Gazing into infinity… into the dark sky
Twinkle one…two…three… Twinkle four…five… six…! Blink one…two…three… Blink four…five… six… Twinkle Twinkle Twinkle…Blink Blink Blink… Twinkle Blink Twinkle Blink Blink…

“My spine is stretched on the rock resting underneath me
Am I soon to be thrown into the unknown infinity
Pondering, in the maze of the astral geometry
No one has a name there, no one a face… different from the other
On a lapis plate of bright pearls… only shines brighter”

She closes her eyes… Only to find an Ogre hastily thumping four wooden shafts around her… then the walls… Thatch! goes the roof. “I have kept a window open for you to see the whole world through.”

”But I want my sky.”

“I’ll give you a roof as beautiful as the sky! And also tell you of the tales of men and women of history who lived, who drank, made merry, looked beautiful and created beautiful things under that beautiful roof… I will… just so you don’t loose interest, sing sweet songs of love for you and put you into those stories and songs… and tell you of your own greatness, sweetness, charm, harmless stupidities and all that you could be, of the lands you traveled, the people you met, things you did… lets begin with this one…

Old Srinagar, known as Downtown seems frozen in time. Walking in the maze of by-lanes, meandering through its exposed brick and wooden structures, often shouting for some care and attention in silence is like talking to an old man who has seen time pass by. You see these old embellishments adorning the dwellings and monuments with carved wood facades, intricate Pinjra on their exteriors, the seamless intersecting lines of Khatambandh on the ceilings, again telling of time…of a beautiful bridge man has made with history… mesmerizing!

Going back to the roots of the craft, its name ‘Khatam-bandh’, which might seem mysterious to a non Persian speaker, can be really broken down to get its meaning. Khatam literally means ‘reaching to an end’. But Persian being a language of poetry and one that believes in deeper meanings to life and any of its activities, does not ever refer to anything in isolation. So, there are no absolute ‘ends’ or ‘reaching to end’. It can more appropriately be explained as ‘an enclosure’ or ‘coming full circle’, which makes ‘Khatam’ not representative of a line that has come to an end but more as a polygon that has come to an enclosure. ‘Bandh’ means Close. Joining the two - Khatam-Bandh means polygons closed or stuck together with the help of wooden beading.

Some other siblings of the craft form can be traced back to Persia, from where the craft originated; Khatam or Khatamkari is referred to an art form of making decorative strips made of wood, bone and metal. The patterns on these strips are formed out of very fine triangular tessellations. These decorative strips are then applied on wooden backgrounds for decoration on objects. Another form of wood-inlay work also described as Khatam-bandhi or Khatam-sazi encompasses small pieces of wood veneer set on a base and glued or nailed into place. These are used in a variety of applications such as doors, ceilings, windows, boxes and mirrors. None of these crafts have anything similar to Khatambandh technique practiced in Kashmir apart from one thing, that is, the use of polygons. Only the geometric patterns are similar to the wood-inlay or Khatam-bandhi from Persia or present day Iran.

Khatambandh in Kashmir is an art of making decorative ceiling, by fitting small pieces of polygonal wood into each other in geometrical patterns, held together by beadings. There are basically two elements, which make Khatumbandh; one is the beading that is called as Gaj-Patti and second is the polygon called Posh (Flower). Gaj Patti is sub divided into two types - Charat for longer one and Posh for shorter ones. All this is done entirely with hands without the use of glue or nails. Nails are only used at crucial points to anchor the interlocked grid to the base-wood of the ceiling. It is used as false ceiling for its functional and decorative needs.

The uniqueness of this art is that when the ceiling is complete, it acquires a unique seamless geometrical pattern. Times when you stare at Khatambandh ceilings, the shapes morph into each other creating an illusion, transforming the seamless ceilinging to a dynamic installation, like a starry sky.

Fir wood, which is very light as compared to other hardwoods, is used in making of Khatambandh. Their lightweights make it ideal, as it does not bulge down with its own weight and stays in place with fewer or no nails used at all depending on the design. Fir is a conifer and is most closely related to the cedars (Cedrus). Fir is found in abundant in the mountains of Himalayas and around the mountain ranges of Kashmir valley; they also use Deodar (Pine) and Walnut for making Khatambandh if needed. The wood is processed, cut into batons and panels and then fixed onto the ceiling in various preconceived geometric patterns. It is a painstaking work, which once used to take months to finish a 10 feet by 10 feet ceiling. Deleted the line here

Earlier Khatambandh used to be a domain of shrines, palaces, houseboats and royal houses but now every other person has and wants it for their house. There are traditionally more than 160 designs worked out within the craft in Kashmir. Only 100 of these can be reproduced today and only 10-12 patterns are commercially made. About 500-700 odd Khatambandh artisans in Srinagar cater to this demand. They work in groups of 10 -15 under a master craftsman or Wasta and are trained to do certain processes involved in making of the components. As the craft incorporates different geometric shapes that are tessellated, the work is very repetitive. The wood is processed through machines for planning, sizing and groove making for Gaj and for making Posh. The basic shapes are cut on custom made motorized circular saws and then worked with hands for final shaping. A set of scales called Kannat for different patterns is used to mark the Gaj-patti to cut the interlocking lap-joint.

Craftsmen have indigenized tools and machines made by using locally available woodworking power tools. This reduces the time consumed, besides providing compact flawless geometrical shapes which cutting by hand would usually take more time and effort. These improvisations where made to keep the cost of Khatumbandh more affordable and accessible by a larger segment of market.As compared to Pinjrakari that uses straight batons, Khatambandh is made of a 5-sided polygon beading, which criss-cross and interlock forming a maze of Gaj that hold the Posh (the wooden polygon) in place, within the groove. Without the Posh the arrangement of interlocked Gaj form an open lattice much like Pinjra but larger openings. When Pinjra was unavailable and glass came into being, the windows took on a new form, with glass polygons inserted in between the Gaj lattice.

There are different theories and stories about the art of Khatambandh and its origin. Some say Mirza Hyder Tughlaq brought it to Kashmir in 1541 in Mughal times and some believe that famous saint Shah Hamadani who visited the Himalayan valley along with many followers that also included Khatambandh artists from Persia brought it to Kashmir during the 14th century. The shrine of Shah Hamadani in Srinagar has the most complex Khatambandh Installation that is in the form of a crossed dome.

Long and short came the lines, stretching into infinite criss-crossing
Writing in wood with saws and hands, a poetry in geometry
Where hands and mind play in harmony to shape an exquisite constellation.”

“But I love how stars look so beautiful on that sky”

Ogre lifting a brush in his hands- “Additionally, Khatambandh ceilings were also adorned with fine floral designs… with Naqqashi, a fine art of miniature painting on paper. Which was originally known as Kari-i- kalamdani or Papier-mâché painting. Religious buildings and the rich for their houses often patronized this form of Naqqashi… only making it elaborate, more, sky like… beautiful…”

Faster than a flash of light… off the only void left open by him… she goes… “There is a clear difference between pieces of sky stuck together and a whole big sky out there… But you are my favorite. No one has ever made a house so beautiful for me before. Come on outside… below the open sky… lets lay on the rock by the riverside… and let the twinkles march, hand in hand, feet together”… a puzzle to solve…

By Sandeep Sangaru 

Along the Dab sitting across on a warm and comforting silk carpet, an old man and his wife gaze into the twilight overlooking the street… savoring a smoke from a hookah… pipe in one hand, the other resting on the lap. Through the wide-open windows, their silhouettes look identical, both enveloped within their beige-grey Fehrans, with a highlight of white overturned sleeves. The golden flicker held gently on the wick of the oil lamps lights up the evening. They are absorbed in their own little world, enjoying the cold breeze caressing their red cheeks…

There is, however, a clear difference in the assortment of things besides them. The man with a white turban on his head has a wooden study desk next to him… with a stack of paper, inkpot and pen readily waiting for him to snap out of his thoughts to pen something down. And he does… looking at the colorful birds painted on the pen case, while he lifts the pen up. He writes…

“We have only learnt to make boxes around everything we were given… literally and figuratively, in 2D and in 3D… some go ahead and make those boxes look so beautifully essential that we can’t help but incorporate them in our lives, while there are always a few forced ones around only waiting to be replaced. The beautiful ones however, like this Kalamdani are a delight to have. It holds in it a powerful weapon of the worlds of imagination that are waiting to be unboxed. This Kalam, however, needs to be held in the right hands to be able to say of those worlds honestly. Like the story of this kalamdani, that goes back to the times when Kashmir became the first and the only paper-producing region in this subcontinent.

The first paper industry developed in Kashmir was established by Sultan Zain-ul-Abedin in 1417-67 AD after he returned from detention in Samarkand. He brought along artisans of various skills to develop crafts and introduce new trades in India. And soon, because of its quality, the Kashmiri paper or Khosur kagaz was much in demand in the world and the rest of the country for writing manuscripts. This brings to the mystery of why the art of painted papier-mâché in Kashmir was originally confined to making Kalamdan or the pen-case only and got to be known as Kari-Kalamdani. Due to the rapid growth of paper industry during this time, the demand for pens along with bookbinding and craft of making decorative book jackets in papier-mâché also flourished.

Calligraphy from Persia too took off as an artistic expression. Many calligraphers migrated from Persia and Central Asia to Kashmir during Zain-il-Abedin’s rule. The most renowned among them was Mohammad Husyn. When Mughal Emperor Akbar occupied Kashmir, Huysn received the title of Zarrin Qalam (the golden pen) from him. Later, the French used the word Papier-mâché painting work to refer to the boxes specially made to present Pashmina shawls that were imported from Kashmir; and these boxes were most sought after and were also sold separately at a premium in France. Hence, the craft of Kari-kalamdani was popularly known as papier-mâché painting in Europe.

Like a Cornucopia, Kashmir witnessed many diverse expressions of craft from poetry to music to space, to architecture, to weaving, to embroidery, to papier-mâché… These connections are evident in the motifs, colors and elements of its spaces and forms across crafts. Naqsh or Naqqashi is the foundation of any craft. It is the basic element, which adorns itself in various forms and mediums. Kari-kalamdani tradition had its individual masters or Naqqahgar, who sometimes signed their artworks.

During Mughal times, paper was used widely both for manuscripts and as a basis for tempera painting. The Mughals commissioned a large number of works made in Kari-kalamdani technique to make gifting products. The painting style was used on palanquins, howdahs and also to decorate the walls and ceilings of rooms. A smooth surface was created on the wooden base of the ceilings or walls with paper pulp and layered with polished Koshur kagaz to create a fine surface for the painting. This form of naqqashi was also known as kari-munaqqash (Munaqqash: decorated or picturesque). In the process of making a papier-mâché product, there are two distinct groups of artisans involved to produce the final article. The first is Sakhtasaz, who makes the object with paper pulp; the second is Naqqash, who does the ornamentation of the surface with colors.

The Sakhta-saz prepares the paper pulp pounding waste paper, cloth and other ingredients. The pulp is then shaped or given the form of the article with the help of Moulds. Traditionally clay moulds where used. Today the use of POP, wooden or metal moulds is prevalent. After the pulp has dried, it is removed from the mould. Depending on the complexity of the form of mould the dried pulp form is cut with a fine saw and glued back together and finished before the painting.

From here onwards the process is taken over by the Naqqahgar or Naqqashi and the ornamentation begins with the application of white solution consisting of gypsum and glue. After drying, the surface is polished with a wet stone until perfectly smooth. The subjects that get painted are Red and green apples, pomegranate, peaches, cherries, apricots or green almonds or walnuts, lotus and lotus pods, things of beauty, fish, birds, creepers, roses, Mughal patterns, deers, rabbits and the rest of the life forms, no human figures though.

Traditionally the color for the painting was made from natural pigments and minerals and it was a strenuous process to prepare them. The ground or zameen (the base coat) was commonly metallic, of gold, silver or of tin. Fine particles of ground tin, silver or gold were mixed with glue and applied on the surface and allowed to dry and then burnished with an agate. A light rub of amber varnish followed this and whilst wet, fine verdigris powder was spread to get a greenish-blue tone. Tin or gold foil imparted a subtle luster. For a red effect on luster a preparation of lac was used.

Color pigments were also imported from various places but Kashmir itself yielded black- from the walnut, as well as some other common colors and essentials-such as linseed oil, which mixed with gum resin formed the varnish. White lead came from Russia and verdigris was obtained from Surat or Britain. Lapis Lazuli for ultra-marine was bought from Yarkand. The painting on the pattern was done with a brush made from the hair of a Pashmina goat and pencils from those of cat fur (as described by Willam Moorcraft in his travelogues circa 1800 AD).

The practice of using natural pigments has languished over a period of time due to rampant commercialization of Papier-mâché products. A widespread use of synthetic colors and varnish is prevalent now.
The designs used in papier-mâché Naqqashi are very fine and need a great deal of skill and accuracy to achieve. The paintings are of two kinds, raised and flat. The raised type comes close to relief work. Birds and butterflies are sometimes represented in relief manner amongst flowers and foliage on a flat surface. The patterns are drawn free hand by the master Naqqashi and assistants do the job at various stages of filling color. And finally the master Naqqashi draws the outline to complete the painting, which is then coated with varnish.

The technique of painting on papier-mâché was also applied on woodcarving, especially windows, Khatambandh ceilings and furniture. Specimens of objects made of Papier-mâché of a date earlier than that of nineteenth century are very rare; mostly due to their fragile or perishable nature. But the fact that there was continuity in tradition from the fifteenth century onwards is clearly indicated by literary sources documented by William Moorcroft and a French traveler; Bernier’s travelogues from 1665. Some rare and fine specimens of these articles are preserved at the Victoria & Albert museum in London.”

As he was writing on his Koshur kagaz, he realized that it too was made from the same pulp as the kalamdani. Each sheet polished with a smooth shell or stone for a crisp glossy finish… his eyes started gleaming with blue light.
The woman, from the other side, also with a white cap on her head… fine mulmul drape covering her back from underneath it, responded with a similar shine and warmth in her eyes. The room was resonating with their love. Not so fond of boxes, she had many loosely tied Potlis behind her… the kids of the household often flocking around would run into her lap and she would carry them in her warm embrace, put her hand in one of the sacks and take out goodies. What all was inside them was a surprise to everyone… but no one ever left without a smile. Among her cherished offerings of love were fruits- a big red apple, pomegranate, peaches, cherries, a hand full of dried fruits like apricots from Ladakh or green almonds or walnuts, sundried tomatoes, baked grams, seeds of lotus pods… The apparently small sacks were also seen to give out things once in a while… things of beauty… like she once took out a copper Surmadani shaped like a fish for a girl she thought had fish shaped eyes, walnut wood and Kari-kalamdani cases, beautiful brass hand mirrors with roses etched on the glass, wicker and woolen toys, fresh pink roses… no one knew where they came from. The only time she would be out of the Dab was early in the morning, around 3 or 4 am and everyone knew she was going for her daily prayers and would be back in a few hours. Everyone loved to flock around them… rounds of storytelling and singing together over piping Kahwa and crumpling Bhakarkhanis would play day and night…..

While the whole world is going nuts creating and apparently solving complexities, there still are a few blessed ones, for whom life is simple…. Not because they are incapable, but because they choose it as their default… Does God bestow grace in such wondrous ways? Like dogs can’t get over solving the bone puzzle while the master is actually making time for other important things…. Things like making a life for Veera and Harpal…. somewhere in the lap of mother earth.

Veera and Harpal were two such souls … who had found each other…. not here, but in the infinite archival of souls God curates. Now, this God is a loner. Having balanced all his karmas, he does not associate with any form or name anymore. So, holding hands, the two decided to descend on the planet….

Yellow-green fields, five rivers fragmenting the land, cozy homes, warm hearts…. There was bounty and two kids were born, each in a neighboring house, one as boy and the other one as girl….
A brand new tractor bought by the boy’s father and a golden Phulkari wedding dress embroidered by the girl’s grandmother were assets gifted to the family and the celebrations began mutually….

They grew up much as the other kids of the village… learning and playing in the same fields they fed on… growing fonder with adolescence, they learnt to walk together, with a bicycle and a sugarcane almost always accompanying them along the fields. Getting them married to each other occurred only as an obvious next step to both the families… It was time that Veera put her many years of learning and imagination together to create the most exquisite masterpiece. She was to embroider a full Odhni with Phulkari…. putting in it, all her vivid colorful dreams….With a few months in hand… she began… a Red one…her favorite color since she was sixteen. Nineteen now, she wanted to mix it with pink roses and give it a golden edging… which would look beautiful with her golden jewelry… in-between came her beloved butterflies and birds….a shining ‘Garden of Flowers’ was in making…. ‘Reshmi Dhaga’ decorating the Khaddar (coarse khadi) background. With not an inch of the fabric left visible, she had patiently created a Bagh Phulkari.

With many more Phulkari Duppattas, lehengas, cholis, a Darshan Dwaar for the pooja and some basics to start a new household as gifts from her friends and kins, she was all set for a familiar new journey. A Devi incarnated… Lakshmi, as they call any newlywed bride entering a new household, she was dazzling in Red and Gold from head to toe… Eyes gleaming with happiness, hands raised to shower flowers, vocal chords synchronized to sing prayers…. melodious, in chorus… as they took the vows around sacred fire.
The Parmatma, who had nothing to do with anything, also was provoked to lift up and bless the occasion…. such harmony was a rarity on earth now a days…

They lived together as a couple, kind and content and were soon blessed with a baby girl, whom they lovingly named Shereen. She was brought up not as a girl or a boy but as a human being….learning embroidery from her mother and helping her father in the fields…she was one heart between the two of them.

The girls would team up in the courtyard every morning, calling friends from neighborhood…. Sharing their daily stories, observations, problems … they would laugh away their daily woos, help each other stay hopeful, share recipes, techniques of embroidery and color combinations. Teaching a new bunch of girls Veera would always say;

“ Khaddar, Sui, Reshmi Dhaga te ek Paagal dimaag… bas eda hi kamaal hega…” (Khaddar fabric, any needle, soft silk floss and a crazy mind are enough to create magic)
Explaining the process further, she would practically hold a fresh piece of fabric and make perfect isosceles triangles for mountains, running the needle over it in tiny and close darning stitches… she would turn the wrong side of the fabric after the shape was enclosed …as magic! Every new kid would be awe struck to see a completely filled triangle on the wrong side…. This was enough to fuel the excitement of young girls’ and in no time they would grab their Rumaal and begin their own versions of the magic…

Mother often brought lunch to the fields…steeling herself from farm jobs, maintaining household, fetching water from well, cooking, fetching timber for burning, taking care of cattle and the other chores of household ….always in a sturdy Khaddar Kameez-Salwar and a phulkari Dupatta gracing her well-structured body. Both Harpal and Shereen would run to her at a glance and the trio would sit complete under a Peepal tree for lunch… fresh maze bread, spinach, green chillis, jaggery, Chaas and giggles…

“Can I embroider this Hari Mirch on my Rumaal” Shereen inquisitive and eager to put everything around her on her recent piece of embroidery asked.

And her mother laughed “don’t you see better things around…look at that newborn calf, the yellow mustard flowers… how about making those triangular mountains or the orange sun…”

Shereen “This dragonfly?!?”

Veera “Ummm…. Let’s make the Rail Gaadi…. Loooong as a snake…”

Sheeren “Yaaa… and I’ll also make you both and me sitting in it….”

Both chuckled giving hi fives to each other…Tinkling of glass bangles and giggles brought a smile on father’s face who was happily napping under the shade…

She was not just an apple but a basket full of apples of her parents’ eyes…

One of the many accomplished love stories from the land of Punjab… may not be so great because no one ever wished to exaggerate and portray it larger than life…But good… it was…. And since it was an accomplished one, it was also great beyond examples…

Veera and Harpal worked hard in fields and fed thousands without infusing life threatening chemicals into their genes, they chose to spread good health as farmers, even if it meant harvesting limited quantities and earning a few thousands lesser than they could if they used chemicals on their soil. They gave, generously to whoever came needy to their doorstep. They sent their only child, a girl, to study with local kids in the village, to teach her lessons of humility and empathy before she went up to learn medicine, engineering, acting, writing or flying airplanes….which of course was left upto her own discretion…. She was allowed to imagine….

No, she was not married at 19, not because it was too young or old and age but because she hadn’t met her soul mate till then….but a box full of Phulkaris…her explorations from the time she was a little girl to when she became an adult was kept aside safely…. One for every occasion…Red for marriage, pink for when she would become a mother, blues and violets for other occasions, whites and goldens for when she would be a grown up women and a stark white for the final journey… Whether it was Baisakhi, Lohdi, Holi, Gurupurab, Janmashtmi or just another day a Punjabi felt like some Dhol and Bhangda, Phulkari was always around dancing Gidda…

Types of Phulkaris
BAGH:With time Phulkari became increasingly elaborate and decorative which led to the evolution of a special ceremonial, Bagh Phulkari.
Bagh literally means ‘garden of flowers’, and the embroidery is so profuse that the ground colour is no longer visible thus the embroidery becomes the fabric itself.
Unlike Phulkari, Bagh demands more time and patience and more material, thereby increasing the expense. Thus Bagh is a status symbol.

CHOPE: Chope is usually embroidered on the borders. It is gifted to the bride by her grandmother during a ceremony before wedding. The Chope is embroidered straight with two-sided line stitch that appears same on both the side. Unlike Phulkari and Bagh where a variety of colours are used, Chope is generally embroidered with one color, golden or yellowish golden mostly.

THIRMA:This Phulkari from the north of Punjab is shared by Hindu and Sikh traditions and is appreciated by collectors. It is identified by its white khaddar. As a symbol of purity, Thirma was often worn by elder women and widows but, at times, this choice of color was also made for aesthetic reasons. The pat was generally chosen in a range of bright pink to deep red tones. Cluster stitched flowers and wide triangles covering the forehead, chevron darning stitch surfaces were very common Thirma patterns.

DARSHAN DWAR: Darshan Dwar that can be translated as ‘the gate through which God can be seen’, unlike other Phulkari were not made for a person but for a temple as an offering to the god, after a wish had been fulfilled. For this reason, while a dowry could contain dozens of Phulkari, Darshan Dwar has never been made in big quantities. Like other figurative pieces like Sainchi Phulkari, this particular kind of Phulkari was made in east Punjab, a mostly non-Islamic area that allowed for a broad variety of human and animal representations.

SAINCHI PHULKARI: Sainchi Phulkari are figurative pieces narrating life in the villages of South East Punjab. Local animals; goats, cows, elephants, big cats, scorpions, peacocks are represented moving among wrestlers, farmers, weavers, etc. Train is also often displayed on Sainchi Phulkari; this means of transportation, brought by the British in the second half of the19th century had a big impact on people’s lives.
In addition, they were produced in a relatively small area, Firozpur and Bhatinda districts and required high embroidery skills. For these reasons they were appreciated by collectors and occupy a very unique position among all the other varieties of Phulkari.

VARI-DA-BAGH: Vari means a gift offered to the bride by her in-laws. This Bagh was gifted to the bride by her in-laws when she was entering their house, her new home, on the wedding day. It is an exceptional case as all the other Phulkaris were a part of her dowry and thus given by her own family. Vari-da-Bagh is always made on an orange-reddish khaddar and except for its border and sometimes a small decoration; it is always embroidered on its whole surface with a single golden or orange colored pat.

This Bagh’s main pattern is a group of three or four small concentric lozenges of growing size included in each other. Despite the fact that only one color of pat is used, these lozenges are easily revealed when seen closely. The outer one symbolizes the Earth, the next one the city and the third one the family house. It happens that this last lozenge is split into four smaller ones, symbolizing the parents of the groom and the bride. The bride is wrapped in this Bagh by her mother-in-law when she receives the keys of her new house, thereby handing over the responsibilities of the house.

BAWAN BAGH (or Bawan Phulkari):‘Bawan’ means fifty two in Punjabi and refers to the mosaic of fifty-two different patterns that decorates this piece (the number of patterns can however be at times more or less than 52). Bawan Bagh (or Phulkari) was in fact a display of samples used by professional embroiderers to show their skills and the patterns they could provide to their clients. This explains why Bawan Bagh is the rarest of all the Baghs and Phulkaris.

SURAJMUKHI: Surajmujkhi, the sunflower, refers to the main pattern of this Phulkari. From a technical point of view this type of Phulkari is unique as it is the only one that mixes in comparable proportions Holbein stitch (used to make Chope Phulkari) and the regular darning stitch.

KAUDI BAGH: Among their patterns, this Bagh includes chains of small white squares representing stylized cowries. Used as currency in the old times, these shells have now lost their value and using them as ornaments has thus become artistic. From another point of view, the shape of these shells reminds of female genitals and makes them symbols of fertility. Kaudi Phulkari was often worn by women wanting to increase their chance of pregnancy.

PANCHRANGHA BAGH: Meaning Five colors, this Bagh is decorated with chevrons of five different colours. In the same way, similar pieces like Satranga, the ‘Seven color Bagh’ are also available.

MEENAKARI BAGH (or Ikka Bagh): This Bagh, often made of gold and white colored pat, is decorated with small multicolored lozenges referring to enamel work (meenakari) or to diamond shape of the playing cards.

Images by ~ Nanhi Chaan Foundation

On a narrow Bazaar street… in a far far valley, inhabited by a pocket full of people was a small coppersmith’s shop. Noor, in his matchbox sized shop was often found beating metal meticulously… with his head bent and eyes fixed on it as he shaped it stroke by stroke. The sound, having been heard for thirty odd years was no less than music to his ears now… he had tried mixing it with local songs on radio, screeching of parrots, quacking of ducks, purring cats and what not… only to fall back to the simplicity of the original beating… ‘Beats’ was how his heart and hands synchronized in rhythm… ‘beats’ was how his spirit rose higher and higher… until he found himself hovering over the street… the valley… the earth… Like an eagle he perched on tall branches overlooking the city… and found himself lost in the comforts of the clouds, he called home… Dreaming and snooping into chitchats of chirpy people on earth were his hobbies. Being a craftsman he sought balance alike in life as well as his creations…

On one such journeys, he overheard some people talk about coming of Persians to the valley. Inquisitive of his own origins he decided to lend a keen ear… as they continued…. “And they brought along skills and trade… Wealth and prosperity followed… and the valley began to take up its present shape beginning in 14th century. Zain-ul-Abedin became the active catalyst and a pioneer to restore the grandeur of Kashmir…”

“But history dates back… to 8th century, during the reign of Lalitaditya. Kahlana Pandita, a Kashmiri writer from 11th century chronicled Kashmir’s rulers in his book Rajatarangini and highly spoke about Lalitaditya as the most illustrious ruler of the Hindu period, who had conquered most of North India, Central Asia and Tibet and made Kashmir one of the richest and powerful kingdoms. During his reign, Kashmiri brass, gold and silver figures attained an artistic peak along with the temples and Buddhist monasteries he build with alpine idols … Kashmiri craftsmen were famous for their expressions in painting and fine details and textures on bronze work. Their hand can be seen in many art works from Central Asia to Tibet. And during his time copper craft from Kashmir was taken to Persia and became the preferred medium of Persian metallurgy. It came back to Kashmir along with the Persians artisans later in the 14th century along with new techniques and products…”

“… like the iconic Samowar!”
“Yes…”
“Copper was mined locally from the mountains of Aismuqam in the Liddar valley of south Kashmir. The sources of copper mines were kept a secret and were under state subject to protect them from the Sikh invaders of that time. It is believed that Zain-ul-Abedin led a very simple life dedicated to making his kingdom a paradise and took no money from the state treasury for his personal use but lived on the income from one copper mine.”
“During the Mughal era metal work in Kashmir became focused on making gun-barrels and swords. Techniques of casting and forging Iron along with enameling or Meenakari as it is commonly known were used for decorating the handles of swords. By the end of 19th century with the decline of Mughal era, the skills of Kashmiri metal workers got oriented again towards making of vessels, now ornamented with Meenakari. This was applied on silver jewelry, brass and copperware like serving pots, jugs, trays. Meenakari on silver jewelry was finer as compared to the one on copperware and brassware, which was more opaque with a whitish tinge to the color.”

“Today, the practice of enameling has languished in Kashmir.”
“As the demand for copper and brass articles increased, the raw materials were imported into the state. All the articles made were for everyday use, for cooking and serving… Other commonly used articles were, Lota (pot), Tream (plate), Naer (water jug), Tash Near (portable handwash), dishes, bowls and laddles… and many more…”

“From those days onwards, in a family, the personal set of articles like cups, tumblers and plates are still personalized by etching one’s name on them.”

“The process of making of a copper or brassware goes through many artisans who are specialized in a particular technique. The process involves Khar – the smith, Naqash – the engraver, Zarcod – the gilder, Roshangar – the polisher and Charakgar – the cleaner or finisher. In fact, specific localities or Mohallas like Roshangar-Mohalla are named after these professions, where these artisans still carry out their craft practice.”

“Casting handles, rims, stands for the base and hinges is done by Baraksaz, then the raw metal is shaped into smooth objects by a Khar. It goes through Naaqash who engraves the motifs and designs on the objects, Charakgar cleans the rough edges and finishes the product before it goes to the Roshangar followed by the process of Kalai (coating with tin) done by Kalai saz the gilder. Many tools are used in the process of making a copperware, some of them are Draz – hammer, Mekh -stakes, Yandrewah – anvil, chisels, punches, files, compass etc. also locally known as Basta, Thaj, Sharanz, Gosheper and Angus.”

“The articles come with different kinds of naqashi and quality. Some are just plain without any ornamentation and are for everyday use. The decorated ones are used on special occasions and are held as collectibles. The motifs are formed using a combination of techniques like repoussé, engraving or chasing and piercing. A special form of engraving of geometrical and calligraphic motifs locally known as Kandkari, which is an exclusive craft itself is used in copperware and kept alive by a few master smiths till today. Oxidizing the engraved portions further highlights the patterns. The kind of naqashi varies for the product to be offered at different price points.”

“As a true confluence of cultures, these vessels followed Indo-Persian forms and techniques but the surface ornamentation remained unique to Kashmiri motifs. The most common motifs used on copperware were Chinar (maple leaf), Badam (almond or the paisley) and Mehrab (arch).”

“Kashmiri Pandits commonly used brassware even before Islam came into the valley, whilst Mohammedan’s from the valley used copperware, which was introduce around 13th-14th century… this remains a practice among the communities till date.”
As the conversation continued, the voices began to fade somewhere in bright light. He had had enough for time being….
His heart was full of many questions from the story he had just heard and to find the answers he delved into many such conversations later on, only to find everyone tossing around the same set of facts over and over. Like no one ever spoke about the great Lalitaditya or Zain-ul-Abedin as people of vision and what drove them to take up such great journeys… Are some people born Great… to fulfill great causes and make a mark in the history while the others’ are busy carrying out daily chores or Are they formed from their daily choices… Could he someday be a great coppersmith merely by refining his strokes every day…

However, he did understand that there were craftsmen of words just as skillful as he was of metal… and that they perhaps found what he did in his art, in talking… which was not meant in the first place to come to a conclusion. And all he wanted now was his vessel to take shape… pleasant to his eyes and soul… as he glided back through the small frame of his shop into his even smaller body, a tool… his only point of connect with the physical world… turning each of his vivid dreams and questions into coppersmith’s strokes…

Wading through the misty dark waters at the rise of dawn, Azan reverberates across Dal from various small mosques around… a mild alarm sets off to start a new day. A few minutes later, even before sunshine beams through the majestic Zabarwan range, a mélange of boats laden with fresh farm produce and bouquets appears from nowhere. This is the floating market on boats know as Go-e-dar for vegetables and fresh produce.

Haenz is a tribe of people who live of boats, their humble house is called Doonga. Doongas are small floating houses with a bedroom, living room and a Kitchen. The abundant water surface of Dal is used to cultivate vegetables on these unique floating gardens. Various aquatic plants spring from the bottom of the lake… water lilies, confervae, sedges and reeds, the roots of these plants are cut off just about two feet under the water, so that they are completely loose of all the connection to the bed of the lake, but retain their position in respect to each other with their intertwined stems.

Then these natural floats are covered with thin mud, which gradually sinks into the mass of matted stems, roots binding them together. The floating beds are kept in place by a stake driven through at each end. The floats (Dembe), about two yards in width, stretched to indefinite lengths form avenues one can easily traverse through in a personal Naav and tend to the plants… turnip, cabbage, cauliflower, radish, kashmiri haakh… Some gather water nuts (Singhdre), lotus stems (Nadru), houselotus seeds (Pambach) and many more…

The story as told by the boatman goes…. A Kashmiri Pandit, Naraindas had a shop that used to cater to the needs of the tourists. Tragedy struck when his shop on the banks of Jhelum got gutted in fire. Naraindas without losing hope moved his remaining goods to a Doonga… moored it at a suitable site along the banks of Jhelum and the shop was open again. Soon, he began to improve his shop by replacing its wagoo matted walls and roof with planks and shingles.

The first houseboat was afloat…

This houseboat was better than any regular Doonga anyone had seen so far. Doongas till now came in various sizes and use; for ferrying passengers, as water trucks for cargo, but never as grand as this one. It gathered all the attention from far and near…boats flocked around for tourists to get a closer look. Everyone wanted to touch it, see it, ride, if possible own it…Soon, Narayan was flooded with proposals by tempted onlookers, native Indians and foreigners, who always wanted to own a dwelling, a place in the valley but were handcuffed by the valley laws that did not allow any outsider to own a piece of land in Kashmir.

For all of them Narayan had opened up gates of hope… and sensing a good opportunity for business, he began making and selling these custom made houseboats to whoever wanted and could pay for them, the first buyer being a European. And thus he became popular as Naav Narayan, the houseboat builder.

As days went past… people came pouring into the valley to smell the fragrance of Kashmir… and several carpenters got busy and over a period of time contributed to the magnificence of this floating beauty. Specialized carpenters like a Ghar-chaan who makes the hull or the super structure made the body of the boat… basic carpentry tools like saws, axe, hammers and chisels were used.

Thick planks of deodar wood were cut to shape as per the requirement and were interlocked with structural joints (Stopped-Splayed Wedged Scarf joints) to make seamless long planks. The planks were then held together with large iron staples, rope dipped in natural resin was stuffed in-between to seal the fine gaps between planks to prevent water seeping through. Thereafter, a general Chaan laid the roof. A Wastalaw Chaan did the interiors.

All the available local crafts of Kashmir were employed… elaborate woolen & silk carpets and woolen Namdas for flooring, intricately carved wooden panels in Walnut wood, seamless Khatambandh ceilings… The spaces were decorated with Walnut wood furniture, copperware and papier-mâché objects, colorful and exquisite drapes of Aari and Sozni for furnishing…and what not…

Well… stories are many when good things happen… A man named M.T Kennard came with the idea of floating house around the same time as Naraindas and offered to make houseboats more luxurious with all the western amenities. Adding to the luxury of a houseboat, the larger Naav was converted into a Shikara, a limo water taxi to ferry visitors to and fro from the houseboat or for a ride around the lake.

Beauty is meaningless without love…So is Kashmir without its people… A storyteller, the boatman who since birth lived on boats, grew up and chose to be a shikara haenz. Stories thrilled him… he enjoyed talking to complete strangers without any diffidence… while ferrying them across numerous water ways of Dal.

Now a wise old man with all these stories and experiences to share… talking about love, the boats, seasons on his numerous rides, he would sometimes treat these strangers to his home in the lake, bonding over some kahva or a cup of nun-chai (salt tea) with bites of czhot (local bread)… And every time his heart shape paddle gently tore the reflection on water, it propelled him to distances he would have never imagined…the heart paddle became a metaphor of the stories he shared, slowly illustrating them like a song with the rhythm of the flipping water from his paddle…

A walk at the break of dawn… warm soft grip of grandpa’s strong hand takes into its caress the cold fragile one of Abha’s… both walk hand in hand towards the Kandur shop, the neighborhood baker. As golden rays break the monotony of last night’s chill, their hearts grow sunny in security of heading in the right direction, to a place that is even warmer and has their favorite breads being freshly pulled out of the Tandoor – hot and crisp! An ideal scenario to brew chit chat over burning ember… passed on to lend some fire to Kangris and at times the Jajeers (Hookah), their age old kins…

“Luchh, Katlam, Telvour, Shrumaal, Culché, Bagerkhen, Roath, Lavassé, Girdé, Modur Culché te takhtechh…. ”
“Hatsa!!! Kanger che lwatyemech…yath chu sirf soor roodmut… tyangul ratcheyna deyuv…”

Heya!!! the firepot is buring dim already… with just ash left in it… would you care to lend some ember from the oven…. And so, that is how it all starts… with lending some warmth to each other, to combat the freezing chill outside… Water inside the taps has already frozen, not just that, the pipelines are bursting too… women are seen holding heaters and stoves below the taps to squeeze out a drop of water, if they can… Chillai-kalaan is here!

Amidst this hullabaloo which provided the essential everyday background score for the household, Abha and grandfather arrive to everyone’s delight, with hot breads in a wicker basket…. little Abha has already been breaking crums of her favorite Telvor on the way. Women keep aside their hot pots, the Kanger that they had literally been sitting cocooned around and get up to prepare for everyone’s breakfast. Its an event Abha has been longing for through the night…. to see everyone together again… why? Because it meant so many of her favorite things coming together… The hot kahvè, not just to drink but also for how it filled the entire room with its aroma of cardamoms and cinnamon, the warm breads… that she liked with salted butter swept on it, her favorite people happy and lots of stories…. And the day had just begun…

It is the peak of winter in Kashmir that will last for about two months…. is there a mention of a worry or a frown on their glorious faces, are they ever inadequate or gruesome for a moment…. or any lesser than stars sitting beautifully together as a constellation…. They are a sight to behold, a conversation so musical, a feeling so warm…. they are the people of Kashmir… in their land.

Each hold their own Kanger, an absolutely essential winter accessory close to their bellies…. and a few customize them to suite personal taste of color or weaving style. The little ones with their small fire pots are still training to hold them right without spilling the ember all over the place…. In their tiny Fehrans they carry fire. The experts it is told, could sleep with them inside their blankets or Lefh (thicker layered blankets with cotton filling for insulation)….Aaragè (a mix of aromatic seeds burnt to purify air) is burnt in the fire pot as a morning ritual…

The smell of such positive possibilities would wake her up early in the morning… She is usually one of the first ones, only competing with her grandmother who it seems has a pact with God, to meet him everyday at four in the morning, be it hot or freezing cold…. She would be bathed and dressed in her long grey Fehran, white cuffs… and her headdress, the Taraga, which is essentially a long white drape covering her head and back, with a white pashmina flat cap on top… of zari or embroidered with aari work on the edges. Dejhur, the gold strings with talismans dangling from either of her ears is the only form of jewelry she wears and a proof of her marriage. For makeup she has a round yellow sandlewood paste tilak smeared on her forehead… right between those gleaming blue eyes. No one ever saw bottles of perfume or crème close to her but she smelt of fresh roses and she radiated with the glow of daylight, her cheeks warm and pink were round and so were her hands and feet, like lotus buds. In all her ways and how she carried herself with such ease, she was magical… Abha’s role model… and also the only one who could put her fluttering self to sleep at night, once she was done with her ritualistic rounds of pre bed time chit chats, kisses and good nights, having tormented everyone enough with her questions… not missing a single inhabited room in the house… getting herself invited everywhere to spend the rest of the night with them…. But she would cleverly sense the right moment and run away to the warmed up den of her grandmother’s… for it was only her tellings of Gods and demons and their various expeditions on earth, beneath and sky…. and those of Shiva more cherishedly that would put her to sleep… the God who is so much of a father…. a father everyone seeked refuge under sooner or later… and also the one she took with her in her dreams…

When hearts are warm there is little the outside chill can move… A conglomerate of heartful souls, dressed up respectably; Men in grey, beige, black, white chequered or plain wool Fehrans and Safas (turbans), mostly in white… or a Tuip (cap), if there is a friend visiting. Women on the other hand could choose to be more colorful and elaborate with their use of embroideries around neck line, the cuffs and the borders…. in silver… gold… or colorful threads… And a Taraga or a Kasaab (a simple scarf tied around head, not covering the face like hijaab) covering their heads… Sitting on carpeted floor, with patches of wool Namda forming their Aasans… While the young ones got busy with their daily runnings, the grands of the household keep the house brimming and buzzing. Guests keep pouring in, as do the alternate rounds of kahvè and Nun-chai throughout the day...

“Seerchai chu aaz rang jaan dramut… Gwaleib… talai malai ratz travus pyeth”

Aha! what a beautiful pink this tea has turned out to be…. could you serve it with some cream on top.

While the rest of the country has summer vacations in schools, Kashmir sees practically all official activities including moving a limb coming to a still in winters. Going out is a rarity and takes a lot of courage & preparation…. For most, outside world remains a grey white scenery visible from their Dub. The scenery however strikes real hard at the tip of their long noses as it unknowingly ventures by an inch outside the cozy premises of their wooden windows. And this is enough to get a Kashmiri shut all the windows, check his fire place (Bukher) for timber, stir the ember of his Kanger with the Xalen (a small metal shovel attached to it) and pull a Dussè (an extra large woolen shawl) over his lap. Holding a Jajeer close, he would shout out for a drink of Kahvè next and while it takes time to come, most likely will there be a book spread in front…. pale old pages with poetic Urdu type in black, if not a text book or a book on how to live your life…. Geeta, Kuran…. anything… as long as he doesn’t have to step out of the comforts of his Fehran… No interactions with the outside world what-so-ever…. not even visual…

And it is in this hostile world outside that Abha has to venture into. It’s a special day at school and all the kids are expected to be present along with their parents. The light outside is a dull grey, it doesn’t look like 10am…. taking a shower is out of question, getting into a cold new set clothes itself feels like getting out of your skin, and those black leather school shoes….. they are of stone that has been frozen overnight… sucking the last bit of heat reserved from grandmother’s den…. She is cold…. cold to heart…. and all there is to express that pain is a tear drop that spurts out of her eyes… and as it does, it also bring with it a gush of warm blood into her cheeks, nose tip that has turned red and her little round lips… Ah! some warmth again…
An early lunch, at around 10.30 am, that includes hot steamed rice with some meat or dried fish or vegetable preparations is a practice in cold regions with shorter days and two or three meals a day to be incorporated…. And the three leave for the day, which is no less than an expedition. The ones in the blankets wish them a long life and good health “Orzu Dorkoth!”…. and avoid looking at the door…

The conversation continues…. Kahvè has also arrived. Tothèseb (dear grand dad) takes out the warm Telvour from his Kanger... he is going to savior it with the tea… digging deeper into the pot, he turns chestnuts with his Xalan…. they are still soft and will take some more time…. hopefully they should be ready by the time Abha gets home…

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Dancing on a toe it could either be a crane or this mad man… both in hindsight whiling away time in wait. They smell fresh scents of a new beginning blowing in the air…. Cold is Old! Gurgling rivers marching down the mountain slopes sound of life sprouting…. there is a reason to dance for both…. hungry, after a long span of stillness… one for fish and the other for the white warm fur …

Laid around in-between seasoned, scribbled, ink stained dark Mahogany planks is a mad king’s broken kingdom…. a hundred small fingers, arms & feet, heads tossed in all directions, buts turned up, boats & elephants and some carved pediments… some half configured, some near completion, some awaiting their spirit… There they lie…. lined up in bottles… some earthy, some glistening, some dark like night… colorful bottles on a remote shelf… kept aside carefully… or so…. to be poured only into the best pieces…. These were Youth, Greatness, Pride, Beauty, Valor, Elegance and another one in some sparkling shade of yellow had no label on it…. he said “it would attract wealth… and I don’t know what to call it”…. Another one kept slightly away was a similar looking jar. It had in it the same yellow glistening potion… and no labels on it … He said “it’s different… not to be mistaken… the mix has a big portion satisfaction… that meets a pinch salt to make Haze … Forgetfulness!…. makes you a dervish… To be used stringently as there is very little left… They all need it at some point or the other…. and I need it more than them…”

Leaving the rhapsody of his secret world in disarray, he steps out to a brighter room… The shop front… where he sits eloquently on the carpeted floor, picks up in his lap a half done garb….needle and threads…. and begins picking stitch by stitch through the lenses of his spectacles…The beauties… “for the beauties walking on the road”…. Barely sitting at the ridge of his nose…the glances….

- – - – - – pick & drop – - – - pick & drop – - – - – pick & drop- – - – -

…………Span after span….. span after span…

Wah! Wah! The meandering threads and how they look decorated only when some bloom is scattered on them… the terrain of my shawls… Pashm! Soft as flakes of newborn snow….white… Kashmir has shown affinity towards… Undoubtedly!…. for the serene elegance it covers everything in… it is cold and soft at the same time…. And in time, the surface lets out what it has always been holding beneath… A bumbershoot of colorful life…. it’s a boon for man for having born through its cold hostilities for so long… A present called Spring… has arrived!

And that’s how man’s perseverance pulls out life from sterility …. budding, blooming… floras….we all are…. on these meandering pathways of mine….

Stravaging along the same meandering pathways he stumbled upon a garden on his left… Intoxicated with the sweet mellow scent… he entered it…

The white almond bloom and the pink cherry blossom…. were talking to the sky… Bees, butterflies, birds only joining intermittently… cross conversations… lending pigments. The zeal had indeed begun to pull out fruits from the thin branches…. turning their faces up in offering….green and raw. Meanwhile, on the ground… squirrels played a squeaky game…. chase was its name… a fusillade of voices motored by their furry tails…. thrown in the air… their’s was a chase for the fallen nuts, trapped in between the meandering of the roots… It was indeed a delightful sight… anyone could loose senses to. And so he thought… “How could anything born out of this stay sane…. the drunkards of this nectar often carry it in their eyes…. they are actually almonds in disguise…”

Fallen on the lush green ground…. in contrast…. their velvety sheen looked stunning…. ” how could anything earthly be so beautiful… the flowers made the sunlight falling upon them look worth its existence…What else does this ball of orange and golden heat rise and fall for everyday…. not to fall upon the ugliness and make it stark…. no, no, no!”

“Sun must rise only to shine upon beauties like these….. ”

And in his silken chain of thoughts he passed off… into a sweet slumber…. for Hours? Days? Months? OR YEARS???…. who knows…. Those deft hands lay discomposed… the threads and the fabric alongside…… And when he finally woke up… he had in his hands, ‘The Garden!’ itself…

He had absorbed it and passed it on in his numbness to the white of the snow like shawl …. The soft Pashmina was indeed a garden of spring now… Radiant & ravishing, with its meandering creepers and gardens of blooming flora along the way…. At its completion however, the man was a bag of mixed feelings…. he did not know whether to love its presence in his hands or to hate its absence around him…. Out of the dream, he thought he had a bigger challenge in front of him now….

“How would I ever find a woman for a garb like this….”

Discombobulated, he rushed to his shop…. and straight to his private chamber… where the broken kingdom lay submerged… only deeper in a layer of dust. This probably was the only time he remembered time ever. Possessed by his previous thoughts he promptly brushed away some broken limbs and heads to make a clear space… Picked up a broken figure and started fixing it…. The doll was ready!… but it was still. Pouring juices of life from his shelf…. one by one, with his impatient patience…. he surely did not measure…and which yellow was it ?!?….“Never mind, both are good!”… though he dripped a few drops extra of one than the other… which one….??…. no one know….

Alive! …. and ready to be planted on the meandering pathways…. there it goes….

A sigh of relief, a drop of sweat… left him… and he left the chamber…

Sitting eloquently on his carpeted wooden floor… blowing puffs of smoke in air…

Dhug……..Dhug….dhug…dhugdhugdddhhugggg…dhgdhh….
Eyes staring out from the frames…
pick & drop…. pick & drop…. pick & drop….
woma fo garb… woma fo garb… woma fo garb…
“Hello!” came a voice…
Face luminous like blazing Sun…
“Salaam!”
“You sure have risen for my spring garden….” Said the Almond eyed man…

“Every year vines grow taller & fatter…they cling to every support on their way, suck nutrition from moist soil, sky & sunlight…And Flower! Plentitudously masculine, for the pain of bearing fruits is great…& it’s not everyone’s cup of tea.
The towering vinelike egos are clipped at the nip
Then they shoot sideways and are born females heavy hipped
It’s time for spring gala….
Heart-whole this bug goes around singing love notes oooo la la….
Men are no priests but they shrive and women shiver
The petals close and their heavy bottoms quiver
Flower becomes a fruit and grows bigger
First green then they begin to color

Yellow, orange, brown, spotted… some wild, some sober
Fellow beings are invited to sing and dance together
They make merry and pluck our children
Leaving the umbilical chord bleeding for ever
The gala is no less than an illusion
It’s a spring in odd time and without any reason
They often miss the center of this musical ringing
For their deaf ears can only hear their own singing
Calliopean! Calliopean! Calliopean!
Let them go… if weather stays clement we shall be again offspringing… ”
Gourd fairy turned to the classroom of wide eyed gourd children as she finished telling them the story of Gourd Gala….While the entire farm looked amused hearing the bright prospectus of their future… Tara… sitting quietly in a corner did not look very pleased… Her head was shrooming with questions…. “What if I don’t want to attend this party and want to know instead… what happens to everything outside of the Gourd city…”
Pale she looked…. a frail child…. barely fed and questions she was raising were too heavy for her own bearing…
“Sparkling windows of magic twinkle in time…. if you manage to peep through once as they shine…. you are freed for ever…. from the cycles of hard and soft, day and night, good and bad… and you shine for ever in eternity… A shining star you become…. Tara!”

“How do I peep in then?”
The fairy with a vulpine smile turned away….
“O child… O child… O sweet child o’mine
You have to LIGHT UP! and shed your carry on
The mud of old, the air of new
And the tiny viny tendrils you cling to
Carry only the essence of you
And see how fast you move
Innocent flowers like you have leapt miles on the golden map of boundaries
Rendering the lines dull every-time they crossed these
Only essence! Only essence! Only essence!

The Gourds traveled the Americans, the Europeans and now the Indians
Mixing leads to a delightful variety
Pumpkins, bottle… bitter gourds and the exotic Zucchini
For what is in micro is in the macro
Take these and SHIVOO on the flying shoe… ”

To quench her curiosity she left the Gourd city… Her stop over was the fellow being’s workshop…. where she saw her fat bubbly kins stacked over the shed and some in works… Highly manipulated… some beautified, some filled with fire, some purely functional and some objects of desire…. She heard him say “These are new and it takes me a while to fathom their unique hue. They often carry the essence of what it is that they would like to become and so I work to shape them…. but being an aginner, I prefer the alternate plan…. It gives my designs an edge over the other and helps me sell better”….

Ornately punctured, stunningly truncated, denotively etched with forms and symbols…. they all stood for something…. something of his own… and he protected them as his belongings…

He toiled, sweated, burnt himself before he burnt a mark on them. After nine months of waiting… two months of drying, washing, skinning and shining …. then working on them with his drills and knives…. Tools of a smith!…. etching on them his marks…. he calls them his own….. Some he hangs from the ceiling of his room… And at night… they appear… the sparkling windows of magic…. all at once…. in all forms….

The workshop becomes a luciferous galaxy of stars….
And some were just kept intact and left to dry…. the seeds inside, he said… rattle and put his children to sleep…
She flies higher as she ponders over her recent discoveries…. “Though happy to see her kins meeting their desired destiny …. neither the Gourd Gala nor the fellow being’s workshop…. but to make a new family, I want to fly to another country…. ”

Free from the lines of good and bad… As she LIT UP! and shed her carry-ons… The fairy’s voice echoed in the canyon….
“ELATE!!!…. Pufff your orange selves up…. Your Gourd Gowns in the fresh air…. It’s spring without spring…. Again!… Spring of the internal blooms…. And I’ll freeze you…. Right There!…. in the moment of your happiest selves…. Capture in eternity…. your best elation…. for it’s only happiness that should echo…. only spring that I want to see….”

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Information by : Shivani Parmar, Ibtisam Zareen, Hartagna Pandya, Disha Agarwal, Deepika Verma

As the sun rises, the valley spreads like an enormous exquisitely patterned carpet… unrolling gently along the hillside like a million dewdrops… glittering at the edge of the rippling streams cascading from a natural spring… Chatoyant! are the colors of its days, its seasons, of its people and of the silk with which they weave their inner gardens to manifestation…. and how can anyone then put their finger on one…. and own one… The owners of such gardens must take custody of not a carpet, not a pattern, not a few definitive colors… but a frame within which anything is possible…. and everything is transitory….

And so every carpet is indeed magical in itself…

Behind the translucent veil knotting fine silk strands into even finer knots, an array of Asami (weavers) sit with their knees up facing the Waan (Loom)correctly in their positions in the warmingly homelike design of the workshop. They weave…. Gardens….! as their Wasta leads them with his singing… Mumbling to infinity, he speaks to no one in particular and yet he sings for everyone…. his Talim…. at times from a piece of paper and at times from the scroll of his memory…. only to be interrupted by the unexpected fusillade of stories fitting themselves in-between… and it’s time for everyone to break for a little clambake…. some bread, some Nun Chai…. some Tamokh Jajeer...

“Like many a splendor trees that dot the landscape, a mulberry tree manifests as the tree-of-life convivially sharing with the little wiggly larva its leaves… so it can weave itself a fine cocoon, to grow itself a pair of wings, soft yet strong enough to carry it to many flowers… but does it know that the cocoon it made will be transformed into something as beautiful as itself…into a new life… The transformation of silk worm into a moth or its cocoon into one of the finest carpets is a remarkable journey…. and we all are watching it everyday… ”

“As it is known, the technique of pile carpets came to India from Persia around a thousand years back, but it was us who made it more exquisite. Of all the crafts representative of Indian craftsmen taking unfamiliar skills and honing them to perfection, this stands as a pioneer….”
“It is a trade that Kashmir is know world over for, other than that of Pashmina shawls …”

“Karkhanas for various crafts were established by Zain-ul-Abadin in Kashmir; to make it an industry to generate employment and trade. These established streamlined processes and enhanced skills. Each would employ hundreds of Tsats (artisans) and Shagirds (apprentices) lead by a master. ”
“Kalbaff…. you and me!…. And this… Kal-baffi!…. from Persia….”

Nodding their heads in agreement to their common origin they made their way back to their original positions…

The layout is the imagery of a Persian garden… changing through pre-Islamic times to the geometric Mughal gardens in India between 16th and 18th centuries…. they come together….. The gardens….. on paper and on ground leading to Muntan, the central garden, enclosed within a handsome stepped garden wall, the Aund… The garden within could further be divided into quarters along its axis, the Adwar…. or could just be left as a single court….

An elaborate Aund may incorporate as many as seven layers and is then called Satlat. A single colored strip running along the periphery frames the entire layout. As soon as we break into it, we find ourselves on the first step…. too narrow… it challenges to balance on a single foot and yet invites us with its simple motifs and complimentary colors… we name it Jeerā…. and step further… The second step is a surprise… colors stand out and may even speak in disagreement…. and are accommodated but within a little wider strip called Kengri. As we proceed to the third step in reflection… Jeerā… we learn how contrast looks beautiful within harmony…. The fourth and the widest step is called Hashi. We are already half way through to our garden of dreams… and here we see our efforts blooming… a leisurely park where contrast and harmony make merry together… more than ever before but less than what is to follow… it is a rest in journey, an inkling in time… this is after which we get up and march the jeerā-kengri-jeerā again….

We arrive at the much revered and awaited garden…. as it reveals what lies in the heart of the lover … could it be an ethereal Tree of life…. or a baroque Mehrab… or a Vase full of flowers… or the Floral Medallion….

Here in this carpet lives an ever lovely spring
Unscorched by summer’s ardent flame,
Safe too from autumn’s boisterous gales,
Is gaily blooming still,
The handsome wide border is the garden wall
Protecting, preserving the park within
For refuge and renewal: a magic space
For concourse, music and rejoicing,
For contemplation’s lonely spell –
Conversations grave or lover’s shy disclosure…
From all these perils here at last set free,
In the garden all find security…
The beloved’s face at last we see,
And there attain our journey’s end,
Our life’s reward and final Destiny –
Refuge and fulfillment in His Infinity.

” Akbar was a liberal king…. his love of the place and its people is the reason why we could incorporate new forms and arrangements of ornamentation… ”

“Like these vibrant flowers and birds… the carpet is a true representation of the vale of Kashmir… the paradise itself…”

“Right from processing raw silk to final trimming and washing of a carpet is like tending to a garden…. Isn’t it?…. A garden that finally adorns a home and bring the garden inside of a proud owner out….”

Naaqashi draws out the design on a square grid of graph paper where each square is divided into 25 sub units, each representing one knot and corresponding colors marked on the design. Then a Wasta or Talim Guru prepares the Talim from the graph paper into rolls of written codes, which translate into a sequence of colored symbols for each knot. These strips of coded colors are called Talim. There are as many as 200 to 800 strips or more depending on the size, motifs and colors used in one particular design.

Translating a design into a Talim calls for care and experience as it takes 6-12 months for many weavers to complete a single carpet and a simple flaw in the Talim would make the carpet of no value. This makes the art of writing Talim a specialized practice and forms the foundation of the carpet industry. It is interesting to know that this practice was derived from traditional Talims used for making Kani shawls… when the shawl weavers turned to carpet weaving, they continued the practice …
The finest carpets of Kashmir are made of silk warp and pile; this allows higher count of knots per inch, that brings in a higher resolution of the pattern and demands for deft weavers who can achieve this. For patterns with low resolution the warp is made of cotton and the pile is knotted with silk or wool.

The pile of a carpet is brought to life with interplay of infinite reflections as the light metamorphoses through the day… Kashmiri carpets are know for their wealth of colors and shades…. and the scenic splendor of the land is a perennial source of inspiration…the colors are subtle and the motifs are defined….

Colors used to dye the silk and wool yarn have traditionally been extracted from these natural splendors, like saffron crocus for pure yellow, the madder root for red and pinks, turmeric for shades of red, the rhubarb plant for dark red and copper red, green from the grass – kusa and kikar leaves for brown and many more…

Tools used in making a carpet are minimal. The loom is composed of two horizontal beams, between which the warp threads are stretched, one beam in front of the weaver and the second behind the first. The tools used include a beautiful spiral blade called Khur, used to make a cut once the thread is knotted, a wood or a metal comb called Panja, to push the knots together, a pair of scissors to cut the carpet to an even form once it is finished.

Responding in singing…. to indicate the execution of the command…. the weavers after every few inches of knotting beat down the knots & the weft together with a Punja. The carpet keeps rolling over the lower beam of the loom and the Talim keeps rising up along the warp, where it is held to be read for the next few lines…the singing continues into the dusk… till Sun guides them to their nests for the rest of the day…
……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

‘Ode to Garden Carpet’
Poem by – Unknown sufi poet (c. AD 1500)

And the story begins in the womb of a snow clad valley…. where winters are severe, and making of wool cloth a practice from time immemorial… Reposed within, women of the household keep spinning Pashm into fine yarn…. fingers tending to the susceptibility of its gossamer fineness… it is a true celebration of seasons, warmth within algid winters… the pleasure of living in a humble mud and straw textured abode…. where, sunlight plays soft music on walls… Kashmir is but in these divine tender feelings, seeking out greatness in humility…

“…a country where the sun shines mildly….. learning, saffron, icy cool waters and grapes rare in heaven, are plentiful here – Kailash is the best place in the three worlds. Himalayas is the best place in the Kailash and Kashmir the best place in the Himalayas.”
– Kalhana on Kashmir
Pashmina weaving is to Kashmir what Art is to Man… inseparable and ever flowing…. and in that perennial river of musical notes… some stand out more beautifully than the other…. And then there are symphonies!…. Timeless and desirable, irrespective of influences, fashions and trends that are transient…. defying the impermanence of beauty… Kani weaving is that masterpiece in the realm of Pashmina…
Much like any other masterpiece born out of observing time…. this too appears as a result of counting seconds in strings of warp and weft…. crossing over again… and again….and again….

And time emerging as a surface overlap after overlap…. until someone desired for every second of life to be colorful… every overlap to be a new color… and every emerging pattern to be organic…. breaking the rigidity of lesser conceptions of geometry…. in an utter state of yearning to mirror the essence of its country…. of its belonging… of that Kashmir sitting like a little girl in the lap of her mother…. Kailash… ingesting wisdom from her singing…

“A second, a second, a second
and another
A cross, a cross, a cross
yet another
I exist in these overlaps forever
Not in years, months, days or minutes altogether
Six Red, two pink, eight blue
and another
Six Red, two pink, eight blue
yet another
I exist in this symphony forever
Not in pink, red, blue or any other hue altogether
A petal, a vein, a thorn
and another
A bud, a bulb, a bloom
yet another
I exist in the essence forever
Not in an insect, a being or flora altogether
A rose, a leaf, a branch
and another
A bee, a bug, a bird
yet another
I exist in these gardens forever
Not at a spot, tip-toeing from one to the other”

Though, protected by a ring of high mountains, the valley has witnessed its own vulnerability to the outside world… several times over…. only to emerge stronger and better… She springs to life in time…. bustling with excitement as she hears them call her name…. to play all day long…. till the sun sets, to walk hand in hand with the rest of the world, to weave in the fabric of time motifs of joy… just as exclusively as her mother weaves them into those Kani shawls… and those shawls into stories that wrap her warm and wade away all the fears of vulnerability…
“Pashmina shawls of Kashmir come in various forms and types; Alwan is a plain un-dyed shawl woven in twill with the lozenge-shaped pattern….”
“Just like chashm-i-bulbul (eye of a bulbul). “
“Yes! And with hundreds of chashm-i-bulbul on it, it drapes more softly than a plain-woven fabric… “
“…. and how are they made….?!”

“The threads of the warp are arranged on the loom such that the weft thread passes over two, under two, pairing the adjacent warp threads in one unit from another…. as it progresses…. it creates a fine diagonal pattern…. a notable diagonal rib in our shawls… “
“Just like the air-planes that always cross the frame of our window diagonally….” her eyes shining wide…
In agreement with a sweet smile on her lips, mother continues “it also makes it easier to count the threads in pairs for each insertion rather than single threads…. I like it…. because it renders our shawls unique….” “But a single mistake can also have a rippling effect on the whole design…making it of no use! “
“Of no use!… is of all the use to us. The Pheran you stitched me, you said was from the shawl that went wrong…. no one has the same Pheran… on the whole planet… all my friends drool over it… and the roses you made with the needle and thread… are my favorite… “

“And so…. there is the Amlikar, the work of embroidery done on a shawl… by an artisan in entirety…. Stories say that in old times, Kani shawls were large and were made in parts on different looms, as it was a challenge to make a symmetrically perfect one-piece shawl on a single loom. The borders were made separately or the shawl was made in two halfs or four quarters and these pieces where seamlessly put together with needle and thread work by a Rafugar… until in early 1800, an enterprising Rafugar developed this technique to imitate a Kani shawl using a plain Alwan shawl as base. Over a period of time Amlikar as a technique evolved to stand on its own and created its own style of motifs and patterns different from Kani. We know them today as Sozani shawls…”
After a long journey, on its arrival from the high plateaus of Changthang, Ladakh; this raw sheep wool is no more than a soiled mass mixed with coarse hair and dirt from the animals’ outer coat. To transform this unpromising material into a fabric of super finesse, embellished deftly with patterns as delicate as the flowers they recall takes all the imagination and skill of Kashmir’s spinners, dyers, designers, weavers and embroiders together.
Mother gets herself busy in crafting as she watches her carefully…
Separating every fine hair from the coarse hair individually by hand, and then rubbing small pads of pashm with damp rice-flour to remove the natural oils and other impurities. Then combing it straight… like she combs her lush locks before braiding them into fine plaits… She then sits to spin the fiber on a spinning wheel…

“…into a yarn finer than those of the lotus stem… “ She recalls from the tender hair of delicious Nadur Yakhni she loves testing ductility of…
“Before one starts to weave a Kani shawl the design or the pattern has to be made. It is given to a Naaqash to draw a pattern… Then it goes to the Tarah-guru or color-caller, who decides on the color combination and calculates the amount of yarn required in each shade before he sends it further for dyeing. “
“Dyeing is a hereditary craft held secretively within the family…. a sine qua non, for the production of these stunningly patterned textiles. The dye ingredients are all organic except for black… the chief onces being Indigo for shades of blue, lac and kermes both derived from insects for reds, yellow from saffron and many others… “
After she fixes the warp onto the loom, Tarah-guru is called again to correlate the design with the warp-threads…

“They have to be covered by colorful wefts in each line…. precisely!”
At his dictation, the Talim-guru transcripts it down into a coded script – “Talim” This method of recording an intricate pattern into coded colors onto a thin strip of paper is an arcane practice unique to Kashmir’s Kani shawls and carpet making.

She inserts the weft between the warp threads, not by a shuttle, but by a series of bobbins loaded with yarn of various colors… also seen on the design sheet.
“This double-interlock technique in which the classic shawls of Kashmir are woven is know as Kanyekaar”
“Why is it called Kanyekaar…?”
“Kané…. Tillé… Tujjé…. essentially a twig with yarn wound around… become the eyeless bobbins to insert the discontinuous wefts…. and therefore after the name of its prime tool…. it is called Kanyekaar… or Tillekaar… or Tujjekaar…. “
One line of weft has hundreds of these insertions of colors depending on the complexity of the pattern. These weft-threads make loops around each other in successive rows, creating a firm and permanent joint, giving a clear boundary of the color-change on the visible right side of the fabric. It leaves a minute nub where two colors meet creating a ridge on the bottom or the wrong side.

“This nub can be eliminated with a single-interlock joint, creating a surface with no wrong side at all... And we will have a very delicate double sided Dorukha!”
“A shawl usable from both sides..?!”
“Indeed… a very rare kind…”

Talim-guru directs the weavers by calling out instruction from Talim…

“(lift) 6 (pairs of warp-threads) (and insert) red; six blue, four pink, two black”
Singing it aloud to many looms to weave multiple shawls at the same time…

“Six red, two pink, eight blue… Six red, two pink, eight blue…
Eight red, two pink, six blue…. eight red, two pink, six blue….
Four red, 4 pink, six blue… Four red, 4 pink, six blue…”
And it goes on and on…. For a rose to bloom onto the warp… And goes on for months for the garden to spring…

…………………………………………………………………..

Pattu, a tweed-like fabric made traditionally
Pheran, a unisex garb worn during winter to ward off the chill tailored out of Pattu…
Chadar or Loi, a blanket made of Pattu, which is very rare to find today….
The Chadars bore narrow, color-patterned borders known as Zanjeer (chain), woven as an embellishment in contrast to the un-dyed grey of the rest of the Loi. The border was made using small bobbins each carrying a different color…. the only difference to the shawl was it did not use double interlock between two colored threads… patterns formed were invariably geometric involving diagonals.
Amlikar…. meaning; ‘worked’ by a single artisan to create brocade or embroidered shawls…
The origins of this distinctive technique of Kashmir shawl weaving has been speculated as it bears little connection to any Indian textiles, but has an exceptional resemblance to Termeh of Iran in its use of twill weave. But evidence is scarce and it might have rather been exported to Iran from Kashmir, as quoted by scholars…
The basic process of manufacturing a Kani shawl has changed little since William Moorcroft documented them in 1823.

Mask, a noun suggesting something put on to change or hide identity, to get out of ones or into another character… may or may not be worn…. Wearable masks range from material covers to expressions that we wear all the time and keep changing frequently…

Five year old Setu was making rounds in the courtyard with hands held on top of his head like antelopes and mouth round, puckered sticking out. Galloping, he was difficult to tell apart from a fawn… was it the excitement of a deer upon discovering its ability to jump and run or of a kid enacting an animal at play…Entertaining… it was, for the onlookers… whose attention had been completely captured… leaving them mesmerized and smiling, out of their otherwise tedious routeins…

Mostly busy in agricultural activities people of the village have fewer means of entertainment. After harvesting as they get comparatively free in the evening, they meet up in open grounds called the Akhada or Temple courtyards for performances or general chit chats. A group of enthusiasts can be seen practicing dance under the guidance of their Guru. After it is learnt properly, they will have to perform it publicly, usually near the Shiva temple… in the month of Chaitra. And Setu’s natural drive to get into characters had caught Guruji’s eye… at such a tender age, he had asked his parents to give him under his training. Known for his strick disciplinary conduct, his proposal seemed promising to the parents…. and he too did not really wait much for their approval.

“Setu might have been born out of them but he belongs to me.” He would often say to all those who asked him about his custody of the boy. He was to him the relief of an unexpected shower on a burning tropical summer afternoon and the test of walking bare foot in the same when there is no hope of any relief in far sight. Often telling him stories of the dance he was teaching him, he would say:

“Chhau is a dance of wars and has steps resembling a martial art performance. It has the merits of ‘Nritta’ or nature of ‘Tandav’ as described in the ‘Natyashastra’ of Bharat. The forms have also evolved according to the regional characteristics. As a result there are two other styles from the original style of Seraikella Chhau Dance : Mayurbhanj style and Purulia style.

Widespread in the areas of Jharkhand, Orissa and West Bengal, it has been enriched with classical elements and techniques over a long period of time. The dance has always kept its relevance to the masses at its centre and so it kept evolving and changing as a perennial stream over so many centuries. What has kept the masses interested is that the stories of Chhau dance are not only taken from Ramayana, Mahabharata and Purana, but it has included themes that are more relevant and reflective of our lives… like the agricultural life, social problems, natural beauty that surrounds us, historical facts, national spirit, Sanskrit poetry and other important subjects.

Different views are found regarding the nomenclature of the Chhau dance. Some people say that the name Chhau is derived from the word ‘Chhauni’ meaning a military camp where the dance evolved from the martial art. They believed that this folk dance was performed to entertain the Oriya warriors inside the camps and has spread gradually from there. While in Bangal, the word ‘Chhau’ ordinarily means a mask and because the dance is performed by use of mask, it is called ‘Chhau dance’.”

“However, one has to pass through different stages of training to learn all aspects of the dance… so, let’s begin!…
‘Chhawk’ is Four Corners. It is the first stage of training. In this stage of training one has to pose in a square form by standing on two legs.
‘Dharana’ is the second stage of learning. In this stage one learns the basic techniques and positions of holding a sword shield and keep walking. The remaining positions are almost same as the Chhawk.
‘Tobka’, the third stage means stylized movements. In Seraikella and Purulia Chhau it is known as ‘Chhalli’. On the basis of the techniques of walking this Tobka is further divided into six sub-types namely- Sada Tobka, Lohra Tobka, Duba Tobka, Uska Tobka, Dhew Tobka and Muda Tobka.”

“How is it that we never say anything or sing anything while practicing…?” asked Setu.
“The story contained in each number is not narrated in words but depicted only through dance movements. Therefore, it is essentially a form of non-verbal theatre, in which actors express themselves only through movements.”
“Chhau is a dialect which means six faces viz., forehead, eyes, nose, cheeks, lips & chin and a mask bears the six parts of the face. Masks traditionally used for Chau dance depict Durga, Ganesh and various mythological characters.”
“And also animals & birds like peacock, tiger, monkey, lion etc… Which one would you like to play? ” He asked knowing his affinity towards them…
“All… ” came a quick response.

“Well! Let’s see how hard you practice then…” with the essential instruments playing in the background he begining his instructions….
“Percussion is both powerful and dominating because the expression in movement is governed primarily by percussive music… Focus on your expressions while you get the steps right…”
Hours of practicing would leave their muscles paining and they would straight head to the river for a dip… While everyone else went back home, Setu only got back for some more stories… Guruji was an ocean of them. They never seemed to have an end…

“To perform a dance many people play their role; there are dancers, music players, costume makers and mask makers. However, masks are the main attraction of the dance and artisans developed them with unique charters and styles.”
“But Guruji, I never needed one when I became a Deer or a Rabbit or a Lion….”
“… the audience needs to see it on you in order to appreciate the Deer, the Rabbit, the Lion inside you… a performer lives a duel life, one on the stage and one off it. It takes a lot of time for the audience to accept both as one and therefore so much time for the artist to live as one… An artist then becomes a bridge between the two worlds… The world of eternal beauty that wants to speak and the worl it wants to speak to… Setu!” He smiles….
“How are they made?”

“And so, the artisans use local material to make these masks…First a clay model for the mask is made and dried in direct sunlight to make it hard. It is then covered with powdered ash and layers of paper moistened with gum are pasted on this powdered mask. It is again covered with clay then. On drying, fabric pieces are pasted on it effectively. The mask is then polished. Once dried, the first layer of earth is removed by buffing. Then the first coat of white paint is applied.

Finally, the mask is coloured and decorated with embellishments according to the character it represents. Wool, jute, foil, bamboo sticks, plastic flowers and beads are used for ornamentation. All the members of a family are involved in its making. The youngsters of the family are also engaged… Artisans have also improvised dance accessories as art pieces…”

“And what are these small faces for…. they don’t even fit on my face?”
“Other than masks for Chau Dance, these mask makers also make small decorative masks as souvenirs…. rich with varied colour of characters including Gods, animals and abstract ideas….as gifts…”
And Guruji’s long stories would put Setu to sleep…
Apart from wearing a mask a character can be worn by getting ourselves rid of certain elements… for instance, getting rid of ones accepted appearence by not wearing a bindi, which one has worn for long as a symbol of her marriage, or a ring …. or when a Sikh gets rid of his turban, or a Muslim of his beard… the quetion is whether they were wearing a mask so far or are they wearing it now after removing their socially identifying features… What is our true character… the one we have been living so far or the one we feel like at the moment… will decide which one is a mask and which one the real person… in Setu’s world, he is more of a deer, a swan, a lion, a butterfly, a fish, rain, cloud, soil, tree, the wind… than he is like other’s around him…

Information and Images by- http://ruralcrafthub.com

Myriad are the terrains of this surface… patterned across the span by its local, to tell tales of their patch…. Do they weave flora on it, or dig minerals from deep within, is it to live through the harsh rocky mountains… surviving the subzero climates to emerge with the rising summer sun and melting glaciers…. white as flakes, soft as the undercoat of the goat dotting their clear blue skies… Or imitating the lush tropical forests offering not just their silhouettes but also colours to fill them….

And as we touch the shores, waves recede to bare naked the rocks beneath… they have taken forms over centuries… of curves that fascinated life and carried in their crevices cradles to comfort their fragility… for years… they have shone like gold and silver on the towering temples and palaces… all tiny mirrors of that world within, human ambition needles in and out of…the terrain of this fabric…

A stretch of five yards and a half draped around me… speaks to me of the times, terrains, of people and their aspirations across this patch of earth on the planet… Saree… one of the most common form of Indian clothing, worn by women of city and village, of generations previous and new alike…. is a canvas that allows flavours of individuality to blossom… across the subcontinent…

Going back in time, the garments worn in Vedic period mainly included a single cloth wrapped around the whole body and draped over shoulders for reasons aesthetic and functional. Victorian era saw Bengal take up to covering torso with blouses for the first time. Women not wearing blouses under their saris did not suit Victorian society, which had its own ideas of propriety and blouses increasingly became a norm. The term ‘blouse’ and ‘petticoat’, both of English origin made a leap into the Indian vocabulary in this era.

Bengal has always been known as a center for fine cotton weaving, be it in the Roman empire Mosul (Iraq), where European traders are said to have first encountered the cloth. Although this view has the fabric named after the city where Europeans first encountered it (Mosul), the fabric is believed to have originated in Dhakeshwari in Bengal. Bengali muslin was traded throughout the Muslim world… from the Middle East to Southeast Asia…. and far…

Even today Bengal is famous for its weaving tradition…. many small towns and villages like Fulia, Baluchari, Begampur, Atpur are keeping this culture alive. Begampur is a small town famous for its saree weaving in Hooghly district, these sarees can be identified by their loosely woven, light-weight and translucent made and have contrasting borders in red, black, purple, orange etc. These are also emphasized by a serrated edge motif. Narrow borders are woven with designs of a variety of stripes and figured motifs using dyed cotton yarn on the weft.

Cotton sarees are locally known as ‘Matapar’ sarees, which means they have simple borders without any ornamentation and are woven with coarser cotton yarn. They come mainly in colored stripes and check patterns, with designs in the border.

The process of making a saree starts with procuring of cotton threads. Bundles of cotton threads are bought from the factory or local market. The starch used for sizing is mainly sage, arrowroot, rice or wheat. They are first washed to remove any chemicals. After a couple of washes, on the bases of colour and design, the yarn is dipped in boiling coloured water for dyeing. Threads are wound on bamboo drums to feed them into the loom for weaving. Today, sectional warping machines are used for warping and are replacing the age old street warping practice. Weavers use a pit loom or frame loom for weaving Begampuri saree with extra warp of 2/100s or 2/80s cotton yarn.

Every saree is characterised by the design on its Border, Pallav and Body. The simplest of these sarees take about 10-12 hours to weave. More intricate designs could even take 5-6 days to complete.

For a long time handloom weavers of the region were making only ‘Matapar’ saris. In the cluster interventions by government and local organisations, weavers were given training’s in designing, dyeing, preparatory processes like drum warping, sizing etc. This resulted in opening their imagination to producing newer varieties. Attention to producing quality cotton sarees by adopting new techniques and modifications is a priority in the making process now.

Images by ~ Begampur Handloom Cluster Society

“Here’s a mountain we climbed, where a burnished pathway leads to nowhere but oneself… here’s a river we crossed and pitched our tent next to, where its rhythm cradled us into dreams and an awakening to the beginning of another… here’s a place we have found where worldly words have no meaning… here’s a desert we have seen, where the secrets of this life is no more a mirage but a flaunting coruscating sky that unfolds onto you…”

 “In dreams…. You mean…” she uttered with boredom written all over her.

“Here is a place where only silence seems to endure… And here they live in harmony, the north people – The Changpa… And through the distant chiseled edges as morning Sun beams a shaft onto the smoke drifting out of a shell… signaling an invite… here we are…”

“…Left to graze and gaze infinitely… And we have visitors visiting us today!”

Their roaring wheels scramble over the loose sand and stones, leaving a trail, they wave cheerfully to a herd of goats dotting the only significant green patch in sight.

“I wonder what they are so excited about… have they never seen a goat before, or grass or a grazing goat…”

“There will always be something left unseen here even if they might have seen it all… don’t you know the kaleidoscope this land is…” he says with a smirk.

“They envy unknown and yet they look for it.”

“To possibly convert it…. Into known…! Or what they think is known now.”

“… for only if they knew how consistently still it is to be here… they might not seek anymore… these whiffler souls are craving for stillness while I am rotting here waiting for the moon to rise from a new direction someday… the sun to shine a beautiful pink for a change… or this snow! … this… this goddamn snow, to fall a little lesser… or even if it has to pour in hell loads…. And if it cannot not make relics out of us every year… to at least do it colorfully…Tch!” she sulks.

 “Only a goat left to graze and gaze can say so… others have things to immerse themselves in….  And to bring you thrill… here she comes! Get ready for some humanly affection, some unnecessary combing and then… of-course… A shave!”

From the dark shell with its opening facing the rising sun, emerges a lady with burning incense filling the air. Warmly clad in a red cloak and a shawl holding a newborn to her back, she offers holy smoke to the consecrated animals in the corral, reciting prayers… looking beautiful in her headdress and Pabu.

She greets and invites the visitors for a cup of Gur-Gur, “Julley!” While relishing this hot cup of salty buttery tea, she rhythmically shakes a goat skin bag on her lap churning the butter inside… Offering a handful of Tsampa from her bowl she signals to mix it with Gur-Gur. In return they offer her some energy bars from the bag, she smiles and softly says “Juley!” This time it meant Thank you! She calls out Cho-Cho & No-No, her children engrossed in play in the dust with a new born foal… and hands over the bars to them… Excited and full of life they run back into their own world of play…

No more strangers to this bare landscape they are, at an altitude where the air barely grips onto the mountain peaks… at 4500 meters altitude, this is Changtang! One of the most extreme inhabited places on the planet, held daintily between the snow cloaked mountains…

“Some float and glide across the vast expanse of silent emptiness. The land absorbs their madness and lets them move through her simmering nakedness…. its home for them…”

Image ~ Looms of Ladakh Women Cooperative

Nomads traverse through the vast barren emptiness, flocking their livestock for pastures that cannot be cultivated and for hundreds of years Changpa tribes have carefully worked out a process of rotating pastures to prevent overgrazing. To find new food for their flock they move to fresh locations every month or so, but along a known path… While men are away with their goats, sheep and yaks… women and children take over camp activities…

“Untouched by her mystical language some keep moving… at times also wondering why they ever came… traders to barter barley for mountain riches, many of them tend to lose their way in the mountain maze. ”

The camps are sprinkled with corrals and Rebo, with shafts of puffing chimney… Brightly colored prayer flags adorn the roofs of each Rebo. Women spend their days outside… weaving, spinning, churning butter and washing clothes by the stream…

Some nursing infants, chatting with neighbors… Children play, dogs sleep… Old men spin prayer wheels, chanting prayer, make rope mended bridles or shoe their horses… Women with willow baskets on their backs collect dried dung to smolder pots of barley, Chang and yogurt or bake small loaves of bread… Riders are constantly approaching or leaving the encampment, some leading young foals or Yak calves… while goats and sheep dot the nearby mountain slopes grazing the fragile greens…

The Changpas of Ladakh consist of four tribes further divided into fourteen groups, with an average of 130 families per group. The four tribes are the Kharnakpas, the Rupshupas, the Korzokpas and the Anghoams, all traversing in their defined territories. All of Changpas’ lives and livelihood revolves around their livestock and they believe them to be sacred beings bestowed upon them by the gods. Changpas see themselves simply as Tibetan Buddhists; their beliefs seem to incorporate many forms and shades of Buddhism and they visibly travel on a different spiritual plane, but still, Buddhism practiced by the nomads has a duality to allow its followers both; to believe in inner spiritual way of living and to fear a vengeful god if one strays… maybe their nomadic way of life demands so. With each family owning over 200 of livestock they need a certain kind of order.

The best animals are dedicated to particular gods. These chosen sheep, goats, yaks, Dimos and horses have to be a particular color, well proportioned, strong and in good health. These animals are regarded as auspicious and are exempted from hard work, kept clean and fed well and are not to be killed or sold for meat.

“From within the ancient monasteries clinging on to the mountain edges, timeless silence hums through this living land, towering mountains, gliding across barren deserts, flooding hidden valleys… Everything everywhere is mystically wrapped in absolute stillness… Like an invisible spirit the pristine cobalt-blue canopy seamlessly mirrors onto the endless lakes, cascading onto the eternal quite of this lonely landscape…”

“…the occasional but assured fringes of white clouds… playing hide and seek with light on the beige canvas of these mountains… are the visitors…”

“This pristine silence flows past the dark storms within one…”

“…and the play brings out the child within…”

In the morning, after the sheep and goats have been taken into mountains to graze, women gather in groups of three or four outside, in the windbreak of the stone ring corrals, with hot cups of Gur-Gur and balls of yarn, weaving and socializing…

Weaving and its related tasks are what keep almost all the tribes’ men occupied… children included…. Women with good weaving skills apart from winning respect from their peer also get many suitors as husbands. Weaving runs deep into the Changpa social fabric and literally defines a woman’s status.

Summer is when the wool is sheared, as they say the hair rises above the surface of their skin and is no longer a winter coat tightly gripping their body. A ceremony is held to begin the process and fleece is sheared in parts, to allow the animal adjust to the climate comfortably. After shearing, the wool is beaten repeatedly with a narrow stick, which softens and fluffs up the fibers, after cleaning of dirt and debris it is spun using a small portable drop spindle. This natural fiber is used to make Rebo, Namboo, Patu, floor covers, caps, socks, saddles, bags and blankets.

Women sit on the ground to use their back harness looms. To keep the warp under tension they push their back and legs against a large planted rock. The loom gives hard work to the body but has an advantage of being portable. Although each gender works only on their defined specialty, either male or female ably handle the tailoring and final stitching of the material into a finished product.

Only men weave Rebo using a fixed-heddle loom and it takes two men a year to make one. The coarse outer yak hair in a wide variety of dark shades is accumulated. Most of the hair is dark brown but varies from charcoal to raw umber to deep sepia to rich mocha. The hair is sheared, washed, beaten, spun and twisted and then woven coarsely, tailored and assembled by the way of stitching thin panels together. Tough woven ropes are braided using Yak hair and then sewn into the fabric at specific spots to allow pulling of tent’s slant walls.

Men always weave their own saddle, blankets and bags. For they only use light, natural fiber from goat together with the dark fiber from Yak. Each man in the tribe has his own individual design pattern that he weaves into all of his blankets and saddlebags. Like a barcode, it is woven in a series of dark and light bands of varying widths. Each Changpa parent passes their particular design down to their eldest son or daughter, who in turn passes the design on to the next generation. Thereafter the father has to come up with a new woven design for his blankets and bags, which is a variation of the original.

Women are the exclusive weavers of nomad clothing and woven fabric is usually dyed red or a shade of maroon. Women, regardless of age, are never seen in undyed clothes. The most constant aspect of Changpa clothing is their long maroon robe called the Goncha. It is worn by both women and men and is accompanied by a colorful sash tied around their waist. The woman’s robe flares below the waist with small pleats. Another distinctive part of women clothing is a blanket worn around the shoulders, like a cape. It is called a Yogar and is made from sheepskin worn with the wool side next to the body. The outer side is usually covered with a green fabric and accented with bold blocks of red. The Yogar was designed to give the wearer warmth, cushioning for the back from the weight of heavy loads and a carrying pouch for babies.

Image ~ Looms of Ladakh Women Cooperative

One characteristic ritual they follow is to dress up their best as they get ready to shift their base form one place to the other…. At least the headdress and the shoes, if not the best of their Gonchas…

“First the goats, sheep and yak, followed by women and children… men at last leading the horses… dogs keep moving in and around, barking at the yaks to keep them walking…the caravan starts before the sun rise and its preparations much before…”

“If one is to see and comprehend the imprints of the encampments left behind… there is an unreality to it… like children at play building toy houses come up with the most simplistically harmonious representations of life, human race mollified by these mighty mountains… that also culture them, tends to live simplistically and harmoniously here…”

“So, that play-village of imagination is not such an unreality after all…”

“Maybe that is what we are doing too, here in Changtang with the nomads – playing our vital role in this toy dorp in balance… with occasional visitors to provide us a glimpse of what it is to live seeking it outside…”

Survival for the Changpa is based on wild vegetation, the sole source of food for their large herds of livestock. Each day is predominantly designed around feeding and caring for their animals round the year. In blistering heat, in blizzards, in freezing temperatures and in driving rain, their daily duty remains the same, to take the family flock of about two hundred animals to distant wild pastures and guide them safely back home.

Goats have rapidly increased in number and in importance to the Changpa. They are regarded as being better able than sheep to adapt to a cold mountain environment, but their increasing status among Changpa has been actually due to increasing demand for Pashm, the soft and silky inner fleece of the Tibetan mountain goat. This increase in demand could also be attributed to the closure of the border between Ladakh and western Tibet, stopping the supplies of  Tibetan Pashm to Kashmir. An approximate number of Pashmina goats kept by the Ladakhi Changpa as of today is about 170,600. The yarn spun from it is called Pashmina. This Pashmina is sold unprocessed to middlemen to be used by the weavers of Kashmir valley.

A good deal of the Changpa economy is cashless, most of what they require is self generated. With so many animals, dairy products are plentiful and enjoyed… They make a lot of soft cheese, which is preserved for winter by drying in the sun. Tsampa and butter tea are the nutritional cornerstones of all the mountain people of Ladakh and also a limited amount of bread and potatoes are a part of their diet. When produce such as barley, rice and sugar are required, they usually barter or trade for it with Pashmina, bulk wool or animals. Larger cash sales occur when butchers come to Changtang to buy quantities of sheep and goats on the hoof. Changpa only sell their animals to control their heard size in order to sustain the resources at their disposal.

The women in the form of jewelry hold much of the portable wealth of a family; their most valuable possession is the Ped-rag, an extremely large and heavy headdress that runs from her forehead down to her mid-back. It is inlaid with large turquoise stones from front to back, lined with silver charms and coral on the edges. It is passed down from mother to eldest daughter at the time of her marriage…

Weddings in Ladakh are an elaborate affair but nomad weddings are a never-ending party with a dense protraction of eating and drinking. Some marriages are planned and arranged as early as two to three years, with many months of planning…  while others are hastily arranged with the word of marriage kept secret for as long as possible to prevent Nama kotches – bride’s kidnapping. The bride-kidnapping marriage is not common but neither is it rare, making it unique to the culture of the land… and the girl in question is in no compulsion to oblige and gets to choose…

“We watch the land dress up for another act, another season, another life…We are changing forever, just so that we remain the same. And love will always be love… No matter what clock you drape her with… No matter what form you seek her in…”

“What season could it be in love.” she asks in her ovine tone.

“…We left behind deserted dunes that were quietly layered with winter’s first snowdrifts… looked deeply into the swirling green waters of the cold river and felt her freezing over… envied the ice that seemed to crawl out through the brown earth and spread across to hug this empty land… it must be time for spring now!”

Inside the threshold of each family Rebo home, regardless of the tribe, lives a complexity of superstitions, rules and protocols. The tent is dived into two spheres by gender, with the stove in the centre of the Rebo. Left is the women’s domain where food, utensils are stored and cooking is done. To the right is the male’s side, where men sit, stored their saddles and riding gear. Males could move between the right and left side, but females rarely ever venture into the right half of the tent… all said and done the Rebo is the nucleus for a Changpa family, stove being the source of heat to keep the place warm. They eat, sleep and socialize sitting or lying on a woven Yak or sheep wool rug around it…

Every day from time immemorial, between wars and invasions, in extreme temperatures and heavy snows, through modernity and encroachments… in thin air and long droughts, nomads and traders have continued to traverse these mountains of Changtang with their animals…

Image ~ Looms of Ladakh Women Cooperative

 “It is so still on these wind-scarred barren ledges that they can hear the desert sigh… can hear the creaking of the mountain and the laughter of flying snow… and know that their heartbeats are heard too…”

“And yet it is this barren stillness they would call home… why?…. Because they know that that silence is not so barren after all… that it makes them soulful after all… And the lost traders… who are lost because they paid their senses to the mirage… and remained untouched… call in their agony her silence sterile… shall also find their way out someday… Someday, someone who has understood the mystical language she talks in would show them all… the way… And they will come back again to take glimpses of her shimmering skin… skin… that is never the same… and keeps them at it… and that is where they stay… untouched… if they don’t listen…

For the spirit of the land lives with those who are touched… and they no more seek…”

Julley…

~

Changpa – The north people, Nomadic pastoral tribe of Himalaya
Changthang – The area east of Ladakh and west of Tibet populated by Changpa
Julley – Greeting of the Ladakhi, on both meeting and parting, also means thank you.
Gur-gur – Onomatopoiec word – the sound made by cylinder wooden churn in which butter and ingredients of tea are made – hence gur-gur chai – butter tea
Pabu – traditional footwear made out of available leather
Tsampa– Parched barley flour, the staple food of the Tibetan peoples also called as Ngamphe in Ladakhi.
Cho-cho and no-no – Infants are not given a name till they are 1-2 years old, prior to that baby girls are known simply as cho-cho and baby boys a no-no.
Rebo - Rebo is a tent made of yak hair constructed over an excavated site roughly two and half feet deep and 20ft wide on either side.
Dimo – Female yak

On one of his district tours to Chumur, Deputy Commissioner of Leh, G. Prasanna Ramaswamy IAS, noticed the women knitting beautiful garments for their family. This was when this idea stuck him to hone the women’s innate skills along with introducing weaving, so that they make marketable products.

His wife Abhilasha Bahuguna and he had also discussed promoting Pashmina products during courtship when on many of their exhibition visits they were surprised on not finding Changthang Ladakh pashmina sellers when it is the source region. Everybody else was selling Pashmina and everything under the brand name using the cooked up marketing tactic of fabled Pashmina shawl that can pass through a ring when genuine fabric cannot pass through a ring. So they strategized and worked together on Project Laksal to create the brand Looms of Ladakh. Other likeminded and dedicated officers and individuals joined hands to contribute in the success story of Looms of Ladakh Women Cooperative.

With a clear vision in front of them they aimed to establish sustainable Pashmina, Bactrian camel and Yak wool small scale industry with responsible environment impact in Ladakh. This was much needed so that the locals can remarkably benefit from their own ecosystem; this high end raw material comes from.

With their observations over many visits to the place, a comprehensive scheme was laid out. Focusing on creating a sustainable environment several tasks were undertaken:
1. Skill development- It was observed that most of the villages in Leh have women’s alliances (Ama Tsogspa in Ladakhi) whose members have managed to organize themselves into very small scale production units. These women’s groups produce coarse woolen and Pashmina products, whose market is mainly locals and visiting tourists. Apart from small scale economic activities these groups also act as pressure groups for reinforcing traditional values and opposing activities considered as modern threats, for example, drinking of non-local alcoholic beverages. These women have the basic skills required to produce crude hand-knit and hand- woven woolen and Pashmina products. Thus, one of the main objectives of the project is to impart refined skills to these women and also orient the products towards current market trends. Spinning, knitting, weaving and most importantly designing with emphasis on finesse is taught at the centre. The other skills imparted are basic communication in English, computer handling and coordination. It is envisaged that these skills will enhance their income earning capacity and provide a viable and sustainable source of livelihood.

2. Organization- There is a shortage of a skilled, organized workforce in Ladakh to realize the true potential of the locally available raw materials. This was evidenced from the fact that there were very few local producers and marketers of Pashmina and woolen products. The individual village based women’s alliances are very small in size and there is negligible interaction and viable cooperation between the alliances of different villages. Thus the project also intends to create an organized workforce of skilled women capable of producing and marketing their products directly through regular interactions.

3. Enhancement of income earning potential- It was observed that despite possessing some basic skills and enjoying access to quality raw material, the Pashmina sector has not been a viable source of livelihood to women in Ladakhi villages. For example, the women in Chumur and Kargyam villages were found to prefer working as unskilled laborers in road construction to weaving or knitting activities. Consequentially these women fail to realize the immense potential of the market for handmade Pashmina and woolen products and engage in less productive vocations.

4. Demonstration- There were no women organizations in Leh engaged in professional production and marketing of woolen and Pashmina products. There is a commonly held perception that Ladakh is and can only be a producer of raw Pashmina and does not have the comparative advantage in the production of finished goods. One of the objectives of this project became to demonstrate that organized production and marketing of woolen handloom products can be a viable industry providing livelihood to women in remote locations of Leh. It is anticipated that the success of this project will induce other women groups/alliances to seriously consider and engage in this sector bringing about positive changes in their lives and communities.

5. Women empowerment- Leh’s women have been in a comfortable social and family position in the past. A typical Ladakhi family used to hold its females in relatively high esteem and this was reflected in practices like polyandry (reportedly still in vogue in some remote areas). However, in recent times the position of women has been relegated relatively insignificant due to factors mentioned earlier. One of the reasons for such state of affairs is the lack of employment opportunities for women at par with men in rural Ladakh. This project targets a sector that has reach in most of the villages in Ladakh and can affect the lives of hundreds of unemployed women. When the earning power of women increases, their say in the affairs of the family and their community will also increase. This project seeks to create a successful example of empowering women through simple solutions tapping into their innate potentials and spirit.

6. Checking migration- The village of Kharnak does not exist anymore, not in any real sense anyways. Its residents migrated from the vastnesses of Changthang to the suburbs of Leh not so long back where it assumed its new form as Kharnakling. Kharnak is just a dramatic manifestation of a phenomenon underway in Ladakh in recent times due to the onslaught of modernity. Individuals, families and societies are abandoning their age old ways of life and occupations to migrate to Leh and other urban areas. Both push and pull factors are responsible for this migration and the pull more often turns out to be a mirage. Lack of income earning opportunities commensurate with modern expectations and comforts, acting as a real push factor driving these communities to outskirts of Leh, in localities like Skampari and Choglamsar. But the real threat is the potential loss of a way of life and over burden on the urban infrastructure of Leh. This project seeks to provide employment to rural women and their families in their villages exploiting their local resources and their talents.

Changthang region produces 450 quintal of Pashmina every year. There are more than 2000 nomadic households directly engaged in livestock rearing in Ladakh. Most of it is sold outside through traders who convert it into machine made finished goods. In Ladakh, value addition in Pashmina for bigger markets has never happened before. This is the first such effort to convert available raw material into finished products on such a big scale. In the Pashmina trade, most of the value is locked up at the higher level. At the bottom of the value chain, cost of raw material is Rs.2100 per kg. One goat produces 250g raw material per year. The earning that the nomad gets after rearing the goat throughout the year is negligible. Whereas a shawl made from 75-100g can fetch more than Rs.15000 in the market. Through this initiative, women’s Cooperative was able to convert 8 quintals of raw material into finished products. This is the beginning. We are hopeful that more communities will join this movement and by next year they will be able to add value to more quintals.

Also, last year the cost of pashm after dehairing was Rs.7600 per kg. This year it is Rs.7000 per kg. Price is determined by international market based on production in Mongolia, China and Ladakh and the international demand. There is price fluctuation. So by adding value to a part of Pashmina raw material, the risk of Pashmina growers is hedged.

The project aims to bring the Pashmina growers under the ambit of the umbrella brand ‘Looms of Ladakh’ with each production year by Peer Learning. The villages of Stok, Chuchot, Phyang and Kharnak were trained first as part of the pilot project and the villages of Chushul, Merak, Parma and Sato which are on the Chinese border in the second Phase. Kharnakling was chosen because it is a congested urban slum near Leh whose residents are migrants of Kharnak village in Changthang.

Their products were displayed for the first time at Tourist Information Centre, Leh outlet and an encouraging response was instrumental in building confidence. Without any marketing background these women saw how value addition in true sense gathers positive response and drives sales.

Phase II started in the harsh winters of ladakh, in Chushot and Phyang, where women were trained for three most crucial months. Saton, Barma, Merak and Chushul were trained after that.

Ladakh’s Pashmina Products should cater to a niche domestic and international market, which demands genuine, elegant but simple designs, playing with patterns and organic colors. Shawls, Stoles, Knitwear Apparels – both Avant-garde and casual, luxury home furnishing – Namdas (rugs), Pashmina and yak wool tweed fabric and other products that can be made by felting eg. Pashmina felt toys as souvenirs will be produced in near future.
A total of 150 women have benefitted from the project so far. As part of the training, individual communities were provided with; Master trainers to teach the intricacies of designing apparel, Raw material to work with, Equipments, tools and machines, A retail outlet in one of the most prominent places for the sale of their products, Organizational and financial training in collaboration with State Bank of India.

The Cooperative is owned and run by the women themselves. They have elected their own CEO/Secretary, Treasurer, Team Leaders for Marketing, Design, Production & Procurement for a term of two years. At the end of each month, 38 per cent of proceeds from sales are transferred to the village producer groups and the rest goes in remunerations and other recurring costs. A percentage is kept aside as Welfare fund which is again run by a local Committee to give out loans for medical and educational needs of the member families. The welfare loan also ensures a feeling of belonging and sisterhood among the members. Project Laksal has been implemented till now through Project Budget sanctioned by Deputy Commissioner’s Office and funds from the District Sheep Husbandry Department which have been utilized in one production year and now the women entrepreneurs have taken up the functioning of the cooperative.

Mentions:
The efforts of Dr. Tundup Namgyal, Shri Tatpar Joldan, Dr. Iftikhar Hussein, Dr. Niyaz-al-Hassanain, Shri Tashi Paldan, Shri Tsewang Dorjay and councillor of Changthang Ladakh are commendable. Everybody went out of their way and mandate to implement this initiative.

Sieving through a dense layer of transport, haphazard and junky on a hard road we are in a small town placed between the clarity of an established city and that of an even clearer village… headed towards the latter. Cool breeze, soft padded mud beneath our wheels, dense foliage, we are already in Paliem, a small settlement of Konkani weaver families placed in time that went by as giant old trees, leading us to Baburao Thilvey’s humble but inviting abode. This old but hardy man is now partially deff, he has served more than his best as a weaver and let the religious tattering of the shuttle take away from him whatever it asked for in order to give him yardages of Kunbi…. and he holds it as Neivediam in his hands. Kunbi is derived from kun and bi meaning “people” and “seeds”, respectively. Fused together, the two terms mean “those who germinate more seeds from one seed”. The fabric meant for farmland laborers mainly is their identity.

Baburao Thilvey

A weaver for fishermen he was… and was celebrated in the community once upon a time. Goa under the Portuguese rule used to be a hub for handloom weaving and many weavers had flourishing workshops that produced Kunbi sarees and kashtis. When Goa became a part of India power looms came into being and later handlooms were sold for fire wood and weavers had to choose other occupations due to decline in the market demand. While the demonstrations died with the death of looms, the celebrations were kept alive and can be heard even now when this old man talks about his work. The authority to talk on Kunbi weaves with deepest reverence and accuracy can never go to anyone else…. Even if the only language he knows is a variant of Konkani and the audience has no clue about it.

Baburao and his first daughter in law host us in their once mud but now cemented porch, under the Kavelu shed. A little window opening in the porch is left open and we are offered drinks from this family run village grocery shop. Just adjacent to this is a semi open court with a shed sheltering machines of the bygone era… their function has ceased but the place is still intact. Leading us to the good old times, when business was flourishing Baburao shows us his looms, spindles, spinning wheels and a carding machine. Mentoring a group of 14-16 weavers at a time, churning one and a half sari per day per weaver, his workshop was also a school in running. Weavers from Mangalore were popularly called for their deft capacity of two sarees a day and carpenters to fashion their looms were also invariably from the city. Harishchandra, a local carpenter was an exception to the happy go lucky Govan population. Each order was made to custom.

Catering to various stages in life and occasions, they made Kunbi saris in their trademark checkered patterns in Yellow (Kesara), Red (Tamodh), Green (Hirva), darker shades of Maroon, Purple and Black signifying Youth, Marriage, Old age and Death. Men wore a red and white loin cloth called Kastti around their waist and climbed tall coconut trees and women these saris typically draped and held with a knot in front of their shoulder, with or without a blouse. They were also made to signify different sects within the community.

While their color pallet was small and standard, the lengths and their widths were made as per the person. The popular Maharashtrian Nauvaari being a nine yard sari, usually optimum for most of the population, one could also see Dahvaaris and Chavaaris… Variants in smaller widths for shorter people were also made. Women dressed up in new saris… flower Venis decorating their mane and scenting their clean, oiled buns, bindi or a tilak on their foreheads and ears dazzling with gold rings and studs…. Their stature strong and well built.

School going girls wore skirts and boys a loin cloth of the same woven checkered fabric (kapot). Apart from these, valo (small towel), tuvalo (towel), chador (bed sheet), and the traditional Gaudda sari was also seen taking birth on the looms.

The yarn for weaving was usually collected either from the shop owner in the city who would receive the woven fabric in return or from yarn merchants popularly known as Mambrey. There were families of dyers like the Shetty home in Belgaum who would dye the yarn if it was in huge quantities. Small quantities were dyed or bleached in the household by the weaver only. The village is placed between the borders of Maharashtra and Goa in a geographic location which is blessed with floral diversity. With about 156 dye yielding plants surrounding them, collecting natural dyes was a matter of looking around and identifying these plants. These dyes are developed today by the Sawantwadi, Maharashtra based BioDye India Pvt. Ltd, a set up run by Dr. Bosco Henriques that deals in natural dyes.

Ranganath Kamath

However, Kunbis were mostly dyed in naphtha colors. Single yarn per dent of shuttle on a simple pit loom was woven. Fabric from as rough as 20s count to 40s to 60s was woven as per the demand and was sold in Mapsa and Margaon markets. Traditionally, the Kunbi is a cotton chequered sari in red and white with a sturdy weave good enough to be worn for farming. A dobby border, which is essentially a silken flat inset in the original Kunbi can be found. It is worn short above ankles with a knot on the shoulder. “One sari in 1960-70 would cost somewhere between Rs40 – Rs70 and a silk one would not be more than Rs200” recalls Ranganath Kamath, another master of the craft from Candolim. The required loom accessories like heald frames, shuttle, heald wires, binding thread, warping machine, creel and yarn was purchased from Belgaum , Gadag and Hubli.

The operation of sizing the yarn constituted one of the most important stages in the preparation of warps which if not previously sized, would be unable to withstand the tensile strain and excessive chafing action of the shedding harness, reed, and shuttle race-board during the operation of weaving. The natural sizing material which used was odorless, inexpensive and locally available; it was fine wheat flour or Maida. Bobbin winding was carried out by using Charakha called bobbin winder. 312-320 bobbins were required for preparation of each warp beam to weave sarees. Individual yarns from each bobbin passed through reed and were then wound on warp beam. The reed being a guide to check the broken yarns. Approximately 14 meter of yarn would be wound in 8 different sections to make the required width of the sari body.

Till about thirty years ago there were many families in Bastora village involved in the practice. Kunbi weaving saw a downfall during the time government power loom units were set up in surrounding villages in 1970s. The fabric was cheaper and produced faster than the weavers ever could produce. Despite this low demand some continued weaving for it was difficult to part from what they had been practicing since their childhood and this was the only means of earning livelihood respectably they could see…. Hunting for yarn and weaving to sustain and supply merely to their neighbors. This, from the times his fabric was much in demand and he was a celebrity has hampered his generosity little.

Ganesh Festivel Market, Goa

He is still hospitable and has something to offer to everyone. Honest to his craft he only takes what he feels is the right price for his fabric, not a penny extra. And as he gets busy talking about their rituals and festivals Ganesh Chaturthi, Diwali, Navratri, their favorite sweets Chakli and karanji… a distant voice breaks the nostalgia. It is the carpet seller selling homemade Godadhis along with plastic woven mats. It is rare to see them with a seller because they are usually made in the village by women for their own household… from the left over of weaving or old rags. And a bunch of school children come flocking by dressed neatly in their uniforms… red and white checkered shirts and skirts… and one leaps for a closer look…. Only to find out that it is a print of kunbi patterns on mill made fabric…. A take on from our heritage… is it?

Gathering commences in the middle of deserted pavilions where velvet carpets adorn the Dessert lands & Manganiyars play folk music as a bugle for the occasions to begin. Royals from every corner are called upon to decorate the occasion. It’s a sight to behold, men & women welcoming the Kings by dancing their hearts out. Escorted by troops of horses and elephants decorated with finest imagery, jewels, textiles and armors, they are being showered with colorful flowers pouring over the gathering. Kings grace the occasion in finest Angrakhas & their blazing jewel studded headgear’s. One after another, kings enter the Durbar & the whole place lights up with their shimmering attires. Amidst such pomp and show a man with a King’s composure and firmness walks in… not bedecked in jewels like the rest.

He stands out like a white crane in the shimmering background of the afternoon river… and his headgear, a perfect pink shines brighter than all jewel put together. This King of Jaipur was something… of a fresh wave, that irresistibly passed through each and every one present in the gathering…. and the waves did indeed adorn his impeccably bright fedora… it’s tail waving with the wind, light as feather. Jaws dropped, eyes hypnotized, heads turning in the direction of his waving tail as he walked past. Carrying waves of the oceans on his head, making sand dunes dance to his tunes; he walked the sea to the deserted lands of Rajasthan. On the spur of the moment whispers about the never seen before headpiece started echoing from every corner.

“Every king tells a tale from their region!” said one, more out of a collective inquisitiveness to know about the King of Jaipur than to know about anyone else. Soon the Durbar was filled with stories of amazement, with each sharing a bit of his own. An anticipatory audience turned to the king of Jaipur as he began speaking. Seeing the much excited crowd all ears to his narrations the King introduced his province… A city where colors are deep rooted in the culture and so the city itself is known after one of the most vibrant colors ever, as The Pink City. Their love for the color being so profound that they even decided to reside in houses drenched in a hue of Pink… “And Oh! How it merges with the gradient of the sky of the setting sun, the skyline of Jaipur!” & so does his headgear, thought everyone.

“People of such a city must have the most colorful mindsets” said one,“…painting their imagination in colors flowing through their lanes… and veins.”  Every corner of the city speaks a different story… You often see men sporting colorful headgears & this royal tradition have been followed whole heartedly. Making Pagdis has become a prominent craft and is an integral part of the rich heritage & an identity for many communities. The Kevat community wears only red Bandhani turban at all occasions. Jat community in Narwa village wears a bright yellow turban.

Pappu Ram Bhil belongs to Bhil community. He wears a Marwadi gol paghdi & sings Pabuji ka Pad.They are found in various sizes and shapes and are influenced by many factors. To protect themselves from heat of the blazing sun and harsh climate, turbans are also used as pillows by men while travelling and can be used as ropes to draw water from a well. Apart from these practical uses that a turbanis availed for, it is also a symbol of honor for the men of Rajasthan.

Colors have a deep meaning in our culture & give a beautiful insight about the lifestyle of the people of Rajasthan. Every possible effort is made to counter the bareness of the deserts, by pouring colors all around. Leheriya is one craft which is believed to provide hope to the people of a state as dry as Rajasthan … the hope that a ‘Leher’ or a wave of water brings along… And they have been communicating this hope to each other through this craft- the women through their colorful Leheriya dupattas, saris and the men through their Paghdis and Safas. They celebrate and welcome the monsoon through their dresses; the Leheriya dancing in exaltation. In this season, women majorly wear the Samudra Leheriya, which has the colors of the sea.

Leheriya has basically comes from the word ‘leher’, meaning waves. It is a tie-dye technique resulting in diagonal stripes on fabric, which look like waves. It is a water-centric craft as ample of water is used in its making. Leheriya making is an elaborated process that starts with gathering tools required for the process.  It needs a Khilli to tie the knots. It is very useful because it helps in tying knots very quickly.  Wet threads, usually of cotton, polyester, nylon, silk, jute and aluminum wires to tie the fabric are needed. Mudda, a small wooden stool with a pole at the end of that stool to tie the rolled fabric, while the other is kept lose. Undi, a large copper vessel to wash the fabric and also used for dyeing the fabric. A dryer machine also known as Hydro Extract is used to remove excess water from the dyed fabric & finally a Khoonti – to twist the fabric for removing excess water.

The fabric is washed to remove the starch and other impurities. Before tying the cloth, it should be ensured that the cloth is moderately moist. “Kapda geela hone se bandhte samay theek se khench aati hai,” (the thread can be tied tightly on the cloth and it maintains a firm grip on it if the fabric is moist). Also, before tying, the cloth must be folded and rolled according to the desirable pattern one wants to achieve. One end of this rolled fabric is tied to khoota. Pulling the other end, cotton thread must be rolled around the fabric anti-clockwise three to four times and cut, at regular intervals. This process is repeated through the entire length of the rolled fabric. After the tying, the fabric is dyed in the desired color in Undi, the dye powder is mixed with water. The tied cloth is then put into this mixture and dyed manually by a continuous circular movement of the hands holding the fabric. This is done for about one and a half hours, till the color seeps deep into the cloth. If more than one colour is desired on the cloth, the first colour needs to be discharged; the fabric needs to be put in a mixture of water and hydro powder.

This helps in re-dyeing of fabric with another colour without mixing the two colours. Some dyes need to be heated before dyeing the fabric so that the colour seeps well into the fabric. A chulha is used for heating. Also, to fix these dyes permanently on the fabric, the dyed fabrics are boiled in the dye and salt. After dyeing, the fabric is twisted and beaten continuously on a low stone platform.The fabric loosens a little due to beating which allows the dye to penetrate deep into it. Then, the tied fabric is again dyed and again beaten till it takes on the colour completely and evenly. The fabric is then twisted tightly with the help of Khoonti to remove excess dye and water. These tied and dyed fabrics are now hung out in the sun and left to dry. After the fabric dries, one end of it is rolled in the toe to untie the fabric. This is done by pulling the loose ends of the knots. Thus, a Leheriya is created.

Leheriya making has evolved over time to achieve any desired patter & there is a major difference between the aesthetics and techniques of Leheriya in the late 20th century and early 21st century.

Rajashahi Leheriya: Also known as Pratapshahi or Salaidar. It is the most commonly found pattern of leheriya, which has a diagonal wave like pattern.
Mothara: Mothara leheriya is made by repeating the process for pratapshahi (diagonal) leheriya twice such that they intersect each other and form small diamond like shapes known as ‘patanga’.

Nageena Mothara: Nageena is the hindi term for gems. This pattern is known as ‘Nageena Mothara’ since small gem like squares are formed at equal distances.
Katva Patta Leheriya: In this leheriya, the fabric is dyed twice. After it is first dyed, the colour is discharged using acid and then it is redyed with another colour. Also, because they create bands at equal distances, which are known as pattas in Hindi, it is called katva patta leheriya.

Leheriya being mostly done on breezy fabrics is one of the favorite choicesfor a woman under the scorching heat of Rajasthan & they have associated colors with every festival. For festivals likeTeej and Gangaur, women are dressed up in Samudra Rajashahi Leheriya. During SharadPoornima, they flaunt a light pink colored Leheriya, also known as Mothia.

People in the Durbar are deeply listening to every word uttered by the King. “Lastly” he says “the craftsmen in my province love experimenting with old crafts by adding a new touch every time…. And I believe that innovations have to be kept alive… at any cost… It gives me immense pleasure to try out these little experiments of theirs& keep them encouraged. And also it is by means of this that I keep connected with my people as their keeper and well wisher.”

The outstanding King thus had won the hearts of every attendeebefore he reached the end of his Pink story… and the King of Jaipur got many patrons among the fellow Kings for his Leheriya…

~

Text & Images ( 3, 5,6,7) by 

Ashmita Meghrajani,  Moksha Jain, Riya Chandiwala,  Riya Shah, Ruchi Gattani

Atop Sahyadri mountains withstands a beholder, all that need not come close… deceit and foul play of the theatrics around…. is silently swallowed by a carpet of white clouds floating right on top of the city… not to touch the little nail of his toe. This holy priest to-be is already in his warm red garb waiting for the rendezvous to begin… mornings are for prayers. A witness to the centuries gone by, these walls of Mahalaxmi temple of Kolhapur have stood like a calm listener awaiting stories that come by… as prayers sung by hissing winds and the parade of orchestrating birds.
 

 
Dawn breaks free… the morning breeze, the flocks of birds leaving nests, the chanting of the priests, urging the city to wake up to the call, to drop the dark blanket they wore to slumber last night… that weighed them heavy… that has been dried by the gold of sun, delivering them naked and fresh again in the arms of mother earth. A rush of old beliefs & modern thoughts comes together towards the Western Ghats, where the city of Kolhapur awaits the results of this perfect blend. Also called the Dakshin Kashi of India, Kolapur is surrounded by lush green landscapes which house incredible archaeological & cultural heritage. Legend goes that the city was settled by Kolhasur, a demon who was later killed by Mahalakshmi to relieve the local populace. However, honoring the demon’s dying wish, the city was named after him. The goddess of wealth and power, Devi Mahalaxmi’s temple is located at the heart of the city. This temple is famous for its well known South Indian Architecture, built by Chalukya king Karndev in 634 AD.
 

 
Kolhapur is one of the oldest civilizations of the country. In 1945, excavations on the Brahmapuri in Kolhapur have revealed the existence of an ancient town dating back to the Roman era. Its cultural history is dated back to 17th Century. The princely state has been ruled by different dynasties in the past, but it was under the rule of the Marathas that it became a cultural hub. Rajarshi Chhatrapati Shahu Maharaja is the architect and founder of modern Kolhapur. Shahu Maharaja’s reign lent a progressive spirit to the city and the king extended his patronage to arts like theater, film making, music, painting, sculpture, wrestling and crafts like tanning and jewelry making. He was not among the male ancestors of this dynasty as he was born as the eldest son to Appasahed Ghatge, the Chief of Kagal on 26th June 1874 and was named as Yashwatrao Ghatge. In the year 1884, Rani Shrimant Anandibai Raje Saheb decided to adopt him and made him Chhatrapati of the princely state of Kolhapur. Chhatrapati Shahu Maharaj ascended the throne of Kolhapur in 1894, bringing an end to the 50 year old regency administration. His reign of 28 years from 1894 to 1922 ushered a new era of social, cultural and economic reforms for which he is remembered as one of the greatest rulers in Maharashtra. After the reign of Chhatrapati Shahu Maharaj, the Bhosale Dynasty continued on the Throne of Kolhapur.
 

 
Taking birds on its way the wind reaches the floating river Panchganga to collect stories of the day. Birds sit afloat, soaking in their spongy under coat the flowing messages… what is it that the soil feels under so many stamping feet, the boulders grumble for a reason and the storms thunder not for no reason…. The cacophony of the charioteers trading their harvest and all this play happens in whose interest…The River questions the breeze “Why are you so late! I have thousands of things to share…” & the breeze starts collecting these messages rather quickly. A bag full of stories each bird becomes and flies towards the temple. The birds start to unfurl the messages & the wind binding them all together speaks up “I the morning breeze bring to you messages of the city as told to me by the river so mighty… ” The temple walls are all ears in delight… Overwhelmed with the response, the wind unfolds freely “Unfamiliar footsteps are climbing the rugged mountains in the dark hours, gracing the city with their unusual attire, bringing a strange aura with them. Carrying humongous sacks around with cattle, pulling carts full of goods; they are the Saudagars from different regions coming to the city, to make a living. After an overnight journey bruised feet often retire themselves by the banks of Panchganga waiting for the day to peep in.
 

 
As the sun rises they make their way towards the bazaar again. The bazaar has hundreds of lanes where traders sit on either sides working out their way by selling off their goods to the customers. On the far end of the lane a young man sits… acknowledged by none he looks for an opportunity to run his livelihood. He gazes at bruised & bleeding feet walking past him & thinks to himself; “I can make something to ease their pain and also earn a penny for a change.” After researching for days he comes up with an idea of making a chappal (sandle), an acquaintance through the rocky mountains, saving the wearer from snakes & scorpions, 70 Vinchu seeds(Martynia annua or Devil’s claw seeds) he puts inside a single chappal and oils it with groundnut oil, giving them a crackling sound with every step …. This he believes will scare the insects around. These chappals are made with animal hide to beat the heat & also be water resistant at the same time.
 

 
After thinking it thoroughly he set a small shop at roadside corner & in no time his chappals became the talk of the town & Saudagars from every corner started coming to him with personal demands to be incorporated in the design along with their customized foot size. The young man wonders to himself “Once a neglected no one, now people from every corner come to buy these chappals from me” & with that thought he gets back to making again….”
 

 
To make a Kolhapuri Chappal craftsmen use many tools like Hammers of different sizes, Punches, Rappi (Knife), Sewing Machine. These chappals are made from processed leather. Mainly buffalo, goat or bull hides are used in the manufacturing of these. This leather is processed and grazed. The process of making the chappal starts with removing the hair from the hide. Salt & lime powder is mixed with water in a big tank & the hides are soaked in it for four days.
 

 
As the skin becomes softer it is stitched with Sisal leaves into a bag form. Harada (Myrobalan fruits) pieces, Babul pieces with water are mixed in a wooden bucket called as Teep for about five days. This mixture is filled in the leather bag in the upper portion for about 7-8 days and further the mixture is filled to the lower portion and tied for about 8 days.
 

 
The craftsmen prepare a surface of babul tree for drying the leather under the sun for 2-3 days & afterwards they are kept in storage. Leather is washed again to make it soft & simple tools are used to make it ever smoother. After a design & the size are finalized, the craftsmen use a stencil to mark the shape & size. Layers after layers are stacked together to prepare a sole, to bind those leather or cotton threads are used to stitch them together.
 

 
After the sole is ready, the craftsmen proceed to make different types of decorative straps using soft leather stripes & punched leather pieces. These different types of knots & stitches are one of the main qualities of a Kholapuri chappal & sometimes local adhesives are also used to stick different parts. Lastly a shoe cream, a color mixed with little water is used to get a yellowish or reddish color.
 

 
The straps are attached to the base part of the chappal & for ornamentation purpose different type of threads and zari are used. Named after the city, Kolhapuri chhapals have a very strong character, one that is easily identified by their aesthetics. Local craftsmen also have different names for these chappals; like Kapsae, Korwnda, Nachemaruie, Agutapata, ShahuMaharaj, Maherban, LadiesPaper etc.
 

 
Predominantly crafted by the people from the lower caste, with time they have become a major identity of the city. The dusk approaches & it’s time for the wind to leave and the birds too should get back to their nests before it is too dark. “Many people in the city await my arrival” says the wanderer wind…. And heads straight to hit the highest gong in the temple premises…. & leaves the temple bewildered & awestruck!

Long stretches of Babul… small mud puddles circled by pastures… offering a quick swim to the cattle… It’s calm in here as she swings herself in a hammock anchored between two trees… watching the pale sky change colors… letting her imagination ponder… This is the best time of her day! Birds in huge swarms make splendid patterns on the dusky blue sky… they seem to follow a rhythm they are so attuned with, that they bring joy into being… like the consistency of her swinging is bringing to her at the moment, slowly taking her into an apparent slumber… She is not asleep… just slid into a world where she is more connected with every detail of her surroundings than she is with her eyes open… and she draws out threads of her assortment & a few half-done pieces of her life… each awaiting stories to be fulfilled…

The needles go in & out rapidly, capturing every little image around… the flow, the colors, everything strikes a balance with nature just so intuitively… Those far distant scapes now sit eloquently between her threads. And the fading horizon triggers her curiosity… leaving her puzzled more than ever… “What lies beyond these?” A trail of thoughts gets a break as she hears some voices from the shade of another tree… She tunes herself in the direction to gather what the men have to say. They talk of the places she has never been to & people she has never met. Thirsty for stories apart from her mundane mortal life she tastes fresh nectar. A mouthful every time she feels like, dipping into the unknown world through a little window under the shade of the tree & filling up gaps of her half embroidered imagination… with stories of known & unknown… soon becomes a routine…

Gathering her figures and drawings from both the worlds she is reminded of the beautiful womenfolk of her land, the garments they wear and the unique ornaments worn by them… Bhori- the motif on a nose pin that sits and sparkles like a star on an earthy terrain of her nose, Kanjari- women’s upper garment that hangs like an art panel in front, Chopad - the four-sided game they play, the Gul & Butti (flower & creeper) arrangements that she notices around, Golaido - the bulbous little flower of Gourd (Cossignia Grandis)… all make very intricate and attractive layouts on her fabrics… With imagination at its epitome, she invents unique border designs for their minuscule level Farura (the border), on contrary to that another border design known as Molado-  border inspired from the pattern on their wooden pestle, also finds place.

Meanwhile, minute chain stitch adorns the outlines and starts filling within, tiny interlacing stitch starts working to fill the motifs and bits of mirror place themselves in the center of the motif, with buttonhole stitches holding them there. Pakko - is what the amalgamation of stitches is called. Other needle and thread arrangements such as Romanian, Detached chain and Back-stitch employ themselves quickly to accentuate the main stitches. In addition to the above, there is another style of embroidery known as Kachho - which is generally seen adorning the Kanjari (top garment) of the ladies above 50 years. Kachho consists of single and double satin stitch, outlined with a back stitch. Mamsaigaj (the traditional name for Mushru) the most auspicious fabric for Kanjari is embroidered with cotton threads called- San. The stitch consists of single and double satin stitches, outlined with back stitches.

These motifs and threads seem to grow as she grows; taking shapes witnessing various phases of her life as she embroiders and wears them. Like a fully blossomed tree in young age, she wears densely embroidered upper garments with vibrant thread work, with the glitter of the mirror (Tak) on them. Embroidered attires, as well as accessories, are exchanged during cultural rituals such as weddings. Contrasting color variations attained through an intuitively selected bright pallet… a composition of creative motifs and shiny hues on a solid colored background that fills exuberance in life… These arrangements seem to coincide with facts of her living condition in parched lands. Her embroidery sets a contrast to the overall impact of the locale… the contrast that she desires to bring into her life, her society… In such magical ways, the characteristics of the embroidery are defined… the Mutwa embroidery… the embroidery of a girl who travels far in her imagination while social confines keep her within limits. In line with the tree’s life, as she matures, she gradually loses interest in wearing extensively decorated clothes… the quantum of her embroidery seems to be mellowing to a more subtle form. However, a little ornamentation on her apparel constantly stays as an indication of times in her life when she was carelessly upfront.

Mutwa often lead a life synchronized with the rules of their immediate nature. Settled in the western part of Indian subcontinent, in the desert of Kutch, these people of Banni are said to have migrated from the land of Sindh. More than 17 sub-communities in the cluster practice vivid needlework with Mutwa, leading them all with their vast imagination and intricacy of work. Apart from their main livelihood as cattle herders, the women constantly get back to their only creative expression in leisure time. Their need to decorate clothes is by heart lined with the behavior of their environment. Mutwa embroidery is also misunderstood as Aari work. The craft and its practitioners are affected in recent times due to increase in footfall in the cluster. As degradation in soil composition affects the growth of trees, similarly change in basic garment silhouettes because of increasing interest of tourists in visiting the village has forced the community to bring changes in their dressing style, which has further affected their embroidery layouts.

These pieces of self-expression, only to be kept and passed on through generations as souvenirs are now beginning to fall into the hands of buyers and are also now made to order. The quality of work is decided in accordance with the payment offered by the client. To take the example, Pakatadi- buttonhole stitch or scattered Romanian stitch embroidered around mirror has two versions- Regular and Sarkari, the latter being of less density. It is said that amongst all embroidery practicing communities they receive the highest payments for their work. Sieving through these details she often almost habitually pulls herself out of them to take an overview of what is beginning to form … and she finds strange things in her own patterns… the grids laid out by her are no longer reminiscent of any creeper, they look like a network of straight and meandering roads to her… on which rows of beads perfectly stand as people, the tiny mirrors right in the middle of those square neighborhoods, reflecting sky are ponds… flora, the green patches in and around these neighborhood clusters… she sees the sparkling glitter on and along the trails as the lights of the vehicles transporting people in and out of the city… “City!” But when did she ever go to one to know how it looks… Was she hallucinating? A distant singing of a hoopoe falls onto her ears, as though assuring her of her sanity… she felt heard… without even having to ask for it… but there were still more complex worries that she needed to discuss… how would she convey them or how would he be able to respond to them in his single tone singing… Interrupting her thoughts again she hears a friend call… feels heard again… but she knows that her questions are not what any of them would be able to answer… that they would only pull her back into the mundane… where she feels choked… and she wonders… why is it that despite being able to enter the deepest realms of her thoughts and knowing her secrets and being able to respond to them, the hoopoe lacks the accuracy of knowing what she really wants… The thought brings a momentary smile on her face as she sees a momentarily stupefied hoopoe standing in front of her… to stay only till another cloud of thoughts gather around her eyes… In gamut of stars… and beyond! Beyond infinity… flowing over planets… She has loved exhaustively…Infinity! Infinity! A word of the other world… slips into proximity… in her slumber… earworms into his head quietly… loafing around… all he can sing now is… In-finity! Echoing very much within her closed finites … She wonders… she wonders again… Why are so many days, months, years numbered infinitely then… when life only occurs in moments? What is the meaning of feeling infinity and living only in close finites…

Information & Images by – Kruti Dholakia

Azaan from the nearest mosque wake his senses & like every other day, Sardar Hussain sets out with his little trunk. Placing it on one side of the veranda, he gives the tattered rug a quick swish before placing it on the cemented floor. Offering his gratitude to the warm lights, to the morning breeze & to Allah for being so kind, he starts his day. His tools, half done pieces & a small wooden bench create a small workstation of his own in the open air midst of the narrow lanes… Taking up the chisel & the unfinished block he makes the first beating, the mere sound of which creates a tune… Music to the carver’s ears!

Soon the empty lane floods with young apprentices, each adding their bits & pieces to this symphony… It’s a mélange of rhythms bestowing an orchestra upon the onlookers…. where words are not needed…. Throughout the day they would discover new rhythms… creating prized pieces out of the ordinary. The day takes shapes & soon the streets of Pilkuwa, a small town of Hapur district in Uttar Pradesh are abuzz with chatter… rushing bullock carts, brightly colored towels and bed sheets soaring high on either sides of the road with designs inspired from their surroundings, nature which would last for a lifetime…

Sardar remembers the day he along with his family moved to Pilkuwa from Farrukabad, post partition, in mid twentieth century, getting along with him a wealth of skills. The region flourished, every street had a block carver’s den with young apprentices thronging to learn under a master, since this was the primary tool for printing.The supply chain was in motion from availability of raw material, supporting facilities and the final market, all elements were in place. Smaller towns and villages in the vicinity like Hapur and Chipiyana Buzurg with their printing karkhaanas (workshops) were already supplying base fabrics like canvas, bed linen, towels etc. to the well-established military cantonments during the British times. This laid the foundation of fabric manufacturing here and by mid-twentieth century the focus turned towards hand spun, handmade cottons called Khadi. The specialized products were bed-linen for domestic as well as export markets. The streets of Pilkuwa used to be busy with bullock–carts fully stacked with textile, being transported for printing, dyeing, washing, packing etc. The market flourished till the nineties & then later saw a fast decline in the production of block as well as screen printing due to the entry of low cost machine printed goods, high production expenses and lack of appropriate market. Gradually, screen-printing took over the intensive block printing process, labor costs increased due to inflation and the products were unable to keep up with market demands.

Keeping the bitter-sweet memories he drags the rusted trunk to the hallway… Screeching noises now wake none! After long he has developed the courage to put himself together to work on the unfinished blocks. Calmly he takes out his thirty chisels, a hand bow drill, wooden mallets, arranging them one after the other with profound love. Aging hands start with the beating & scrapping yet again. He would pause several times lifting his head up to look around waiting for someone to join him. The unfinished block finds itself in the dark again & so does the lost rhythm.The surroundings have affected him way more than he thinks… putting a full stop to his thoughts, he steps out in the streets… only to find a carver like him hidden inside many others. The memory lanes would open up yet again… now with the clinking teacups… sometimes cherishing the good old days & sometimes trying to refill the missing notes… His son, Arshad has been a witness to their conversations all along… fascinated by the stories they tell…. and with each passing day he becomes a part of it… He would listen to them for hours, carving everything he heard in his imagination…One day, lost in the intricacies of his tactile memory, he begins ghost waling discreetly only to find himself in front of his father’s old cupboard, his muse. To find a collection of block patterns, thousands of blocks dating back to flourishing times, some broken, some weathered…. “Knights of yore!” He thinks to himself and running his fingers through their edgy forms, falls in love yet again…wide eyed and amazed by every little rise and fall…

All pepped up, he walks up to his father one day & says“I have been listening to your stories & conversations from months & feel like I am a part of them now. I would be grateful if you could pass down your wisdom to me”. Warmed by his curiosity to learn, the old man sees himself in the little kid but all of a sudden withdraws. Determined! Every morning he would test & try by his understanding to create the same rhythm everyone talked about… After many such trials a similar but amateur rhythm echoes…pulling a string of old man’s heart… & he decides to finally give in.

He teaches his son all he knew from the woods to the tools & the processes involved…“The primary timber used for Blocks is Shisham (Dalbergia Sissoo) & Teak (Tectona Grandis) carved on the vertical face that is perpendicular to the grain to ensure maximum resilience during impact in the stamping process (printing). The cross section is angular and hence finer motifs can be chiseled out. Thus the carving cross section here is an inverted “V”. With use this sharp line becomes blunt. The work set-up is essentially a sun lit area, with low tables, on which the timber is carved. Each carver possess up to 30 chisels, a hand bow drill, wooden mallets etc.

Marking of the timber and creating a smooth plain right angled surface is called Gunia.  Next, marking of the drawing using a chisel is done known as Tiipna. Now a day’s tracing paper is stuck to the wood & carved out following the guide lines. Carving process is carried out using various thickness and points of chisels as required, a wooden mallet is used with the chisel for absorbing impact. Rekh,is the Rekha which defines the outline of a block & Datta is the color fill in a block. All elements that need to be filled with color have a separate block assigned& lastly, Gad is the background fill.The most critical aspect is the ‘registry’ of the block;the precision of each block to correctly fit in its space in the pattern. The job of the printer is to correctly apply the blocks & to create precise components that ‘register’ perfectly to create modular patterns on impression”.

The motifs are inspired from the existing vocabulary of motifs like Mughal Butta, the Soorajmukhi Jaal, Tree of Life, various flora and fauna,especially regal animals like elephants, lions and peacocks that have been documented by Arshad’s father, master of his craft, Sardar Hussain. These block carvers are often individual entrepreneurs and master craftsmen are trained over a period of minimum three years to learn this craft. The skill is honed and perfected slowly through the years & he works with a team of apprentices. The artisans are highly skilled and block carving is considered a life skill that is taught to all young boys even today. Large sheds that home long tables for printing are still around but production continues in screen-print with only touches of block, for giving a handmade feel. The entire process is in order and geared for production, if it were to return.

Father & son both have found an apprentice in each other finally& together the old learning& a young thriving mind create new beginnings…a new life out of these old blocks. The block carver is also the designer of his motifs. Once a mere printing tool, now a useful contemporary object, this block has been thoughtfully placed among many wooden surfaces, bringing them to life…. all with the same wooden mallet& the unfinished pieces. Sardar Hussain takes up his place on the rug; marching to the thumping tune… he makes the final mark!

Organic Connect in collaboration with many such skilled masters started the Block Projectin 2009, inspired by the exquisite motifs of the Block carvers of Pilkuwa. It is inspired by traditional wisdom and skills to create meaningful objects for contemporary living. The range of products is designed keeping in mind this fine skill extending from exquisitely carved home décor objects, lighting and accent pieces of furniture. The uniqueness of this project lies in the transformation of the block as a tool for printing into a feature of value addition in contemporary objects for urban living.

A critical collaboration in this project has been the inclusion of traditional carpenters who build the basic object.Once the base is ready, it is time to adorn the piece with carving and /or inlay by the block carver. The production is based on sustainable practices using pieces of heartwood in the form of slats, which are often leftovers of commercial production. Seasoning of the wood is done using the shade drying method where the wooden slats are seasoned by placing alternately in the sun and then in the shade as opposed to quick seasoning in a fuel powered temperature controlled seasoning plant resulting in an ecologically viable practice. The motifs are borrowed from the rich vocabulary of the block printed textiles, like the Soorajmukhi jaal, a full color sunflower pattern that was used for large scale surfaces like curtains and is now used as a leitmotif in many products.

The objective of this project is to create a sustainable livelihood opportunity for the tremendously skilled artisans’ community and more importantly to continue evolving the practice. It has now become an established supply in the otherwise decreasing demand of block carving. This is an innovation required to shift the paradigm of crafts from its declining status to evolving. The idea has brought back the “Pride of Work” in artisanal practice, ensuring sustained livelihood opportunities. Felicitated by National Award for Crafts in 1981 and later been conferred the honor of Shilp Guru in2003, Sardar Hussain founded Sardar & Bros, an enterprise that produces handmade objects with block carving. Arshad Khan feel, the third generation skilled carver of the family is also a proud winner of the National Award for the year 1990. With a family of renowned & nationally acclaimed carvers Sardar Hussain with his sons travelled around the world to showcase their skills.

~

Text & Images by Organic Connect

Floral archways above their heads sway with the cold morning breeze… Banana trees on either side adorn the courtyard… With turmeric & saffron smeared on their forehead, to embark the humble beginning… dressed for the occasion, are the women in traditional saris… Glittering gold & a garlands of jasmine dangling through their well groomed hair…beaming at each other with sheer joy… And the men are seen in white shirts, dhoti & a nicely folded Angavastram over their shoulders,looking subtle for everyday routine. As they enter, melodious tunes of Nadarswaram & Thavil captivate their senses… spreading words of prosperity far and wide… Splendid decor puts people in daze… fragrance of jasmine fills the whole place… Everybody awaits the bride…

The bride enters the place, gleaming with happiness she catches the eyes of many. The frolicking,melodious duo catches the rhythm again… Throwing a mustard spree in the air, her nine yard yellow Koorainadu sari gets the most attention… The checks, the striped patterns& the contrasting borders…ensemble with gold jewels & floral pleasantries, making everything worth the wait…Wedding rituals begin to bind the bride & groom in an eternal bond…

From a little distance, standing and showering flowers on the couple, a woman looks at the bride with great satisfaction and pride. It’s the kind of happiness only a maker can feel upon seeing his creations reach their destined fate… the girl looked dazzling in the that sari, she had given several months of her life to. It was hard work and perseverance well paid, for the girl had chosen it for the most important day of her life. She wished the bride with all her heart & showed gratitude for making her a part of her celebrations. A pride she felt was incomparable… 

Going back home, the bride’s happy face flashed in her mind… reminding her of the days she was weaving the sari…. with utmost love & care, to be passed on to its wearer. In the tradition it is believed for the bride to wear one sacred sari during the occasion. Koorai Pattu Pudavai, a sari for the lasting journey of marriages worn by women folk of a few casts of Hindu Community of Tamil Nadu & is considered more auspicious for the green and yellow colors in it. The green relates to the trees and Pasumai, which is Tamil means greener and yellow is for Mangalyam. These nine yard saris are made out of plain cotton as well as cotton &silk and generally have checks or striped patterns, with contrasting border in yellow. The Koorainadu saris with wide borders are called temple saris, because they are woven and then offered to a temple deities. A peculiar characteristic of this sari is the formation of cotton checks by the interlacing of warp and weft during weaving and this can be woven only by an experienced weaver.

Koorainadu silk saris are produced in Koorainadu, a traditional handloom weaving center near Mayiladudharai. These saris are produced in the quality of pure silk and fine twisted mercerized cotton yarn, in both wrap and weft ways in the ratio of 2:1, giving them a silk saris look.It is light weight due to the presence of silk to the extent of almost 2/3rd of the sari woven in small checked patterns & seer Pallu looking like silk sari rather than cotton, making it unique.

Since the saris consist of only checks and stripes, plain looms are used. Weavers take approximately ten days to make one sari. Nowadays, the saris are available in multiple colors like Arraku for maroon, maal- Yellow, pachai- Green, karuppu- Black &Sigappu-Red. These are made out of finer count, that is, 40s, 60s and 80s count of cotton and finer count of silk as well. The dye used for silk is synthetic dyes.

A part of Mayavaram (Thanjavur District) is today known as Keranad, a word derived from Koorainadu, which means the land of textiles…or a place where cloth is manufactured…most of the weavers involved in sari weaving are Sāliyan weavers. They claim to have a Purānam relating to their origin, which is said to be found in the Sthalapurānam of the Nallādai temple. They believe that they are the descendants of one SāliyaMahā Rishi, a low-caste man, who did service for one Visākar, who was doing penance near Nallādai. Through the grace of the rishi Visākar, Sāliya became a rishi and married two wives. The Sāliyans are said to be descended from the offspring of the first wife and the MottaiSāliyans from the offspring of the second. In former days, the Sāliyans were not allowed to sell their goods except in a fixed spot called māmaraththumēdu, where they would set out their fabrics on bamboo sticks. High-caste people never touched the cloth, except with a stick. At the present day, the Sāliyans occupy a good position in the social scale.

Engrossed in her thoughts, the weaver reaches home &a long silence from the muted looms greets her. In old times this place was brimming with thousands of weavers & now only 20- 30 are left. The entire village used to be buzzing with weavers weaving saris & now there are none. She wonders to herself “Sari, which is a part of most auspicious occasion is seeing such gloomy days.” But then see looks at the very few weavers left in her community still weaving with hope. Putting all their efforts in the sari to make someone’s day special, someone’s  marriage prosperous, someone’s face lit…. the bride’s face from the morning flashes in her mind yet again & she sits back on her loom, her fingers pouring happiness in lives… near and far.