Soaring Silver Prices and Global Conflicts Threaten Lucknow's Historic Bridal Nagra Craft

In Lucknow, the capital of Uttar Pradesh and a city renowned for its Nawabi heritage and artisanship, 55-year-old Azhar Hussain sits at the bench where he has spent years crafting decorative footwear. His tools remain in place, but the customers have vanished. Amid soaring silver prices over the past year, demand for his work has plummeted significantly.

The small workshop is located beside Chowk Bazaar, one of Old Lucknow’s oldest and busiest markets, which serves as a famed hub for wedding shopping and is filled with silver jewellery and handcrafts. For three decades, Hussain has been one of the bazaar’s busiest craftsmen, producing a distinctive form of silver slip-on shoes locally known as nagras.

The traditional creation process begins by cutting a thin silver sheet into the outline of a nagra and sketching floral and leaf motifs onto the metal. Hussain then rests the sheet on heated lac, a soft natural resin that cushions the metal while he uses a hammer and engraving tool to tap intricate designs into place. The design is hammered onto the reverse side of the silver sheet before it is fitted onto the shoe. Hussain then bends the silver around a foot-shaped furma, or mould, before fitting it over a base of cardboard, rubber and velvet, soldering the pieces together and polishing the pair. Craftsmen have utilized this meticulous process to make silver nagras since the 1600s, when these decorative shoes were originally made for daily use by the Nawabi, Muslim rulers of the former kingdom of Awadh.

“Silver nagras used to be the most important part of a nawab’s attire,” said 68-year-old Nawab Masud Abdullah, an eighth-generation descendant of Nawab Muhammad Ali Shah, the ninth Nawab of Awadh, who ruled from 1837 until his death in 1842. “They were not just footwear; they represented our culture and heritage,” he added. Over the last century, once reserved exclusively for Nawabs, silver nagras transformed into a cherished wedding tradition embraced by Lucknow’s middle and upper classes alike.

Hussain’s family has been making nagras since the early 1900s, a trade that historically provided a comfortable living. Before each wedding season, Hussain typically produced about 10 pairs a month, with each priced between $105 and $230 (10,000 and 22,000 rupees). Over the past year, however, orders have completely dried up alongside the steep rise in silver prices. The metal was already experiencing increased costs before the U.S.-Iran war launched in February, driven by tight supplies and growing investor demand. The subsequent conflict added another jolt, as uncertainty in global markets drove investors toward silver and placed the metal—and the nagras—out of reach for many Lucknow shoppers.

Dr. Salahuddin Ayyub, an economist and international trade expert with India’s Ministry of Commerce and Industry, explained that geopolitical conflicts have triggered unprecedented volatility in global commodity markets. He noted that India depends on imports to meet more than 80 percent of its domestic silver demand, and the heavy government import taxes and strict licensing implemented in May have further choked off supply and driven prices up significantly.

The high prices are forcing Lucknow’s brides to make difficult and sometimes devastating choices. For 28-year-old Lucknow resident Uzma Siddique, set to marry in December, owning a pair of silver nagras was a lifelong wedding wishlist item. To afford the increased cost of nearly $673 (65,000 rupees) for a pair, she had to cut back on many other wedding expenses, trimming her budget and buying a lighter lehenga. Meanwhile, her friend 25-year-old Safiya Khan, from a lower middle-class family, could not afford the shoes at all and feels the tradition will end with her generation.

Other residents, such as Naseem Jahan in her late seventies, still cherish the pair of silver chappals her mother gave her for her wedding in 1972. Fearing the tradition will not continue, she has decided to gift her own pair to her granddaughter.

In Chowk Bazaar, craftsmen like 48-year-old fourth-generation maker Jabbar Hussain have not sold a single pair over recent months. Facing mounting economic pressure, Hussain is considering securing a loan to open a cafe, advising his sons to pursue other professions. Similarly, 40-year-old former silver nagras maker Kuldeep Gautam has been forced to abandon the craft entirely, now working as a salesman in a jewellery shop as he mourns the loss of his livelihood and identity.