The other side of Taj: Artisans struggle to survive as world enjoys their craft

By Mayanka Singh Chhonker* 
Agra is known as the home of the Taj Mahal, one of the seven wonders of the world and a bucket-list destination. Visitors marvel at its beauty, but few realise that another Agra exists in its shadow: the Agra of its artisans. These communities hold the essence of the city’s cultural legacy yet remain invisible to many of the people who seek beauty here.
Agra’s story is usually told through the gleaming marble of the Taj Mahal, not through the eyes of those who live and work nearby. The artisans, many from marginalised Dalit and Muslim communities, have practised their crafts for generations. These include marble inlay, Zardozi embroidery, perfumery, rafia, shoemaking, leatherwork and the weaving of Agra’s famous carpets.
As part of my ongoing research, I have conducted field surveys in this region. I discovered communities that are culturally ostracised yet resilient. There is also a strong historical continuity and a craft ecosystem that has been eroded.
Once respected and secure, these livelihoods have been damaged by neglect in education, housing and market access. This slow but steady exclusion has left many artisans struggling to survive, even as their crafts remain admired and monetised across the globe.
The divide in Agra between the haves and have-nots is stark. Within walking distance of the Taj Mahal are neighbourhoods like Taj Ganj and Kachhpura, where artisans live in cramped settlements and slums. In some places, five-star hotels share a wall with these communities.
In Taj Ganj, just south of the Taj Mahal, women artisans specialise in Zardozi embroidery, which involves gold and silver threads, pearls and beads, as well as carpet weaving. Many are not employed as full-time staff but as “allied” workers taking on stitching, cleaning or polishing carpets for middlemen.
Girls as young as 12 or 13 help by attaching laces and buttons, earning just 1 rupee (less than 1p) per piece, while the finished item sells for 200-500 rupees in domestic markets.
Trinkets made in this community are often exported to the UK and Europe; artisans receive around 50 rupees per piece. By the time these products appear in European boutiques, they can fetch £10-£25 each. The price difference reflects not increased craftsmanship, but the layers of profit in the supply chain. Artisans see almost none of this.
Even moments of national pride bring no recognition. For the coronation of King Charles, Zardozi pieces from Taj Ganj were commissioned to commemorate the ceremony. Yet the women who created them remained anonymous. It was a lost opportunity to showcase their heritage to the world.
The buyers of artisan products in Agra range from individual artists and export houses to ecommerce entrepreneurs. Yet the supply chain remains opaque and even today, many artisans have no idea what their official daily wage should be.
For them, costing is a matter of simple arithmetic: materials plus labour, with a modest profit margin of 50–100 rupees (less than £1). This calculation, shaped by generations who were isolated from formal business practices, means they consistently undervalue their work.
The result is a supply chain where the well-connected middlemen and entrepreneurs capture the lion’s share of profits. Meanwhile, the true creators are left with a fraction of what their craft is worth.
Leather Craft in the Shadows
In the Kachhpura community, families make handcrafted leather footwear that is sold to local suppliers. As members of the Dalit community (a marginalised caste in India), they face discrimination that limits their business opportunities.
Even within Agra, their products are undervalued and their small businesses struggle to flourish. Community members express deep frustration: they feel that they are visited by non-governmental organisations (NGOs) and international agencies only when there’s a story to be told. They told me they felt their poverty was photographed, their words quoted and their struggles turned into media coverage – but with no tangible change in return.
These are not isolated cases. Across both communities, artisans face unfair wages and opaque supply chains. A lack of education leaves them struggling to gain access to markets and without intellectual property protection. This means their designs can be appropriated by global brands.
In a case involving Prada sandals, the luxury goods giant was inspired by the Kohlapuri chappal – the traditional handcrafted shoes of the Dalit community – but did not initially credit the artisans or collaborate with them. The company later acknowledged that this is where its inspiration had come from. But it is part of a broader pattern: heritage crafts from India are celebrated abroad while their custodians live in poverty.
The solution is not charity, but empowerment. Skills hubs would allow artisans to access design, marketing and business training. And direct-to-customer platforms would let them tell their own stories and set their own prices.
Heritage hubs could position these communities as living heritage sites as in Venice or Florence, where craft and culture are inseparable from place. Until these changes happen, Agra will remain a city of two worlds.
Agra’s artisan communities stand at a crossroads. On one side is a legacy passed down through generations, a living heritage that shapes the city’s identity and fuels its global image. On the other is a reality marked by low wages, educational neglect and exclusion from the markets that profit from their craft.
The disparity between the luxury price tags their work commands and the earnings they take home represents a gap in recognition, dignity and opportunity.
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*Lecturer in Marketing, De Montfort University. This article was first published in The Conversation