TEXT AND PHOTOGRAPHS BY ANUM SANAULLAH
Riyadh, Saudi Arabia
During my research, I found myself reconnecting with memories of my maternal grandfather through an object – a tunic embroidered for him by his step aunt Bibi Noor Jehan, who lived permanently in Kharan, Balochistan. The value of this simple gesture of gifting a hand-embroidered garment, as I came to appreciate, extends beyond its physical form. It encapsulates legacy, skill, generational knowledge, and relationship to land and its inhabitants, thereby encompassing the broader significance of community. In this case, it isn’t just the tunic itself that holds meaning, but the experiences and essence of tribal ways of living that are passed down through it – the narratives of the land.
A round neck with a placket on the side for ease and style, with a tassel attached to the loose end that goes through a hoop, is a distinct marker of a Shahi kurta. The wide-panelled tunic remains structured across the shoulders. Adorned with say triki, the local term for cross-stitch, the grey matrassi fabric is complemented by bright colors, particularly through the mausam work at the center of the placket. This material was used not only for its structured, luxurious appearance, but also because it allowed the embroiderer to easily pull out threads to mark the design and was sturdy enough to hold the stitches in place. The pocket on the side has also been embroidered, with the side slits still held together by a small stitch. An impeccably tailored tunic, almost knee-length, flowy with a gentle sheen. The fabric feels as though it whispers of its journey with each move. Encircled by intricate embroidery across the neckline, extending all the way down the front placket, it adds to its grace and accentuates its style. The sleeves are long and tapered, echoing the same threadwork as the neckline and the side slits.
To be paired with a turban – a traditional headpiece worn by Baloch tribesmen. Men, especially from affluent families, would have a different set of outfits for the day, and this kurta with embroidery would often be worn in the evenings. With intricate cross-stitch motifs that can be traced back to Mehrgarh, it has been perfectly situated on the borders of this token of love. From birth to marriage, every occasion is centered around the use of embroidered clothing. It is an essential indicator and embodiment of identity. It is a hallmark of festive occasions and expands across genders, regions, and generations. These generous acts, especially gifts – strengthen relationships, adding passion and love to them.
Through this heirloom, I began reconnecting with the community and retracing the life of my grandfather, Mir Sher Ali Khan Nosherwani. Charming and brave, he had assumed the role of a leader at an early age. Stepping up on behalf of his family, he pushed for their education and made sure the rest of his tribesmen had access to justice. He was the first Member of the Provincial Assembly from Kharan, winning the elections by a majority. These were the first elections held after the rights of the Nawabi system were dissolved in Balochistan in the 1970s. He fought endlessly to bring basic necessities to Kharan, actively participating in politics but took a back seat once he realized his people needed a leader on the ground to resolve their problems with them.
He was the son of Habib-u-llah Khan Nousherwani, the ruler of Kharan, and spent most of his time maintaining peace between various factions. The most striking aspect of his identity was his well-maintained style. As a young adult, he loved playing football and was an avid reader. He even commissioned three books on Kharan, one of which, Ain-a-Kharan, I managed to get hold of.
Kharan, once a princely state, is located in the southwestern region of Balochistan. Its rich history has been shaped by tribal dynamics, cultural heritage, and strategic significance. With its own army, administration, and indigenous systems for caring for the land and its people, Kharan had retained its sovereignty over the centuries. Historically, Kharan State included present-day Kharan city, parts of Washuk District, and adjacent areas in Chagai. It was ruled by local tribal chiefs and influenced by Persian and Afghan empires. The region’s demographics are predominantly Baloch, with a mix of Muslims and some minority groups. The oldest town and a thriving center, the population of Kharan faces numerous challenges such as underdevelopment, and limited access to education and healthcare.
Whether in his element as a leader or on the hunting ground, he was known to maintain his standards – never lowering them when dealing with strangers or family. The void he left behind for all those who loved him cannot be fathomed, nor can it be filled with words. His absence and the loss of a dignified leader – changed so many things. Overcoming the pain of his death and this long absence from my life has been difficult. How would he have felt being called Sher Ali Khan? I remember how he would sit with his neck straight and shoulders broad. Slightly bending his neck, he’d turn to look at me. How happy I was, sitting next to him, devouring a meal or watching him prepare his toast.
Waja Baba, as I called him – an aunt once told me how he would never let anyone touch his clothes and would rarely hold his own children – But I was his favorite, and he would never let me down. This tunic, which had been presented to him in the late ’60s in Kharan, was later handed over to my mother for my brother to inherit when he grew older upon one of my grandfather’s visits to Karachi. But as luck would have it, he grew extremely tall, and even before leaving his teenage years, he had already outgrown this and many other garments left behind for him. I had always fancied men’s clothing, and seeing them stacked away in a suitcase, I knew I wanted them. All my mother wanted was someone to care for them and somehow, I became that person.
It is a different feeling to be holding this piece in my hand, almost like a portal allowing me to feel my grandfather’s presence, witness my brother’s life, and, most importantly, connecting with the fragments of the life of the woman I have never met. Her thoughts and feelings when she was weaving it, all that she was made of: the mountains, the barren land, her soul’s highest calling, and overwhelming feelings of love and grief. I had been carrying a piece of my land without knowing it, and seeing this object as a vessel – one that connects the immediate to the vast – has transformed my understanding of my ethnic identity.
I once asked someone what a Baloch is, whether male or female, and they replied,
“A Baloch is but one.”