Dureshawar began with an old pashmina shawl that belonged to my aunt. It had been part of my family’s story for many years. The fabric had become fragile with time, but the embroidery still held its beauty. I could see patience in every flower, every vine, and every small hand-stitched detail.

This shawl also took me back to summer afternoons in Faisalabad. I remembered sitting under the shade of shehtoot trees, resting on a charpai, listening to old Indian songs while village girls learnt to embroider with their hands. There was a calmness in those moments: thread, music, shade, conversation, and time moving slowly.

The motifs reminded me of Lahore, Mughal gardens, and the traditional beauty of Kashida kari (کشیدہ کاری). The warm brick red, rust, mustard, soft green, and darker outlines felt like colours from an old courtyard wall, or a garden preserved in thread.

I did not want this embroidery to be lost. It carried memory, family, and skilled handwork. The embroidered sections were carefully preserved and machine appliquéd onto a new pure wool base. A pure silk lining was added inside, giving the jacket softness, strength, and a finished feel.

The stitches carried the soul of the piece. Bharwa Tanka (بھروا ٹانکہ) filled the flowers with a smooth raised surface, while Dandi Tanka (ڈنڈی ٹانکہ) shaped the vines and outlines. These were not only decorative stitches. They were part of a story I wanted to protect.

For me, Dureshawar is about memory, respect, and renewal. It honours my aunt, village life, handmade work, slow fashion, heritage craft, and sustainable handmade clothing. This pashmina jacket is not only a garment. It is a family textile brought forward into wearable art.