Playtime for you, financial freedom for them

For over 15 years, Kanta Ben has worked as a housekeeper at Kutch-based craft non-profit, Khamir. Quiet and observant, she has been a bystander to the organisation’s work with namda, an ancient craft of making felted textiles practised by nomadic tribes in the region. Raw, indigenous wool, harvested from the native patanwadi sheep, is sorted and cleaned before felting, and considerable waste can be generated during production. Taking home the wispy scraps, Kanta Ben practised felt-making for hours, fashioning birds, animals, and other designs inspired by her flights of fancy.

“My favourite toys are the Kutchi camel and cow. I take half a day to make one toy,” says Kanta Ben, who spent four-odd months honing the art of felting and braiding wool on her own. Now a regular on Khamir’s Instagram account, she displays her wares with pride: a pigeon plucked from a basket of Christmas ornaments or a yak replete with a messy tuft of hair.

As she continues to work as a housekeeper, her days are meticulously built around toy-making after completing her work. Her dolls have earned shelf space in the Khamir outlet and even an artisan identity card from the Central government.

Kanta Ben is just one of the women artisans in India making toys and, consequently, fulfilling their family’s financial dreams while expressing their creativity. Using local materials, traditional craftsmanship, and sustainable techniques, toy-making is helping women across India carve out a space for themselves with dignity, in the safe confines of their homes, in an economy that largely overlooks them.

Stories of hope

Over decades, toy making has been used as an anchor for many women who otherwise have scarce opportunities to earn. The 2004 tsunami led to the birth of Upasana Design Studio’s Tsunamika, simple colourful dolls handmade by women in Auroville. In 2018, the Kerala floods, spelled a financial crisis for weavers in the weaving hub of Chendamangalam. To mark the damage in the state to handloom weaving units came Chekutty dolls, an upcycled ragdoll by Lakshmi N Menon, that became the mascot of the climate catastrophe. Not so long back, during the COVID-19 pandemic, came the formation of Creative Dignity, a movement to support India’s artisanal sector. Their initiative, the endearing Karuna Dolls, offered vulnerable women artisans a means of survival. “The idea was to create livelihoods during the pandemic with the available material and skills that many women have. The idea of the doll seemed the most doable as it could be customised with each group and region and reflect the local skills. Creating the dolls gave a lot of joy to the women during that difficult time,” says Meera Goradia, co-chair, Creative Dignity.

Dolls give shelter too. Delhi-based SilaiWali, founded by Iris Strill and Bishwadeep Moitra, provides employment and hope to displaced Afghan refugee women in India. “In 2024, we worked with 63 Afghan refugee women in Delhi and 23 women artisans in West Bengal. Many of these women, who arrived in India, faced language barriers, isolation, and legal restrictions, with little to no social or economic support.” SilaiWali imparted training to polish the women’s rudimentary stitching and embroidery skills and now boasts of having worked with global brands like Chloé and Ulla Johnson and retailing their products across Europe, the US, Japan, and India. Their dolls embody cultural tropes and are a medium for storytelling: there’s a sari-clad chachi and mustachioed chacha, a very French Jeanne, and the Afghani Nura in a traditional zari-embellished costume.

Across remote regions of India, toys and dolls provide women with opportunities to become self-sufficient. There's Kodaikanal-based Smriti Lamech, whose The Smritsonian has created an army of feminist dolls—from Maya Angelou and Frida Kahlo to Kalpana Chawla and Vinesh Phogal—made by a womens' selfhelp groups in Tamil Nadu's Palani Hills. Over 3,000 kms up north, lives Shivani Thakur, who started Kullu-based The Wool Knitters, and is helping a community of local women move beyond merely knitting sweaters and socks, which fetch them modest sums. 

Thakur along with her design head Priyanka Kotwal collaborated with over 500 artisans, to fashion designs using the native gaddi wool, including crochet toys and dolls. Together, they preserve Himalayan art forms through adorable crocheted desi oon dolls, christened Yarnie Yak, Bhedu the Himalayan Sheep, and even a Merino sheep doll. “Mere logon se, mere logon ke liye,” says Thakur, who does her 10-4pm work shift from a traditional mud-and-wood building, where women and their toddlers gather to tell stories and stitch the toys, firing up a traditional tandoor in the cold months.

Not your ordinary Barbie

According to market research company Statista, India’s doll and stuffed-toy market is estimated to generate an eye-watering $109.40 million in revenue this year. As consumers rediscover traditions and seek to reconnect with their cultural heritage, they are embracing ethical and relatable playthings rooted in nostalgia and the wellbeing of the planet.

“Toys are the easiest way to introduce a new craft. We encourage women at Khamir to work with traditional raw materials, while sparking their imagination and creativity,” says Kavya Saxena, director, Khamir. Doll-making keeps intangible heritage and fading crafts alive, and though it is at a very nascent stage for Khamir, it is now an intrinsic part of their work with indigenous wool.

In the upper reaches of the Nilgiri hills, Suhas Ramegowda, director of The Good Doll, saw that children associated ‘dolls’ with a slender body, a white complexion, blond hair, and Western clothes. “For decades this has set an unrealistic beauty standard,” he says, recalling how a parent once shared that her daughter wondered why she didn’t look like a Barbie doll. “The Good Doll was born to solve this problem. They are body-positive, colour-inclusive, relatable, and culturally rooted.” Thus was born Nilah. A mindfully made nymph from the Nilgiris, Nilah was created primarily from natural, upcycled, and recycled materials, including upcycled pre-consumer textile waste, polyfiber, and cotton thread, coming in classic colours along with a selection of cutesy dresses and rompers.

A seat at the table

Reshma Ji, a 40-year-old artisan with The Wool Knitters, recalls a subtle shift in her household. “It’s amazing how the behaviour of our families shifts when they see us earning and thriving.” Her husband began helping around the home, even cleaning the dishes after dinner. The hesitant approval transforms into wholehearted support over time. Something so minor, yet so significant. Ramegowda concurs, “Toy-making has got the women a seat at the table where household decisions are made. They are buying scooters for their husbands, taking loans to build their house, paying school fees for their children, and some are even paying the rent.” The buyers of the toys too are primarily women, young girls to grandmothers buying for families and friends. “They buy for themselves as there’s nostalgia and the fact that they didn’t have these when they were growing up,” he says.

For a craft so whimsical, joyful, and untapped, toy-making has become a potent and intimate tool to empower women. These toys, shaped from discards, have helped them reclaim their identity, and stitch together a world that holds space for them.