My son went to his first funeral before he’d even been born.

It can be quite an interesting feeling, to stand by a coffin while an unborn life punches you in the bladder from the inside. To find something suitable and formal and sombre to wear over a stomach the size of a fairly decent microwave. To say goodbye to someone dear to you, while a stranger pulses away beneath your skin.

But I believe that having children at a funeral is a great benefit—no matter their age. I recently had the honour of joining one of my oldest friends to mourn the death of her father. In the small chapel, where we listened to stories of his life and love, almost the whole of the front two rows were taken up by children. From breastfeeding babies to teenagers; they sat and listened and tucked their hair behind their ears and cried and looked at the windows and ate breadsticks and simply were.

When I was young, I think there was an assumption that children at a funeral weren’t appropriate guests. This was born of a somewhat old-fashioned cocktail of beliefs: that children are too noisy, that young people are too innocent or that kids would be frightened by too much talk of death. In my experience, children are in many ways far more comfortable and competent at considering death than their adult counterparts.

When the whole world is new, and everything must be learned, death is just another part of the great, magical, strange, complicated jigsaw that we must find the right piece for. Just as you learn that fire is hot, that beetroot juice is purple, that seasons lengthen and shorten days, so you discover that hearts one day stop; that brains drain of blood; that bodies turn cold. I remember taking my son to a museum where there was a small display of bones and explaining to him that after death, much of what we consider to be “us” simply rots away, melts back into the earth, feeds beetles and roots and trees. What starts as a heartbeat ends, eventually, in bones. For weeks after, he thought deeply about this. I could tell because he would occasionally turn to me, half way through a baked potato or a bath, and ask me something like “what makes your lungs work?” or, “when you die, what happens to your eyes?” As someone who was present at the death of both of my grandparents, and who has touched the dead skin of other people I have known and loved, I felt fairly well-equipped to answer these questions honestly, calmly and in the moment.

When my Maori uncle died, his body was laid out, as is tradition, for a number of days in the marae. During that time, people visited, ate food, talked; while his grandchildren did their homework, played and read. Sitting just a few feet from his body, life in mourning took place and those children, well, were children. I thought of them, as I sat in that English graveyard a few weeks ago, and watched the babies and grandchildren created, in part, by the man we’d lost. They behaved impeccably. By which, I mean they behaved as themselves. The baby babbled and fed, the smaller children played with the hems of their clothes, the older boys looked to their parents or down at their hands. I was so glad they were there; not only because they deserved their right to grieve and say goodbye alongside everybody else, but also because they were a reminder that while lives are finite, life is not.

Bandhini was in the news recently. Ralph Lauren has faced global backlash in April 2026 for selling a (£420) “Bandhani-inspired” printed cotton wrap skirt without explicitly crediting India, the craft’s origin. Critics argue the design mimics Bandhani aesthetics but is machine-printed, stripping away artisanal authenticity and sidelining Indian artisans. The skirt uses printed fabric, not hand-tied Bandhani, which requires painstaking knotting and dyeing.

Bandhini, Batik & Shibori

Across continents and centuries, cloth has carried stories. In India, Bandhani knots find their ways into bridal silks; in Indonesia, Batik’s waxed lines trace royal philosophies; in Japan, Shibori’s indigo folds echo the rhythm of storms and nature. Three traditions, three cultures, one shared language of resistance and release—where dye is held back, beauty emerges, and heritage is written.All three—Bandhani, Batik, and Shibori are textile traditions that share the resist-dyeing principle but express it differently.

Common Thread

• Resist-Dye Principle: Each technique prevents dye from reaching certain parts of the fabric, creating patterns.

• Handcrafted Artistry: All rely onmanual skill and patience, with artisans carefully preparing fabric before dyeing.
• Symbolic Motifs: Designs often carrycultural meaning—whether auspicious dots in Bandhani, royal motifs in Batik, or nature-inspired forms in Shibori.
• Natural Dyes: Traditionally, they used plant-based dyes (indigo, turmeric, madder, etc.), linking the craft to local ecology

It is precision in dotted motifs

It dates back to the Indus Valley Civilization (~3000 BCE). They are tiny knots tied with thread before dyeing, creating dotted motifs.

They arestrongly identified to weddings and festivals in the States of Gujarat and Rajasthan.

Bandhaniis a type oftie-dyetextile decorated by plucking the cloth with the fingernails into many tiny bindings that form a figurative design.It involvespinching fabric with thumbnails, tying with thread and subsequently dyeing in stages.The motifs include Dots (bindi), waves (leheriya), checks (mothara).Fabrics are silk, cotton or georgette.Texture looks like crinkled surface from knots.

Today, most Bandhani making centers are situated inGujarat,Rajasthan, Sindh,Punjab regionand inTamil Naduwhere it is known asSungudi. It is known as chunri in Pakistan.

Shibori (Japan)

Tie-dye, in fact, has been around for centuries. Take Japan’s shibori technique for instance; it is derived from the Japanese word ‘shiboru’. Shibori which means to wring, squeeze or press. One of the oldest techniques of resist-dyeing; fabrics are bound, tied, sewn, compressed, twisted, knotted and folded to create sections that resist the dye and then form contrasting patterns. It came to Japan 1,300 years ago from China, and found another unique interpretation here.

Origin: Ancient Japan, earliest surviving examples from 756 CE at Tōdai-ji temple.Emerged during the Nara period (~8th century CE).Regions: Nara, Kyoto, later spread globally.

Indigo dye is used predominantly and it symbolized protection, harmony with nature.

Thetechniqueincludes folding, stitching, pleating, clamping, and binding the fabric before dyeing.

Styles:

• • • Kanoko (fawn spots, similar to Bandhani dots)
    • Arashi (storm, diagonal rain-like lines)
    • Kumo (spider web)
    • Itajime (clamped geometric shapes).

Batik is a wax-resist dyeing technique that originated in Indonesia, particularly on the island of Java, though similar methods appeared in ancient Egypt, China, and India. It became globally recognized in the 19th century when European scholars and traders documented Javanese batik. Batik is Indonesia’s most iconic textile art, blending ancient wax-resist dyeing with deep cultural symbolism. While wax-resist techniques existed globally,Javanese batik achieved unmatched refinement and cultural depth, making it both a national symbol and a global design influence.

It flourished in Java, Indonesia, with evidence from the 13th century; UNESCO- recognized heritage. Archaeological evidence shows batik patterns in 13th-century East Java temple carvings.They use wax-resist dyeing using a canting (pen tool) or copper stamps (tjaps).The word batik comes from Javanese amba (“to write”) and titik (“dot”), referring to the dotted wax patterns.

Motifs are primarily geometric, floral, symbolic designs; some reserved for royalty (parang,kawung). Everyday wear and ceremonial garments, deeply symbolic in Javanese culture use Batik prints.

Process:

Hot wax is applied to fabric using a canting (pen-like tool) or copper stamps (tjaps) .Multiple cycles of waxing and dyeing create intricate, multicoloured designs. Cotton and silk fabrics are most common. for Batik prints.

Cross-Cultural Influence

In modern fashion, Indian designers blend Shibori’s indigo aesthetics with Bandhani’s vibrant colours, creating fusion textiles.

Together, they show how different cultures evolvedresist-dyeinginto unique textile arts, each carrying deep cultural meaning while sharing a common creative foundation.Today, all three are celebrated worldwide, influencing contemporary fashion and design while remaining rooted in tradition

They share several important commonalities despite their different cultural origins. Each textile represents heritage, rituals, and philosophyin its culture.