Words by Vaani Bhala
Field Notes from India
Indigo today is everywhere. It appears in denim, workwear, luxury fashion, and interiors, often marketed as timeless or sustainable. Blue feels universal, almost neutral. Yet for centuries, indigo was anything but ordinary. Long before synthetic dyes existed, India was the world’s largest producer of indigo. The dye was not simply a colour, but a commodity that shaped global trade routes, labour systems, and colonial economies. Indigo travelled across continents as pigment, currency, and power. To understand indigo only as a colour trend is to overlook the material intelligence and human cost embedded in its history.
"Indigo was not just worn. It was traded, taxed, and fought over."
Indigo dyeing in India dates back thousands of years. Archaeological evidence suggests its use in the Indus Valley civilisation, while written records from Greek and Roman sources describe Indian indigo as superior to local alternatives. The plant based dye produced a depth of blue unmatched by European woad. By the seventeenth century, indigo had become central to global trade. European demand surged, and colonial powers reorganised agriculture around its production. Indigo was cultivated not because it was culturally significant to Europe, but because it was profitable. As indigo moved west, control over its production shifted. Knowledge remained local. Power did not.
The process of making indigo is slow, complex, and unforgiving. Leaves are harvested, fermented, oxygenated, and transformed through chemical reactions rather than colour alone. The blue does not exist in the vat. It emerges only when cloth meets air. This transformation requires experience, timing, and deep familiarity with material behaviour.
In India, indigo dyeing was part of a broader ecological and craft system. Farmers, dyers, and traders worked within cycles shaped by season, soil, and water. Indigo was valued not just for its colour, but for its stability. Properly dyed cloth resisted fading, making it ideal for everyday wear and long journeys.
Colonial expansion disrupted these systems. Under British rule, large tracts of land were converted to indigo plantations, often at the expense of food crops. Farmers were coerced into growing indigo under exploitative contracts. The Indigo Revolt of 1859 in Bengal stands as a reminder that indigo’s history is also a history of resistance.
Despite this exploitation, Indian knowledge systems continued to underpin production. European planters relied on local expertise to manage fermentation and dyeing. The labour was indigenous. The profit was not.
The introduction of synthetic indigo in 1897 marked another rupture. Produced cheaply and consistently, synthetic dye collapsed the natural indigo market almost overnight. Entire craft economies were dismantled. What survived was the colour, detached from its agricultural and cultural roots.
Today, indigo has returned under the banner of sustainability and craft revival. Natural indigo is once again valued, but often stripped of historical context. The narrative celebrates process without acknowledging the economic and political histories that shaped it.
At Material Archives, we approach indigo as more than pigment. It is a record of how material knowledge travels, how economies are built on craft, and how colour can carry both beauty and burden.
Understanding indigo requires holding multiple truths. It is a dye of extraordinary depth and durability. It is also a reminder that materials are never neutral. They reflect systems of power, labour, and exchange.
Indigo did not become global because it was fashionable. It became global because it worked, endured, and could be controlled. Remembering this history does not diminish its appeal. It gives it weight.