The Hidden Lives of Those Behind Jaipur's Viral Lac Bangle Making at Maniharon ka Rasta

In the labyrinthine lanes of Jaipur's old city, Maniharon ka Rasta, the Street of Bangle Makers, pulses with a peculiar energy. The clatter of lac being shaped against heated flames mingles with the murmur of bargaining tourists, creating a symphony that has persisted for generations. Yet beneath this commercial veneer lies a narrative that challenges India's carefully curated image of cultural syncretism, revealing uncomfortable truths about identity, perception, and who gets to be the custodian of "Indian culture".

The shock on visitors' faces is something the artisans of Maniharon ka Rasta have learnt to anticipate. When tourists discover that the delicate lac bangles, symbols deeply embedded in Hindu wedding rituals and festivals, are crafted predominantly by Muslim hands, a cognitive dissonance follows. "People are surprised, sometimes even confused," says Rashid Ahmed, a third-generation bangle maker whose small shop sits tucked between larger establishments. "They think bangles are only made by Hindus since it is a major ritualistic element for their weddings. They don't expect us. One lady asked me directly, 'But how do you know what designs Hindu brides want?' I told her, 'My family has been making these for 75 years. We know.'"

This disconnect reveals a deeper fracture in how India's syncretic traditions are understood and commodified. The bangle, chunri, mehendi, and jewellery form part of a visual vocabulary associated with Hindu femininity and celebration. That Muslim craftsmen have been integral to this tradition for centuries is a historical reality that sits uncomfortably with contemporary narratives that seek to partition culture along religious lines. "My grandfather worked with Hindu families, made bangles for their daughters' weddings," explains Salim Khan, who runs a slightly larger workshop towards the entrance of the gali. "Nobody questioned it then. Now, people take photos of us like we're something unusual. We're not unusual. We're just doing our work."

The Neglected Heritage

Despite its historical significance and tourist appeal, Maniharon ka Rasta exists in a state of strategic neglect. The lanes are narrow, often congested, with minimal signage directing visitors to this cultural treasure. Unlike Jaipur's palaces and forts, which receive considerable government attention and international marketing, the bangle makers' quarter remains a footnote in official tourism literature.

Ameena Begum, one of the few women shopkeepers in the area, is particularly vocal about the infrastructural deficiencies. "The government takes foreign delegates to Amber Fort, to City Palace, but here? The roads are broken. During monsoon, water enters the shops. We asked for proper drainage three years ago. Nothing happened." Her frustration is palpable, shared by nearly every artisan in the locality. The absence of basic amenities, public toilets, designated parking, proper lighting, makes the area less accessible, particularly for the international tourists who might spend more generously unless they are guided properly to the spot since even Google Maps shows you a different location when used for navigation.

The paradox is striking: Jaipur's lac bangles are internationally recognised, featured in fashion magazines and Bollywood films, yet the makers themselves operate in conditions that belie this glamour. "Tourism people come, take photos, write about 'authentic Jaipur craft'," says Rashid Ahmed. "But authentic means we should also get authentic support, no? Where is the craft centre they promised? Where is the training for young people who want to learn this?" The sense of abandonment is compounded by the feeling that their Muslim identity makes them less palatable as ambassadors of Rajasthani heritage, less likely to be featured in the state's tourism campaigns that prefer more palatable narratives of royal Rajput culture.

The Social Media Paradox

Yet in this landscape of governmental indifference, social media has emerged as an unexpected lifeline. Instagram reels and YouTube videos showcasing the hypnotic process of lac bangle making have gone viral, drawing younger, digital-native customers to Maniharon ka Rasta. "My son made a video of me working," Salim Khan recounts with evident pride. "It got 2 lakh views. After that, people started coming asking for me specifically. Business increased maybe 30 per cent."

The virality has been transformative, if unpredictable. Customers now arrive with screenshots, asking for specific designs they've seen online. Priya Sharma, a tourist from Delhi, admits, "I only knew about this place because of Instagram. The algorithm showed me a reel, and I thought, I have to see this." Another customer, Meghna Reddy from Bengaluru, echoes this sentiment, "I've been to Jaipur four times before the pandemic, but never heard of this street. TikTok brought me here. It's mad that social media does better marketing than the government."

However, this digital attention comes with complications. The artisans speak of increased competition, of designs being copied and mass-produced elsewhere, of the pressure to create "Instagram-worthy" moments rather than focus on craftsmanship. "Sometimes people don't buy, they just want photos with us for their profile," Ameena Begum notes wryly. "We're happy for the attention, but attention doesn't pay rent."

Reclaiming the Narrative

What emerges from conversations in Maniharon ka Rasta is a community caught between erasure and exploitation, between pride and pragmatism. These artisans are not asking for charity but recognition, acknowledgement that Indian culture has always been composite, created through the hands of many faiths, and that this diversity should be celebrated rather than sanitised.

"We make bangles for everyone," says Rashid Ahmed. "Our craft doesn't have religion. Only our names do. And that shouldn't matter." 

As social media continues to drive footfall and younger artisans explore new designs and marketing strategies, Maniharon ka Rasta stands at a crossroads. Will official recognition finally arrive, or will this community remain dependent on the fickle algorithms of Instagram? For now, the furnaces burn, the lac softens and shapes, and the bangles, those perfect circles of colour and light, continue to be made by hands that refuse to be invisible.