elevating textile art to a sacred act of cultural preservation and reverence.
“Before starting Injiri, I briefly worked in rural India. But I kept circling back to clothing, not in the fashion sense, but in the deeper way that dress reflects a person’s life, community, and memory. For me, textiles are not just surfaces. They hold stories, carry memories, and mark time.”
Hi Chinar, how did you come into the fashion world?
To be honest, I didn’t really plan to enter the fashion world. My journey into clothing was never about trends or the industry, it was about a deeper fascination with the handmade, with traditional textiles, and with the quiet intelligence behind how garments were once made. I was always more interested in how people dressed in their everyday lives, how their clothing reflected climate, geography, rituals, and memory, rather than what was considered fashionable.
When I started Injiri, it wasn’t with the ambition of launching a brand in the conventional sense. It began as a small, personal project, rooted in a love for cloth and the people who make it. There were no “collections” as such, only pieces made in dialogue with craft processes and with the lives they were meant to be a part of. I was thinking about seasonality, about utility, about regional histories. Slowly, the work found its own rhythm, and that rhythm turned into something others began to see and connect with.
What is the essence of Injiri and who is your target?
The essence of Injiri lies in the quiet things, slowness, care, and a deep respect for craft. Everything we make begins with the textile itself. In fact, sometimes it begins even earlier, with the yarn, the dye, the loom. We don’t start with a sketch or a silhouette. Instead, we let the fabric lead us. Its texture, its weight, the way it moves, all of that tells us how a garment should be. In that sense, our process is not about designing in the traditional way. It’s about listening.
We’re not interested in chasing trends or seasonality in the way the fashion world defines them. Our relationship is with time, not timelines. There is slowness in the way our clothes come together, and also in the way we hope people experience them.
As for who we make clothes for—we’ve never defined a target audience in the usual marketing sense. We don’t design with demographics in mind. Instead, we think about sensibility. Our clothes are made for people who notice details, who enjoy quiet, who find beauty in texture, imperfection, and memory.
Could you describe the type of materials and dyeing you are using?
At Injiri, we work exclusively with handwoven fabrics, each one made in collaboration with weaving communities from different parts of India. The techniques vary, some are woven on traditional pit looms, others on frame looms or even simple backstrap looms, depending on the community and their heritage of making.
The materials we use are all natural : handspun cotton, eri silk, tussar, pashmina, and wool. Each fiber brings its own character and rhythm to the fabric. We don’t interfere too much with that. Our approach is more about working with the material, not trying to control or perfect it.
When it comes to dyeing, we use a mix of natural dyes and low-impact azo-free dyes. The choice depends on the material, the region, and the local dyeing practices. In some places, natural dyeing has been passed down over generations; in others, we work with small dye-houses that use safer, environmentally low-impact processes.
One thing we’re very mindful of is that we don’t strive for uniformity. In fact, we welcome the small irregularities that come with handwork—a thread skipped, a lighter patch in the dye, a tiny mark. These are not seen as flaws, but as signs of the human hand. Sometimes, we highlight them even more through embroidery or patchwork techniques, turning them into part of the garment’s story. To us, these details carry the life of the fabric—and that’s what makes them beautiful.
What about the process of conception of your collections?
The conception of our collections always begins with a conversation. It might be with a weaver, a dyer, or sometimes just with a memory, a certain color seen in a garden, a fragment of an old textile, a shape remembered from childhood. We never begin by thinking of the end product. The process is led by the textile. We spend months working closely with artisans to develop the fabric, experimenting with weave structures, yarns, dyes, and textures. Each cloth has its own journey before it even reaches the cutting table.
The garments are made across different regions of India, each contributing something distinct. Our fabrics are woven by artisans in places like West Bengal, Gujarat ( Bhujodi), Madhya Pradesh, Kullu, Telangana and Kashmir . The weaving is always done at the artisan’s own home or in small community-run workshops. These are not factory settings—they’re traditional, often family-based spaces where knowledge is passed down quietly from one generation to the next.
Once the fabric is ready, it travels to our Jaipur workshop. That’s where we cut, finish, and assemble the garments. Our workshop is a calm, light-filled space—more like an atelier than a production unit, where tailors and finishers work slowly and carefully. We also work with women embroiderers.
What ties it all together is slowness and respect, for people, processes, and the material. There are no machines pushing out hundreds of garments a day. Just looms, hands, needles, and time. We see each piece as something that has passed through many hands, each leaving behind a trace. That’s what makes it special.
India is very well known internationally for its spirit and consciousness on the environment. How do you apply these values to your brand?
In India, environmental consciousness is not something new, it has always existed quietly in the way people lived, used resources, and made things. At Injiri, we try to stay close to that way of thinking. For us, sustainability isn’t a separate initiative or a checklist, it’s simply woven into how we work, every day. It’s about being thoughtful at every step, and choosing to do less, but with more care.
We produce in small batches, never in excess. Our collections aren’t built around trends or fast-changing seasons. We work slowly, and release garments only when they are truly ready. This helps us avoid overproduction, and allows space for each piece to be made with attention.
Fabric scraps and remnants are never thrown away. Even the tiniest offcuts are saved and reused, sometimes as inner linings or covered buttons, sometimes as hand-patched embellishments, and often as raw material for art-based textile works.
We also consciously avoid synthetic materials and plastics. Most of our packaging is made from cotton muslin or recycled paper. It’s simple, functional, and designed to be reused or composted. Nothing is overwrapped or overproduced.
Perhaps most importantly, we design in close dialogue with place and material. We don’t believe in imposing an idea onto a fabric or a region. Instead, we try to listen, to the craft, the artisan, the climate, the local rhythm, and allow that to guide the outcome. This way of working is slower, but it’s more honest. It respects the environment not just as a resource, but as a living system we are part of. That’s the value we try to carry forward in everything we do.
What is your vision on the fashion industry today?
I believe the fashion industry today is at a crossroads. On one hand, it is moving faster than ever, chasing trends, producing at scale, and operating on speed. On the other, there’s a growing awareness that something needs to shift. If we really want to change the way fashion works, the first thing we must do is reintroduce time into the process. We need to allow clothes to be made at a human pace—not at the pace of algorithms or machines, but at the pace of people, seasons, and materials.
It takes time to grow cotton. It takes time to spin yarn, to weave fabric on a handloom, to dye it naturally, to embroider it by hand, and to stitch a garment with care. When we rush this process, we don’t just lose quality—we lose meaning. We forget that clothing has a life before it reaches a hanger.
The second shift, I believe, is to redefine what fashion really is. It’s not just about how something looks. It’s also about how it feels, how it functions, and what it holds. A garment can carry memory. It can carry the dignity of the hands that made it. And that matters. When a weaver spends days working on a single length of cloth, we owe it to them—and to the cloth itself, to treat it with respect. That means cutting it thoughtfully, finishing it well, and making something that will last.
If there’s one vision I hold for the future of fashion, it is this: we need to build a deeper emotional connection to what we wear. Not just as consumers, but as participants in a larger system. We need to slow down, consume less, and choose better. We need to ask who made our clothes, and how. And we need to see fashion not just as product, but as culture, as a space where memory, identity, and craftsmanship meet. That’s where change begins.
Where do you distribute your brand?
Injiri is shared with the world through a very intentional and selective process. We are present in a small number of stores across Europe, Japan, and the United States, mostly concept stores or independent boutiques that truly understand and value craftsmanship. These are places that are more than just retail, they are spaces that care about how things are made, and the stories behind them.
Within India, we work with a few stores that align with our values, and we also invite people to visit our studio in Jaipur. The studio is not a walk-in shop, but a quiet space where we meet by appointment. It allows for slower, more personal interactions, and gives visitors a chance to see the process behind the garments.
Until now, we have largely stayed away from digital retail because we wanted to grow slowly and carefully. But we’re now in the process of launching our own e-commerce platform. It will allow us to reach our retail customers more directly, while still staying true to our way of working—offering thoughtfully made pieces, shared with intention and care.
Could you tell us more on your projects?
One of the projects we are currently deeply engaged in is a recycling initiative using Tukdi craft from Jaisalmer. Tukdiis a traditional patching technique that has historically been used to repair or rework old textiles, but we are exploring it as a language of construction in itself, one that carries memory, intention, and a deep sense of resourcefulness.
Over the years, we’ve accumulated a large amount of textile remnants, small pieces left behind from garment-making. These fragments hold value for us, not just as materials, but as pieces of a larger story. Instead of discarding them, we’ve been working with artisans in Jaisalmer to reassemble these offcuts using the Tukdi technique, creating entirely new fabrics. These patched surfaces are then reinterpreted into garments and artworks, allowing the waste to take on a new form and meaning.
This project is not just about recycling in a functional sense. It’s about slowing down and asking, what can be done with what already exists? How can we give new life to things that are often overlooked? It’s also about celebrating the improvisational intelligence of traditional crafts, how generations of women and men have used simple techniques to extend the life of textiles, and in doing so, created beauty that is layered, spontaneous, and deeply personal.
In many ways, this project brings together everything we value at Injiri: material integrity, craft, sustainability, and the quiet joy of making something meaningful with care and time.
“Sometimes, I feel we try too hard to explain everything, to define, to label, to make sense of every thread and surface. But in the world we come from, meaning is often carried quietly. A patch of cloth, a loose thread, a slightly crooked buttonhole, these are not imperfections, they are traces of time. They speak of hands that worked slowly, of materials that aged honestly, of garments that were made to be lived in, not just looked at.
I think fashion, as an industry, could benefit from allowing space for that silence, for the things that are felt rather than shown. Not everything needs to be polished or packaged. Some things are more beautiful when left a little unfinished, a little raw, because that’s where the human presence lives.
At Injiri, we’ve always believed that what’s unspoken is often just as important as what is. The repetition of a hand stitch, the unevenness in a dye, the wear on a fabric, these are reminders that clothing is not just a product, but memory. My suggestion would simply be this: maybe fashion doesn’t always need to move louder or faster. Maybe it just needs to sit still every now and then, and listen.”
Photos : Injiri
Words : Chinar Farooqui
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