Second-hand clothing in Dimapur is not just a business but a world of its own and the markets are growing even livelier with Christmas festive season approaching.
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A look at how the second-hand clothing trade works, and why some critics want these markets moved out of the city
Walk through any busy market lane in Dimapur, and you’ll notice something unmistakable—colourful heaps of jackets, jeans, dresses and shirts stacked high like miniature hills. They come in every shade imaginable, from faded denim blues to bright Korean pastels. With the Christmas festive season approaching, the markets grow even livelier as shoppers hunt for fresh bargains, hoping to uncover a “lucky piece” hidden beneath the piles. Second-hand clothing here is not just a business but a world of its own.
Although second-hand clothing is widely accepted and relied upon, not everyone views it kindly. There is also a section of people who openly dislike this trade. To them, the piles of used garments spread across footpaths and market spaces paint an unpleasant picture of the state, especially during the Hornbill Festival when thousands of foreign and domestic tourists visit Nagaland.
They feel the overflowing displays look “lowly” or unkempt, and that such markets give outsiders the wrong impression of the city.
It all begins with a global habit—people in wealthier countries donate or discard clothes at an astonishing rate. What one country considers “old” often still has a long life ahead. From charity collection bins, recycling centres, and thrift warehouses in the USA, Europe, Japan, and South Korea, mountains of clothing are gathered every day. Instead of being tossed into landfills, these clothes are sorted, compressed, and sealed tightly into heavy bales.
Once packed, these bales—each weighing anywhere from 45 to 100 kilograms—are shipped to major import hubs across the world, including India. This is a business both large and complex, running behind the scenes like the quiet machinery of a factory that never sleeps.
When these bales touch Indian soil, they enter a different world, a bustling maze of wholesalers, graders, and transporters. Large centres in Delhi, Mumbai, Kolkata and other metros receive ton after ton of used garments. Workers sort them with lightning speed, jeans in one pile, jackets in another, and mixed casual wear in the next. Some items are nearly new; others show signs of a life lived elsewhere.
From here, the clothes begin their next journey—not to fancy malls, but to the corners of India where thrift fashion thrives. The Northeast is one of the largest customers for these imports, thanks to its cool climate, unique fashion sense, and young, style-conscious population.
Every trader in Dimapur knows that the road from Guwahati to Nagaland is the lifeline of their business. Transporters shift bales by truck, train, or courier to the Northeast’s gateway city, and from there, they disperse to towns and villages across the region.
In Dimapur, wholesalers receive these tightly bound bales like secret treasure chests. They cannot open them beforehand. The rule is simple: buy it blind, trust your luck.
Some traders describe it jokingly: “Opening a bale is like opening a lucky draw—you never know whether you will find gold or just old socks.” And truly, they live by that gamble. A bale filled with stylish jackets or branded jeans can fetch handsome profits. A bale filled with worn-out clothes may barely cover its cost.
In this trade, chance is never asleep. Once the bale reaches the retailer, the real theatre begins. The strings are cut, the plastic peeled back, and clothes spill out in a colourful cascade. Shopkeepers sort them quickly.
Every item finds a place. Grade A pieces hang proudly in shops. Grade B items fill market tables. Grade C clothes travel further—to rural weekly bazaars or cheaper stalls, ensuring nothing goes to waste. As the saying goes, “One person’s loss is another’s gain,” and in this trade, even the least valuable item finds a buyer.
To an outsider, it may seem surprising that second-hand fashion is so deeply rooted in Dimapur. But for a section of locals, it makes perfect sense.
First, thrift shopping offers variety that new shops simply cannot match. You can find a Korean winter coat beside an Italian blazer, a Japanese cardigan next to an American denim jacket—all in one stall.
Second, affordability matters. A high-quality winter jacket that costs thousands in retail stores can be bought here at a fraction of the price.
Third, fashion in Nagaland is expressive. People dress boldly, colourfully, uniquely. Second-hand markets allow them to “mix and match” styles with creativity and confidence.
For many, thrift shopping is not just necessity—it’s an adventure. Every visit holds the promise of discovering something unexpected.
Behind the piles of clothes are people—vendors who wake early, sort tirelessly, bargain patiently, and smile even when profits are thin. They iron shirts with care, stitch torn hems, and keep their stalls clean and ready. For them, this business feeds families, pays school fees, and keeps the wheel of daily life running.
Many of these vendors began with a single bale. Over time, some expanded into shops, others into small warehouses.
Finally, whatever the opinion, the trade continues to thrive because it answers a simple need- good clothing at a price people can afford. And as long as clothes journey across seas and shoppers search for bargains, the bales will keep arriving, the markets will keep buzzing, and the stories stitched into second-hand garments will keep finding new lives in the heart of Dimapur.
Mathew Rongmei
Dimapur