Before setting eyes on The New York Sari, its sounds reach you first.
The melodies of Anoushka Shankar’s sitar, Arooj Aftab’s voice, and Alice Coltrane’s harp fill the corridor outside the exhibition room at the New York Historical, open until April 26. Visitors are welcomed by Suchitra Mattai’s piece, “she arose (from a pool of tears)” (2024), a Bharatnatyam dancer crafted from cherished and worn saris. This compact yet powerful exhibition serves as an introduction to South Asian history in New York, depicted through the endless folds, drapes, and designs of the sari.
Curators Salonee Bhaman and Anna Danzinger Halperin, who directs the Center for Women’s History at the museum, aimed not to deliver a conclusive history of this intricate garment and community. “From the start, I knew there was no single story of the sari, and that the diaspora experience adds unique dimensions to the garment,” Bhaman expressed in an email to Hyperallergic. This awareness positions the exhibition as a dynamic space for reflection rather than a fixed artifact.
As a scholar of social movements and a founding member of the Asian American Feminist Collective, Bhaman moved from India to New York to study at Columbia University. She recalls how professor Gayatri Spivak often wore a sari on campus, a choice that reminded Bhaman of home and inspired her historical imagination.
“In any diaspora, defining oneself is always a struggle,” Bhaman noted. “In my view, there’s a continual questioning of our identity both to the outside world and among ourselves. It’s crucial to capture the full depth of that dialogue in a historical exhibition.”
The exhibition features works by artists such as Chitra Ganesh and Shradha Kochhar, alongside saris, printed materials, videos, and other historical artifacts. It is not a static collection but rather a dynamic tapestry of South Asian life in New York City. The exhibition emphasizes the sari as a living art form, a legacy, a record, and a political symbol all at once.
The traditional sari appears sparingly, seemingly by design. Notable pieces include the elegant sari worn by Shahana Hanif, the first Muslim and Bangladeshi woman on the New York City Council, during her 2021 swearing-in, and a zerzet sari from Nepali-American organizer Narbada Chhetri. Nearby, an orange-and-red silk sari belongs to Malayali immigrant Dr. Lalitha Krishnan, whose son, Councilmember Shekar Krishnan, conceived the exhibition idea over two years ago, collaborating with museum staff and journalist S. Mitra Kalita. These are contextualized within the craft, primarily practiced by women whose labor is often undervalued or exploited.
Left: A Banarsi Jamawar weave sari owned by Sudha Acharya, the founder and executive director of the South Asian Council for Social Services; right: The net-embellished and tissue organza sari from Pashmina Fashions Inc. in Jackson Heights that Shahana Hanif wore to her city council inauguration in 2021
These saris are displayed alongside exhibits that explore the intersection of gender, sexuality, and the sari, a vital aspect of its history that is often omitted in South Asia and its diaspora. Brooklyn-based photographer and drag artist RuAfza owns a notable double-sari, made by combining two Ajrakh saris from Gujarat and decorating it with sequins. In parallel, Indian-Canadian photographer Sunil Gupta’s series The New Pre-Raphaelites (2008) challenges the former British colonial law against homosexuality by depicting queer Indian individuals in place of figures from 19th-century English art.
South Asian American history narratives frequently neglect the conservatism within the diaspora and overlook the rise of global Hindu nationalism. The sari is often misrepresented as a symbol of “Hindu identity.” During the 1970s and ’80s, General Muhammad Zia-ul-Haq discouraged Pakistani women from wearing saris, associating them with Hinduism and India, leading newer generations to reclaim the garment.
Although the displays and texts highlight well-known moments in South Asian American history, such as the 1965 Immigration and Nationality Act, the exhibition’s focus on saris as narrative tools seeks to disrupt the multiple layers of oppression present in the diaspora, including casteism, patriarchy, Islamophobia, and homophobia.
“We realized we couldn’t encompass the entire range of what a sari signifies in the city,” Danzinger Halperin shared in an interview with Hyperallergic. “Inviting participation was crucial for the exhibition.” Personal stories and photos submitted through a Google Form, some of which feature in an exhibition slideshow, are central to the project’s essence.
Among the shared stories is one from Bangladeshi-American artist and organizer Sharmin Hossain, who described to Hyperallergic how The New York Sari uniquely spotlights South Asian women as central figures.
“The sari is woven into Queens’ history, where we represent over 8% of the population,” Hossain said, emphasizing the strength of South Asian progressive activism in New York City. “Zohran [Mamdani]’s election success was due to grassroots efforts by organizations like Desis Rising Up and Moving and CAAAV.”
Mamdani’s historic victory was preceded by years of advocacy, including efforts by NY Taxi Workers Alliance Director Bhairavi Desai, shown in a sari outside Manhattan’s Haandi restaurant in a 2011 photo by Martha Camarillo. Meanwhile, Philadelphia comic artist Shebani Rao illustrates Indian activist Kamaladevi Chattopadhyay’s 1939–41 U.S. visit, highlighting her work linking British colonialism resistance with the Civil Rights movement. Chattopadhyay also championed the cause of Indian artisans, mainly women, who preserve craft and textile traditions despite having minimal rights and protections.
Ganesh’s 2018 linocut series Sultana’s Dream, a sci-fi narrative spanning one wall, reflects how the exhibition’s blend of archival and contemporary art rejects exoticism and nostalgia.
“The mix of queer archival materials, posters, and drag performances transcends the sari itself,” Ganesh observed.
Danzinger Halperin noted that the curatorial team initially considered Kochhar’s sculpture “I’m cocooning” (2021), but the artist chose to create a new piece. “Rest/Release” (2025), the centerpiece of the exhibition, is described by Kochhar as a “meditation on rest, refuge, and the quiet spaces migrants create for themselves.” The piece is handspun and hand-knitted using kala cotton, a strain native to India that suffered under British colonialism, creating “a vessel large enough to hold a body.”
Kochhar’s subtle yet powerful sculpture complements Mattai’s work, as well as performances by the Nadanamandalam Collective (നാടനമന്ദലം). In a film by Nikita Shah, drag artist LaWhore Vagistan, wearing a chest mold by Misha Japanwala, intones, “The textiles perform with me. They move under the light. They tell their own story.”
“Displaying this work in a communal space feels like reclaiming; asserting that our materials, griefs, joys, and politics are present and will remain, regardless of whether the world accommodates them,” Kochhar added.
Writer Christina Dhanuja, co-founder of Dalit History Month, shared what she describes as a “prophetic” image of herself in a sari, looking over the New York City skyline.
“Perhaps I foresaw the condescension I would encounter, with the plain, pink saree representing my resilience as I faced the city’s challenges,” she explained in an email to Hyperallergic, referencing the bias she faced as a Dalit woman in corporate America. Dhanuja has been vocal about casteism being “deeply alive” yet often denied in both South Asia and its diaspora.
“Caste, intertwined with class, dictates access to creative spaces. Naming it is essential,” Dhanuja remarked. “It forces us to confront the complexities and challenges inherent in South Asian histories in their quest for equality, status, and self-determination.”
The New York Sari strives to acknowledge the intricacies of this multifaceted garment “without ironing out the rough edges that are part of all sincere historical work,” as Bhaman concluded.
