Guest Post Authored by Anoussa Salim

Author’s Website: https://www.anoussasalim.com

Knitting has always been a deeply personal and memorable activity for me. My journey in knitting began when I was just ten years old, under the patient guidance of my grandma. Coming from a Pakistani background, I would often sit beside her, watching her skilled hands work wonders with yarn and needles. The rhythmic motion of her knitting needles and the soft clicking sound became an integral part of my childhood. I was captivated not only by the craft itself but also by the rich history it had within my family.

One day, I asked my grandma where she had learned to knit. Her response took me on an unexpected journey through history. She remembered learning the skill during the partition of India and Pakistan, a time that had reshaped her life in unimaginable ways. For her, knitting was more than just a craft; it was a source of solitude and comfort amidst the turmoil of displacement and uncertainty. Her memories of the partition were filled with stories of loss and struggle but also of resilience. She shared how knitting provided her with a sense of stability in an otherwise unstable world, a way to create warmth and normalcy when everything else seemed to be falling apart.

Hearing her stories made me reflect on the broader role of knitting during the partition and its aftermath. My experience with knitting is one of joy and bonding with my grandma, but for many women of that era, knitting was a necessity rather than a leisure activity. The partition resulted in a massive displacement of around 12 to 15 million people along religious lines, with estimates of deaths ranging from half a million to two million. In refugee camps and new settlements, women turned to knitting as a means of coping with their new surroundings. Woolen garments such as sweaters, shawls, and socks were essential in harsh winters, especially for those who had fled from warmer climates and were unprepared for the cold.

Knitting became more than just a means of creating clothing; it was a form of silent resistance and endurance. It was one of the few activities that women could engage in while waiting for uncertain futures to unfold. In communal spaces, women gathered, knitting for their families, exchanging patterns, and sharing stories of their lost homes. These small acts of creation provided not only physical warmth but also emotional solace. In an era where many lost their homes, identities, and loved ones, the simple act of knitting a garment became a way of reclaiming agency and preserving cultural heritage.

As I delved deeper into this history, I began to think about the untold stories of knitting during the partition. The concept of ‘knitting identity’ struck me how a seemingly simple craft carried layers of history, emotion, and resilience. For my grandma, knitting was an intimate connection to her past, a thread that linked her to the life she had left behind. For countless other women, it was a means of sustaining their families, both economically and emotionally. Knitting represented strength, continuity, and a quiet assertion of dignity in the face of adversity.

The legacy of knitting during the partition has left an imprint on generations. Today, knitting remains a cherished craft in Pakistan, practiced in homes, passed down through families, and integrated into cottage industries. The same stitches that once provided warmth in refugee camps now form part of Pakistan’s rich textile tradition, with handmade woolen garments continuing to hold cultural and economic significance.

Knitting wasn’t the only craft my grandma passed down to me. She was a master of many forms of textile artistry, and she made sure to share her skills with both my father and me. Beyond knitting, she taught us how to sew and introduced us to a variety of intricate embroidery techniques, including the vibrant Sindhi embroidery and the detailed Balochi embroidery. In many ways, her teachings were unconventional, especially for my father. As a Pakistani man, sewing was not traditionally seen as a male pursuit, but my grandma never let societal norms dictate what skills should or shouldn’t be learned. She taught him with the same patience and passion that she had with me, and he embraced the craft wholeheartedly, like the women during the partition he defied the stereotype with quiet confidence.

Her influence shaped my relationship with fashion, making it deeply personal. To me, fashion is not just about aesthetics but a blend of identity, heritage, and self-expression. Having spent my entire life in New York, I consistently strive to blend my Western and South Asian influences into my designs, creating pieces that showcase the duality of my cultural heritage.

When it comes to knitting, my favorite design is the embroidered Sindhi Mirrorwork-Inspired Knitting. This stunning technique uses bright colors and textured stitches to mimic the intricate patterns of traditional mirror embroidery. The way the stitches play with depth and contrast reminds me of the handcrafted beauty of Sindhi textiles, which have long been a symbol of cultural pride and heritage.  Modern designers and home artisans are discovering inventive methods to integrate traditional motifs into knitted wear, resulting in garments that are both warm and rich in cultural heritage.

Looking back, I realize that my childhood afternoons spent knitting with my grandmother were more than just craft lessons; they were lessons in history, resilience, and love. Every loop and stitch carries a story, and through knitting, I feel connected not only to my grandma but also to the countless women whose hands shaped history in ways that are often overlooked. The narrative of knitting during the Partition is a legacy of survival, creativity, and silent strength that deserves to be remembered and honored.