Across the vast social landscape of India, where entrenched patriarchy continues to shape domestic life, mobility, labour and identity, acts of resistance often do not arrive with slogans, protests or courtroom declarations. They emerge quietly in kitchens, courtyards and dimly lit back rooms where women gather beyond the gaze of power. In one such setting, a portrait of a woman named Praween Devi has become an unlikely but deeply consequential political document. What appears at first glance to be an intimate photograph is in fact a profound visual argument about gender, power, memory and space in contemporary India.
The portrait of Praween Devi was created during a long term documentary photography project titled Nā́rī, a body of work that has unfolded across several Indian states over five years. The project has required extensive research and fieldwork, focusing on women who have survived gender based violence and who continue to negotiate the constraints imposed upon them by family structures, economic precarity and deeply embedded cultural expectations. The term Nā́rī itself carries layered meanings in Sanskrit, commonly translated simply as woman but also historically associated with sacrifice, endurance and silent strength. These meanings are not abstract within the Indian context. They shape the expectations placed upon millions of women whose lives are frequently defined by duty and restraint rather than autonomy.
Praween Devi was first encountered in 2019 through a local organisation working with women in rural communities. Like many others involved in the project, she regularly gathered with other women in the back yards of their homes to embroider together. These gatherings are deceptively simple spaces. On the surface they resemble routine domestic socialising, women sitting in circles over cups of chai while working on traditional needlework. Yet beneath that ordinary rhythm lies an alternative social sphere in which women exchange stories, speak about violence, discuss their struggles and quietly build networks of solidarity that challenge the isolation often imposed by patriarchal households. When asked if her portrait could be taken, Praween Devi proposed that the photograph be captured in the main hall of her home. Her reasoning revealed more about the politics of domestic space than perhaps she initially intended. She explained that the room was largely undecorated and that its walls were bare except for two images. One was a framed picture of flowers. The other was a photograph showing all the men in the house. The presence of that photograph was significant. Within many patriarchal households across South Asia the visual archive of family life is dominated by male figures whose authority is silently reinforced through imagery displayed on walls, in albums and in ceremonial portraits.
Before the photograph was taken Praween Devi quietly altered the environment. She brought a rug from another room and placed it within the frame, subtly curating the space in which her portrait would exist. This small act of spatial intervention carried symbolic weight. She was not merely being photographed. She was actively shaping the visual narrative in which she would appear.
When the portrait was later printed onto khadi fabric, a handspun textile historically associated with both rural livelihoods and the political symbolism of Indian self reliance, Praween Devi was invited to embroider over the image however she wished. The project deliberately provided no instructions. The absence of guidelines was not accidental but central to the philosophy of Nā́rī. Traditional documentary photography has often positioned the photographer as the sole narrator and interpreter of subjects whose lives are captured by the lens. By handing creative authority to the women themselves, the project deliberately disrupted this power dynamic. Praween Devi chose to embroider the portrait using phulkari, a traditional craft originating from the Punjab region that is historically associated with women’s domestic artistry and community identity. Yet what she created was not merely decorative embellishment. It was a form of visual correction to the power structures embedded within the original photograph.
Rather than removing the photograph of the men from the background, she did something far more radical. She inserted three women into the scene through embroidery. These figures were draped in pink and green garments that mirrored the colours of her own clothing. Through needle and thread she quietly populated the room with female presence where none had existed in the physical photograph.
Her embroidery extended beyond the figures themselves. She decorated the curtains and the floor and added ornamental elements that framed her own body. The entire space was transformed. What had once been a sparsely decorated hall overshadowed by male imagery became a richly layered environment in which women appeared to surround her.
The transformation is striking not only aesthetically but politically. The embroidered additions reframe the meaning of the original image. Instead of existing alone within a room that visually privileges male authority, Praween Devi appears to be supported by an invisible community of women. The composition evokes the sense of an imagined collective standing behind her. It suggests solidarity rather than solitude. This act of embroidery therefore functions as more than artistic expression. It becomes a quiet but unmistakable rejection of patriarchal spatial dominance. Through needle and thread Praween Devi reclaimed the visual territory of her own home. She did not erase the presence of men in the photograph but she refused to allow their imagery to remain uncontested.
Such gestures must be understood within the broader context of gender inequality in India. Despite legislative frameworks that formally guarantee equality, domestic violence remains alarmingly widespread. Numerous studies and national surveys indicate that large numbers of women continue to face physical abuse, emotional coercion and economic dependency within their own households. In many communities women are still discouraged or directly prevented from leaving their homes freely. Restrictions imposed by husbands or fathers often intersect with fears of public insecurity, reinforcing a cycle of confinement.
Within this environment even the act of visiting women in their homes becomes politically significant. Because many of the women involved in the Nā́rī project could not travel independently, the photographer travelled to them instead. Portraits were created in spaces where the women felt most comfortable and least threatened. Bedrooms, courtyards and domestic halls became improvised studios in which women could confront the camera on their own terms. The decision to print the photographs on khadi fabric added another layer of meaning. Khadi carries a powerful historical legacy associated with the Indian independence movement and the philosophy of self reliance promoted during that era. By embedding contemporary women’s stories into this textile medium, the project subtly connects personal survival narratives to a broader history of political resistance. Embroidery itself also carries deep cultural significance across the Indian subcontinent. Traditionally it has been viewed as a domestic craft associated with femininity and patience. However in the context of Nā́rī it becomes a language through which women rewrite their own representation. Each stitch becomes a form of authorship that challenges the passive role historically assigned to women within visual storytelling.
The portrait of Praween Devi demonstrates how this process works in practice. The embroidered women she inserted into the image function almost like guardians or witnesses. They occupy the margins yet redefine the centre. Their presence asserts that no woman exists in isolation even when patriarchal structures attempt to confine her physically and socially.
From a broader analytical perspective the significance of this project extends beyond art and photography. It speaks to ongoing global debates about agency, representation and the ethics of storytelling. For decades documentary photography has struggled with questions about who controls the narrative when images of vulnerable communities are produced for international audiences. By transferring a portion of that control to the subjects themselves, Nā́rī offers a compelling alternative model. At the same time the project highlights the capacity of cultural practices to function as subtle political instruments. In societies where open confrontation with patriarchal authority may carry social or economic risks, symbolic acts can become powerful vehicles of dissent. Embroidery might appear gentle and decorative, yet in this context it becomes a tool through which women renegotiate identity, space and memory.
The portrait of Praween Devi therefore operates on multiple levels simultaneously. It is an image of a single woman sitting in her home. It is also a record of collaborative storytelling between photographer and subject. More profoundly it is evidence of how creative control can transform representation into resistance.
Through the quiet rhythm of needle and thread, a woman who lives within the constraints of a patriarchal household reimagined the architecture of her own photograph. She did not shout, protest or destroy. Instead she stitched an alternative reality directly onto the surface of the image. In doing so she demonstrated that resistance does not always need to be loud to be revolutionary. Sometimes it only requires a needle, a thread and the courage to redraw the boundaries of one’s own existence.