Reclaiming the Threads

From the vibrant Ikat of Odisha to the intricate Bandhani of Gujarat, India's textile heritage is a rich, living tapestry woven over millennia. Yet, for those who follow global fashion, a recurring and unsettling sight has become all too common: these very patterns, steeped in cultural history, appearing on the runways of Milan, Paris, and New York, credited to European luxury brands like Prada, Dior, or Etro, with little to no acknowledgement of their origins. This phenomenon is not appreciation; it is a modern extension of a colonial legacy of extraction. The core question for India today is a complex legal one: Can frameworks like copyright law be used to reclaim and protect what has been systematically plundered, and why is this battle so incredibly difficult?

 

The Shadow of the Raj and the Problem of "Inspiration"

 

The appropriation of Indian designs is not a new trend. During the British Raj, the vibrant Indian textile industry was systematically dismantled to favour British mills. While raw materials were exported, the finished designs and motifs were also "borrowed" and mass-produced in Manchester, flooding back into the Indian market.

 

Today, this dynamic persists, albeit in a different form. A European designer might visit a market in Jaipur, become "inspired" by a 200-year-old block-print design, and replicate it in their next collection. The brand reaps enormous profits, while the artisan community in Rajasthan, which has preserved this art form for generations, receives nothing. The legal challenge begins here: proving that this "inspiration" is, in fact, infringement.

 

The Mismatch: Applying Copyright Law to Community Heritage

 

At first glance, copyright law seems like the perfect tool. The Indian Copyright Act, 1957, protects original "artistic works," which can include a drawing, a painting, or a pattern. A unique textile motif could, in theory, be classified as such. However, the framework of copyright law, which is based on Western legal principles, fundamentally clashes with the nature of Indian traditional arts.

 

The primary hurdles are the concepts of authorship and originality.

 

1.  The Myth of the Single Author: Copyright law is designed to protect the creation of an individual author or a small, identifiable group. But who is the "author" of a Patola weave design that has been refined by an entire community over 500 years? These designs are not the product of a single mind but are a collective, ancestral heritage, passed down from parent to child. The law struggles to recognize a village or a lineage as a legal "author."

 

2.  The "Public Domain" Trap: For a work to be copyrighted, it must be "original." Many of India's most iconic designs are ancient. Legally, this pushes them into the "public domain," a legal space where works whose copyrights have expired (or never existed) are deemed free for anyone to use. Foreign brands often defend their usage by claiming these centuries-old patterns belong to humanity as a whole and are therefore free game. This argument cleverly ignores the fact that these traditions have been actively maintained and preserved by specific communities, who should hold a stake in their commercial use.

 

3.  The Designs Act Complication: The legal landscape is further complicated by The Designs Act, 2000. This act protects the aesthetic shape, configuration, or pattern applied to an article, but only for a limited period (a maximum of 15 years) and it requires formal registration. Crucially, Section 15 of the Copyright Act states that if a design is capable of being registered under the Designs Act and is reproduced more than 50 times by any industrial process, the copyright protection on that design ceases to exist. Since textiles are by nature produced more than 50 times, this clause effectively strips many fashion designs of long-term copyright protection, forcing them into the much weaker and shorter-term Designs Act regime.

 

The Practical Nightmare of Enforcement

 

Even if one were to overcome the theoretical legal hurdles, the practical challenges are monumental. Imagine an artisan collective in a remote village in Kutch attempting to sue a multi-billion dollar corporation in a French court. The barriers include:

 

Jurisdiction: The infringement occurs in a foreign country, making legal action incredibly complex and subject to international law.

 

Prohibitive Costs: The cost of international litigation is far beyond the means of any artisan or community.

 

Lack of Documentation: These traditions are often oral. Proving in a court of law that a specific design originated in your village 300 years ago, without written records, is nearly impossible.

 

Charting a More Effective Path Forward

 

While copyright law presents a flawed solution, India is not without recourse. The more promising legal path lies in a different framework: Geographical Indications (GIs).

 

A GI tag, like those for 'Darjeeling Tea' or 'Champagne', protects a product that originates from a specific geographical location and possesses a quality or reputation due to that origin. It protects the collective heritage rather than an individual's creation. India has already had success by registering products like 'Pochampally Ikat' and 'Kanchipuram Silk' as GIs. This prevents a brand from calling their fabric "Pochampally" unless it is made in that region using the traditional techniques. It shifts the focus from protecting the abstract pattern (which is difficult) to protect the authentic, geographically-linked product itself.

 

Furthermore, India has pioneered the Traditional Knowledge Digital Library (TKDL), an exhaustive database of documented traditional knowledge. Initially created to fight erroneous patents in medicine, its principles can be expanded more aggressively for textiles. By creating a state-sponsored, easily accessible digital repository of textile designs with clear evidence of their origin and history, India can create "prior art" evidence, making it much harder for foreign entities to claim originality or patent these designs.

 

In conclusion, while the impulse to use copyright law to fight back against the appropriation of our fashion is understandable, it is like trying to fit a square peg in a round hole. The law’s emphasis on individual authorship and novelty is ill-suited for protecting collective, ancestral heritage. A more robust and effective strategy requires a multi-pronged approach: strengthening the GI regime, expanding the TKDL for textiles, and fostering legal aid for artisan communities. The fight is not just about patterns and profits; it is about reclaiming a narrative, ensuring economic justice for the custodians of our culture, and preserving the threads of our identity for generations to come.