The Archaeological Survey of India’s Piloted Model for Heritage Commerce
The Archaeological Survey of India (ASI) has recently announced an initiative that may finally bridge the awkward gap between history as something you passively observe and history as something you can take home. At 55 select monuments, ranging from Qutub Minar to Gol Gumbaz, the ASI will transform its existing publication counters into full-fledged souvenir shops. These shops will stock replicas, craft items, and heritage-inspired mementos, all produced by Indian artisans.
The logic is refreshingly clear: a visitor who has just marvelled at centuries-old stonework might reasonably want to carry home something better than a plastic Taj keychain. By creating structured market channels at heritage sites, the ASI hopes not only to offer dignified keepsakes but also to sustain a vibrant craft economy.
Craft Revival through Market Channels
For generations, many traditional crafts have survived on the margins. While they have been occasionally celebrated in policy statements, they have rarely been integrated into mainstream commerce. By linking crafts to heritage tourism, the ASI is essentially embedding cultural revival into the everyday visitor experience. A visitor to Sanchi will not just learn about Buddhist art but will also leave with a hand-crafted object that carries forward that legacy in miniature.
It is not charity; it is commerce with cultural depth. The hope is that such demand sustains artisans financially and symbolically, showing that heritage is not static but a living, adaptive practice.
Of course, the idea of selling souvenirs raises an uncomfortable global comparison. In London, the British Museum happily sells glossy prints, mugs, and tote bags featuring the Amaravati Marbles—over 120 limestone panels of Buddhist reliefs taken from Andhra Pradesh in the 19th century. The irony is striking: while India is just beginning to commercialise heritage in an ethical, locally beneficial way, one of the world’s largest museums continues to profit from items extracted under colonial rule.
The absurdity is not unlike the famous Pringles VAT case, where the company once argued that Pringles were not “potato crisps” because they contained only 42% potato—and therefore should not be taxed like crisps. Just as that claim strained common sense, the British Museum’s souvenirs are doubly distorted: they are neither authentic local heritage nor even inspired by their own collections. They are commodities built on someone else’s history.
Buying a postcard of the Amaravati reliefs in London might feel innocuous, but it is layered with historical dispossession. These objects were not merely “collected”; they were uprooted. When turned into souvenirs, they become doubly commodified—first as stolen heritage, then as consumer merchandise.
Reinvesting Profits into Heritage Infrastructure
However, as numbers at these Indian monuments continue to rise, and project hefty sales of these souvenirs, the obvious question follows: what happens to the money collected? An ethically defensible model would be one where revenue from such sales supports heritage development in the very regions from which the objects were taken.
The collected funds should be used for the encouragement of the creation of high-quality site museums in different parts of India, with digitisation, climate control, and skilled curatorship. States with fewer resources could then draw on these reinvested funds to acquire preservation technology or to build visitor-friendly regional museums. Central government subsidies, perhaps funded in part by proceeds from both ASI souvenir sales and any restitution agreements, could enable technology transfer and capacity building. Law here becomes not only a guardian of heritage but also an enabler of cultural equity.
All of this might sound lofty, but the consumer end is quite simple. Buying a souvenir at an ASI monument is like eating a warm chapati—made locally, sustaining livelihoods, carrying history in its grains. Buying a British Museum tote bag of the Amaravati reliefs? That is the Pop-Tart: glossy, sugary, and ultimately hollow, especially when one remembers the recipe was stolen.
Concluding Reflection: Souvenirs as Storytelling Stewards
In the end, souvenirs are not trivial objects. They are storytelling stewards. When crafted ethically and sold responsibly, they sustain artisans, connect visitors to heritage, and remind us that culture is as much about continuity as it is about the past.
India’s ASI initiative is an encouraging start, but the larger challenge is global: ensuring that souvenirs no longer reproduce colonial inequities but instead generate restitution, accountability, and pride. If we must buy a postcard, let it be one that funds a museum in Amaravati rather than a gift shop in London.