An artisan working on patola sari, Sam Panthaky/AFP[/caption]
JOURNAL ARCHIVE
Why The Banarasi Sari Is Special,
Varanasi has had many names beginning with Baranasi in old Pali scripts, and many others like Avimytaka, Suranshana, Ramya and Kashi, before officially becoming Varanasi only in 1956. The city of Varanasi has an unquantifiable aura of being agelessly old, undefinably spiritual, and offering a sense of peace and continuity when you leave the chaos of the city and sit on the steps of any ghat along the banks, getting lost in the stillness of the ever-moving River Ganga. In the same way, possessing a brocade, a tissue or a tanchoi sari woven by a weaver from Varanasi, wearing it on your wedding day, or possessing one, is like having the reassurance of tradition and continuity in a life of full of sartorial changes. The names of different kinds of weaves and designs of the saris too lend a special story to the ‘Banarsi’ sari, as ubiquitous in a trousseau as the Banarsi paan is at a roadside kiosk. Like the multiple names of Varanasi, sari patterns, motifs and techniques like chaudani pallu, jangla, kinkhab, minakari, , konia shikargah, ashrafi , kadwa kairi, badam, ambi, pan buti, gendabuti, t name a few. Even colours have a variety of names, nilambari for the night sky and kapur safed for camphor white. The weave and the name combine to create a magical identity for each sari. I have always linked my love of the Indian textile aesthetic with pride in the skills of traditional weavers and the imperative to ensure the survival of the heritage they carry in their fingers. Unlettered and unsupported, they create beautiful fabrics to adorn priests, popes, monks and monarchs all over the world. Monasteries are decorated with gyasers woven on the looms of Varanasi, and upholsteries in Middle eastern kingdoms are covered in fabrics made of peacock feathers also woven in Varanasi. My future mother-in-law gave me a rich pink silk Banarsi with golden motifs all over, to wear on my engagement day. My mother showed me her old Banarsi. I chose to wear that on my wedding day and not a freshly bought one which I felt was just a waste of money. It was an old rose tissue in which gold and pink silk threads were interwoven, with a pallu and wide borders decorated with pure zari foliage in the jamdani style. The next day, for the reception I had a more elaborate dark pink and gold striped Banarsi that belonged to my great aunt. I felt I carried the weight of my family history. It was already quite old, so while the gold threads (actually real silver dipped in gold) held out, the ageing silk began giving way, parting company from the zari strips which weighed the silk down. Being from Kerala it was more natural to have chosen a rich Kanjeevaram to wear for one’s wedding, but somehow, Banarsis cropped up at each such auspicious occasion and made me feel much more comfortable than if I had worn a stiff newly bought sari that had no story to tell me. In any household that is sari-wearing, where women still hold on to some customary cultural practices involving the use of craft or textiles, which would be at least 70% of India, a Banarsi brocade is bound to have been bought for a special occasion, and treasured till it frays. Even today, elder women pull out their old handloom treasures, offering them to collectors, museums, exhibition curators, their daughters, and even to designers who want to replicate the intricate old weaves, motifs and tasteful colourways. But what about the weavers themselves? There are weavers living at many levels in Varanasi. At the lowest rung are those who earn a pittance when master weavers give them work. The subsist from order to order with no reassurance of regular work, and often desperation sets in. A rung above them come the weavers who are fortunate enough to be kept on by master weavers whether there are enough orders or not, simply because they need an assured work force at hand when orders are received. Production increases between September and March which encompasses the festive and wedding seasons for all communities. For those who do not wear saris, there is the salwar suit, sharara or lehngas to weave. Despite the buzz in large cosmopolitan cities that sari wearing is going down because ‘girls do not like wearing saris anymore’, there are master weavers, gaddidars, who have four-storied show rooms, selling only saris. They have customers who will buy over two dozen expensive saris at a time for a family wedding as giveaways, and aristocratic ladies of Bengal who demand reproductions of old heirlooms regularly. Bollywood couturiers rely heavily on Banarsi saris and film actors wearing them encourage trends among aspirational women. Fashion designers have been working for some years with their special weaving establishments in Varanasi. Often, I have found a beautiful, differently designed scarf among the master weaver’s routine collection. When asked where it is sold, he answers that it is specially ordered by a designer who forbids him from selling it to anyone else. The weaver’s name never appears and he has no idea at what price it is ultimately sold. The difference in cost and sale is most often ten times higher, and the brand label makes all the difference. While we flaunt the names of Indian and foreign designers on our handbags and evening gowns, why is the weaver, who holds the essential knowledge of its techniques in his hands, given the go-by? Even Bollywood boasts of wearing a Ralph Lauren or a Manish Malhotra but never a Maqbool Hussain or Mohamad Junaid of Varanasi, when no new design can evolve without their active involvement and even ideas. Even reproductions and renewals carry the designer’s name and not that of the original weaver’s establishment. Banarsi brocades are known for the rich glimmers of gold and are not every day wear, so my old saris are now holders of memories, wrapped in muslin cloth, and kept in a drawer. New developments in linen yarn and jute are adding to the repertoire, thanks to efforts of textile designers. But until the weaver has the respect and remuneration accorded to our designers, and better systems worked out to find fair space for handloom, powerloom, computerized systems, better yarn supply, efficient dyeing and processing centres, our love of the Banarsi should not be considered enough.
Varanasi has had many names beginning with Baranasi in old Pali scripts, and many others like Avimytaka, Suranshana, Ramya and Kashi, before officially becoming Varanasi only in 1956. The city of Varanasi has an unquantifiable aura of being agelessly old, undefinably spiritual, and offering a sense of peace and continuity when you leave the chaos of the city and sit on the steps of any ghat along the banks, getting lost in the stillness of the ever-moving River Ganga. In the same way, possessing a brocade, a tissue or a tanchoi sari woven by a weaver from Varanasi, wearing it on your wedding day, or possessing one, is like having the reassurance of tradition and continuity in a life of full of sartorial changes. The names of different kinds of weaves and designs of the saris too lend a special story to the ‘Banarsi’ sari, as ubiquitous in a trousseau as the Banarsi paan is at a roadside kiosk. Like the multiple names of Varanasi, sari patterns, motifs and techniques like chaudani pallu, jangla, kinkhab, minakari, , konia shikargah, ashrafi , kadwa kairi, badam, ambi, pan buti, gendabuti, t name a few. Even colours have a variety of names, nilambari for the night sky and kapur safed for camphor white. The weave and the name combine to create a magical identity for each sari. I have always linked my love of the Indian textile aesthetic with pride in the skills of traditional weavers and the imperative to ensure the survival of the heritage they carry in their fingers. Unlettered and unsupported, they create beautiful fabrics to adorn priests, popes, monks and monarchs all over the world. Monasteries are decorated with gyasers woven on the looms of Varanasi, and upholsteries in Middle eastern kingdoms are covered in fabrics made of peacock feathers also woven in Varanasi. My future mother-in-law gave me a rich pink silk Banarsi with golden motifs all over, to wear on my engagement day. My mother showed me her old Banarsi. I chose to wear that on my wedding day and not a freshly bought one which I felt was just a waste of money. It was an old rose tissue in which gold and pink silk threads were interwoven, with a pallu and wide borders decorated with pure zari foliage in the jamdani style. The next day, for the reception I had a more elaborate dark pink and gold striped Banarsi that belonged to my great aunt. I felt I carried the weight of my family history. It was already quite old, so while the gold threads (actually real silver dipped in gold) held out, the ageing silk began giving way, parting company from the zari strips which weighed the silk down. Being from Kerala it was more natural to have chosen a rich Kanjeevaram to wear for one’s wedding, but somehow, Banarsis cropped up at each such auspicious occasion and made me feel much more comfortable than if I had worn a stiff newly bought sari that had no story to tell me. In any household that is sari-wearing, where women still hold on to some customary cultural practices involving the use of craft or textiles, which would be at least 70% of India, a Banarsi brocade is bound to have been bought for a special occasion, and treasured till it frays. Even today, elder women pull out their old handloom treasures, offering them to collectors, museums, exhibition curators, their daughters, and even to designers who want to replicate the intricate old weaves, motifs and tasteful colourways. But what about the weavers themselves? There are weavers living at many levels in Varanasi. At the lowest rung are those who earn a pittance when master weavers give them work. The subsist from order to order with no reassurance of regular work, and often desperation sets in. A rung above them come the weavers who are fortunate enough to be kept on by master weavers whether there are enough orders or not, simply because they need an assured work force at hand when orders are received. Production increases between September and March which encompasses the festive and wedding seasons for all communities. For those who do not wear saris, there is the salwar suit, sharara or lehngas to weave. Despite the buzz in large cosmopolitan cities that sari wearing is going down because ‘girls do not like wearing saris anymore’, there are master weavers, gaddidars, who have four-storied show rooms, selling only saris. They have customers who will buy over two dozen expensive saris at a time for a family wedding as giveaways, and aristocratic ladies of Bengal who demand reproductions of old heirlooms regularly. Bollywood couturiers rely heavily on Banarsi saris and film actors wearing them encourage trends among aspirational women. Fashion designers have been working for some years with their special weaving establishments in Varanasi. Often, I have found a beautiful, differently designed scarf among the master weaver’s routine collection. When asked where it is sold, he answers that it is specially ordered by a designer who forbids him from selling it to anyone else. The weaver’s name never appears and he has no idea at what price it is ultimately sold. The difference in cost and sale is most often ten times higher, and the brand label makes all the difference. While we flaunt the names of Indian and foreign designers on our handbags and evening gowns, why is the weaver, who holds the essential knowledge of its techniques in his hands, given the go-by? Even Bollywood boasts of wearing a Ralph Lauren or a Manish Malhotra but never a Maqbool Hussain or Mohamad Junaid of Varanasi, when no new design can evolve without their active involvement and even ideas. Even reproductions and renewals carry the designer’s name and not that of the original weaver’s establishment. Banarsi brocades are known for the rich glimmers of gold and are not every day wear, so my old saris are now holders of memories, wrapped in muslin cloth, and kept in a drawer. New developments in linen yarn and jute are adding to the repertoire, thanks to efforts of textile designers. But until the weaver has the respect and remuneration accorded to our designers, and better systems worked out to find fair space for handloom, powerloom, computerized systems, better yarn supply, efficient dyeing and processing centres, our love of the Banarsi should not be considered enough.
Why We Must Call Out Craftwashing,
There is a problem when something digitally printed or mechanised is sold as handmade with a skill that takes years to learn
In these days of large industrial production anything handmade implies time and luxury. Weaving a handmade sari takes from three days to six months. Warping which is a necessary part of weaving, takes another five to fifteen days. Hand printing a sari takes from three to 30 days depending on the intricacy and technique. Learning an artisanal craft skill takes months if not years. And becoming good at it takes much longer. Even with an artisan earning only a subsistence wage as they often do, handmade products cost more and take much longer to make than those made on machines. Every single handmade piece looks different from the other and you need an informed customer who enjoys the distinction in these days of cookie cutter looks.
[caption id="attachment_198812" align="alignnone" width="714"] An artisan working on patola sari, Sam Panthaky/AFP[/caption]
An artisan working on patola sari, Sam Panthaky/AFP[/caption]
Traditionally, handcrafted designs in clothes were often community markers to be worn as made by specific communities and villages. There was an informal copyright in place and each village printed or wove the same few designs to be bought by the same communities. This has changed since the last fifty years or so and craftspeople now liberally borrow designs and techniques from each other. Over the years, prints like ‘Chaubundi’ and ‘Dhaniya’ from Kaladera village in Jaipur district have become familiar to us visually since the same designs have been worn for years and years. Customers may not know the names of these prints but somewhat recognize them. Just as the British used handmade Indian designs in the Lancashire mills and sold the familiar look back to India, designs traditionally used in handcrafted products are also made by mechanised production in India and sold within the country. There is no conversation yet about whether these traditional designs are independent of the handmade process and are available for all of us to use.
[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="696"]
A close up image of 'Dhaniya' print, Meeta Mastani[/caption]
A close up image of 'Dhaniya' print, Meeta Mastani[/caption]
[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="700"]
A close up image of Chaubundi print, Meeta Mastani[/caption]
A close up image of Chaubundi print, Meeta Mastani[/caption]
It’s no surprise then that hundreds of products on e-commerce websites and in stores big and small, claim to be handmade when they are not. From leading online marketplaces like Amazon to large retail chains like Fab India, to designers like Ritu Kumar and Anita Dongre or mid-range brands like Biba, everyone is selling products which they imply are handmade in a particular way, when they are not. Others like the humongous Surat saree industry use the handmade design vocabulary freely. All of them [except the Surat saree industry] also sell handmade products through their brands, which makes it difficult for consumers to figure out exactly which products are genuinely handmade and which are not. Even craftspeople themselves sometimes use a faster technique like screen printing in place of block printing or powerloom instead of handloom and then “craftwash” it. The pressure on everyone for large quantities, quick deliveries of pieces that look exactly the same at lower prices push many producers and retailers into this pretend craft. Sometimes the product description tells us about the exact modes of production and how hand crafted it is, and at other times it doesn’t.
[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="689"]
Water painting of a cotton mill in Lancashire England,1885, Shutterstock[/caption]
Water painting of a cotton mill in Lancashire England,1885, Shutterstock[/caption]
During the recent conversations around designer Sabyasachi Mukherjee’s collection for H&M, I thought of the term “craftwashing” It is the process of conveying a false impression, or providing misleading information about how a company's products are more handmade than they actually are. This can be done by referencing something entirely handmade and linking it to the product in question. It can also be done by speaking of a community that usually makes artisanal products and riding on their reputation. The products sold pretend to be hand crafted but are a more or less mechanised version of the hand skill they claim to be. Selling a digital printed version and implying it is a block print is craftwashing as is screen printing when it masquerades as block print. Mill made ‘faux’ silk sounds better than synthetic fabric and is craftwashing as well when it pretends to be handmade silk. Powerloom or mill made fabric projected as handloom is craftwashing.
[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="693"]
A modern powerloom in a textile factory, Shutterstock[/caption]
A modern powerloom in a textile factory, Shutterstock[/caption]
Handcrafted products include both skill and designs which have culturally evolved over centuries. Many of us want both these aspects of handmade. There are enough customers who want a version of just the design, without the skill, at a cheaper price. A powerloom ikat saree may be good enough for many, despite many who shudder at the thought of it. Innovation is constant and techniques and designs change over time. There is no static ‘tradition’ which has stayed the same forever. Crafts are an expression [for both the maker and the user] just like any other art and are bound to change. The problem arises when it is implied that something is handmade, with a skill that takes years to learn, and it is not handcrafted. Weavers in Western Orissa at village and district levels have ensured that retailers display clear details of powerloom and handloom production for local sales. People are free to buy the cheaper powerloom versions in an informed manner.
[caption id="" align="alignnone" width="710"]
An image of automatic embroidery machine in a textile factory, Shutterstock[/caption]
An image of automatic embroidery machine in a textile factory, Shutterstock[/caption]
At a time when anything goes in design and production, the best we can hope for and hold our producers and retailers to is transparency - both in process and in design. In a continuously evolving market, our craft associations need to bring out best practices keeping producers, retailers and customers in mind. And we need to reward the best and the most honest producers and retailers with our purchases.
Banner: Photo of a machine printing digitally used for representational purpose. Shutterstock.
Meeta Mastani the co-founder of Bindaas Unlimited works at the intersection of sustainable development, culture, craft, design, arts and retail.
First Published in The Voice of Fashion, September 28, 2021.
With a Change of Garb, Smriti Irani Could Transform Handlooms, From Irrelevant to Dynamic
[caption id="attachment_198244" align="aligncenter" width="480"]
Mohammad Ismail, a handloom weaver in Varanasi. Credit: Anandamoy/ Flickr[/caption]
Social media is full of jokes about how, in the best traditions of Indian patriarchy, Smriti Irani was found unsuited for higher education and told to go make clothes for her dolls. Other memes have her locking her textbooks in a cupboard and sitting down to weave lotus symbols on saris. The jokes reveal two deeply entrenched public perceptions: first, that managing textiles – despite being the largest employment sector after agriculture – is a demotion; second, and more surprisingly, that the textile ministry is all about handlooms and the traditional weavers that make them. This is gratifying, but ironic.
In actual fact, the handloom sector is a small embattled section of a ministry in which handlooms are totally overshadowed by the overpowering presence of the mill and powerloom sector. Their aggressive, organised and well-funded lobbies make sure that the voice and needs of the handloom weaver are completely ignored. Bureaucrats in charge of the sector change seats quite rapidly; it attracts neither eyeballs nor kickbacks. They seldom understand its complex nature. One senior bureaucrat called it a ‘sunset industry’, ignoring the fact that everywhere else in the world ‘hand-spun’, ‘hand-woven’ and ‘handmade’ have become desired designer labels. In New York, pure Egyptian cotton sheets retail for the equivalent of Rs 25,000.
The 17th century traveller Francois Pyrard de Laval wrote that Indian “cotton cloth was the first global commodity”, and “the growing of cotton, the spinning of yarn and the weaving and finishing of cloth provided employment and income to millions … Everyone from the Cape of Good Hope to China, man and woman, is clothed from head to foot in the product of Indian looms.” Today, they are clothed in Chinese goods instead.
Always more savvy than us, China regularly imports Indian weavers to teach their own craftspeople our skills. Chinese Banarsis, pashminas, machine-made chikan embroidery and faux-Kutch mirror work are flooding the market and finding ready takers, even in India. Last year, when I was in China, it had just been announced that craft was one of the eight major sectors they were going to concentrate on over the next decade. Master craftspeople are given subsidised housing and work in luxurious fully-equipped environs – complete with air-conditioning and piped music. Their salaries reflect their perceived status in society. They are part of the professional middle-class, encouraged to think big and add value to their products, and given every means to learn to do so.
A tragedy on all fronts
Meanwhile, we in India ignore our own handlooms industry. It is ironic because this is precisely the sector that could make the ‘Make in India’ and ‘Skill India’ initiatives work. While we try to painfully acquire the skills and resources that other advanced countries acquired decades ago, we ignore this existing goldmine and the advantage we have of a foot in multiple centuries. Instead of investing in, developing and promoting our unique skill sets and knowledge systems, we are allowing them to die. For lack of equal opportunity, their owners are leaving the sector in droves.
The weavers in Nagpur – once a centre for wonderful handlooms – no longer weave saris because there are no longer skilled local artisans to make and repair the looms. And while we celebrate the wonderful Kashmiri shawl-makers, it is tragic that only 1% of the world’s production of pashmina yarn comes from India. And the quality is so poor that only 10% of this 1% is internationally graded as pashmina*. Shawl manufacturers in India, once the cradle of pashmina yarn, now import raw pashmina – from China and Mongolia, and even the UK.
Weavers and craftspeople are dismissed as ‘picturesque’ heritage and culture, or seen as part of a primitive technology that is irrelevant to a developing economy and will inevitably die. What a tragedy. Shortsighted, too, since the ‘modern’ skills currently being expensively promoted encourage wholesale migration to India’s overburdened cities, placing a further load on our already inadequate urban infrastructure. On the other hand, textile skills are based in rural India, with minimal carbon imprint, perfectly suited to rural production systems and social structures. They also – and this is crucially important – bring agriculturists and rural women into the economy, creating double-income households in otherwise poverty-stricken areas.
Apart from scaling up existing weaver communities, there is huge scope for creating ancillary skills that service them: (i) The cultivation and production of raw material (cotton, silk, hussar, linen, jute and wool yarn); (ii) pattern making, embroidery, block and screen printing dyeing; (iii) making of tools and equipment, including looms, spindles and shuttles; (iv) warping of looms, cutting, tailoring, accessorising, washing and dry cleaning; (v) packaging, entrepreneurship development for marketing; and, of course, (vi) cultivation and development of all those exciting new fibres such as banana leaves, nettle and water chestnuts.
This would create additional employment in crafts pockets, as well enable greater professionalism and more productivity in the existing crafts community.
Dastkar’s own intervention with Berozgar Mahila Kalyan Samiti in Bihar, and the transformation of rural spinners and weavers from bonded labour into a several-crore-turnover enterprise, is another example of undervalued traditional skills becoming a lucrative source of employment and earning. However, today, at the apogee of their demand, they are again facing problems due to the unavailability of raw Tussar, once found wild in their forests. This is a reminder of the dependency of craft traditions on many external factors: market linkages, access to finance, design and market information, appropriate raw material – all of which are necessary to build a prosperous India.
New ways of seeing
In order to realise the potential of our own unique skill-sets, creativity and expertise, we need to relook the whole way we deal with the sector. We need to realise that though handloom weavers number in the millions, each family is a unique specialised unit, working in hundreds of different traditions, often with their own special techniques and design directory – and with their own individual needs. To lump them together in generic government cluster development schemes or textile parks does not necessarily work. They should be treated like other entrepreneurs, with easy access to resources and investment.
A Kanjeeveram sari weaver with the potential to weave a brocaded wedding sari worth a lakh rupees is quite different from a weaver in Barabanki making coarse cotton bedsheets. Their raw materials, R&D requirements, production capacities, design references, storage needs and even potential markets are all quite different. To position them together in an open-air Handloom Expo is dumbing down the potential of both. One needs the hushed exclusivity of a carefully-lit showroom, saris wrapped in fine muslin covers, being reverently unfolded one by one; the other needs wholesale orders.
One major factor in the decline in the numbers of young craftspeople leaving the sector (an estimated 10-15% every decade, an acknowledged fact, taken from the census and handicrafts board figures of the last several decades*) is the conflict between the need for formal education and learning the family craft skill. Either they become unlettered artisans, placed very low in the social and professional hierarchy, or – if they do opt for formal education – they lose their inherent dexterity, but often do not qualify for alternative occupations.
If craftspeople are to be on par with other professionals, they need skills other than simply craftsmanship, skills like entrepreneurship, merchandising, finance, IT know-how, access to technology and contemporary design. Where can they acquire these skills? How do we embed these functions in crafts communities, without impacting the cultural and social subtleties of their traditions and ways of life?
One example is comprised of the young craftspeople of Kutch and Kashmir, who have perceived the advantages of learning the terminology and practice of design, graphic communication and entrepreneurial skills, along with English and accountancy, as a way to upgrade and value-add to the skills they have inherited. Institutions like Judy Frater’s path-breaking Kala Raksha Vidyalaya, the Craft Development Institute in Srinagar, the Handloom School and now the Somaiya Kala Vidya, have given them the confidence and ability to use their creativity in new ways. They look at their traditions as a calling card, not a cage. We need to replicate these modules all over India sensitively, taking weavers and handlooms into the global marketplace and 21st century.
Philosopher historian Ananda Coomaraswamy said a century ago: “The most important thing that India can give to the rest of the world is simply its Indianness. If it were to substitute this for a cosmopolitan veneer, it would have to come before the world empty handed.” Politicians, bureaucrats and economists, trying to turn us from ‘developing’ to ‘developed’, need to recognise the value of existing indigenous technologies, skill sets and knowledge systems. If we can do it for yoga, we can surely do it for handlooms, which would benefit hundreds of millions.
Hopefully, Irani’s pugnacious, proactive nature will find an outlet combating the dominant view of handlooms as an irrelevant, outdated part of our past. If nurtured, they could be such a dynamic part of our economic future.
[caption id="attachment_198244" align="aligncenter" width="480"]
Mohammad Ismail, a handloom weaver in Varanasi. Credit: Anandamoy/ Flickr[/caption]
Social media is full of jokes about how, in the best traditions of Indian patriarchy, Smriti Irani was found unsuited for higher education and told to go make clothes for her dolls. Other memes have her locking her textbooks in a cupboard and sitting down to weave lotus symbols on saris. The jokes reveal two deeply entrenched public perceptions: first, that managing textiles – despite being the largest employment sector after agriculture – is a demotion; second, and more surprisingly, that the textile ministry is all about handlooms and the traditional weavers that make them. This is gratifying, but ironic.
In actual fact, the handloom sector is a small embattled section of a ministry in which handlooms are totally overshadowed by the overpowering presence of the mill and powerloom sector. Their aggressive, organised and well-funded lobbies make sure that the voice and needs of the handloom weaver are completely ignored. Bureaucrats in charge of the sector change seats quite rapidly; it attracts neither eyeballs nor kickbacks. They seldom understand its complex nature. One senior bureaucrat called it a ‘sunset industry’, ignoring the fact that everywhere else in the world ‘hand-spun’, ‘hand-woven’ and ‘handmade’ have become desired designer labels. In New York, pure Egyptian cotton sheets retail for the equivalent of Rs 25,000.
The 17th century traveller Francois Pyrard de Laval wrote that Indian “cotton cloth was the first global commodity”, and “the growing of cotton, the spinning of yarn and the weaving and finishing of cloth provided employment and income to millions … Everyone from the Cape of Good Hope to China, man and woman, is clothed from head to foot in the product of Indian looms.” Today, they are clothed in Chinese goods instead.
Always more savvy than us, China regularly imports Indian weavers to teach their own craftspeople our skills. Chinese Banarsis, pashminas, machine-made chikan embroidery and faux-Kutch mirror work are flooding the market and finding ready takers, even in India. Last year, when I was in China, it had just been announced that craft was one of the eight major sectors they were going to concentrate on over the next decade. Master craftspeople are given subsidised housing and work in luxurious fully-equipped environs – complete with air-conditioning and piped music. Their salaries reflect their perceived status in society. They are part of the professional middle-class, encouraged to think big and add value to their products, and given every means to learn to do so.
A tragedy on all fronts
Meanwhile, we in India ignore our own handlooms industry. It is ironic because this is precisely the sector that could make the ‘Make in India’ and ‘Skill India’ initiatives work. While we try to painfully acquire the skills and resources that other advanced countries acquired decades ago, we ignore this existing goldmine and the advantage we have of a foot in multiple centuries. Instead of investing in, developing and promoting our unique skill sets and knowledge systems, we are allowing them to die. For lack of equal opportunity, their owners are leaving the sector in droves.
The weavers in Nagpur – once a centre for wonderful handlooms – no longer weave saris because there are no longer skilled local artisans to make and repair the looms. And while we celebrate the wonderful Kashmiri shawl-makers, it is tragic that only 1% of the world’s production of pashmina yarn comes from India. And the quality is so poor that only 10% of this 1% is internationally graded as pashmina*. Shawl manufacturers in India, once the cradle of pashmina yarn, now import raw pashmina – from China and Mongolia, and even the UK.
Weavers and craftspeople are dismissed as ‘picturesque’ heritage and culture, or seen as part of a primitive technology that is irrelevant to a developing economy and will inevitably die. What a tragedy. Shortsighted, too, since the ‘modern’ skills currently being expensively promoted encourage wholesale migration to India’s overburdened cities, placing a further load on our already inadequate urban infrastructure. On the other hand, textile skills are based in rural India, with minimal carbon imprint, perfectly suited to rural production systems and social structures. They also – and this is crucially important – bring agriculturists and rural women into the economy, creating double-income households in otherwise poverty-stricken areas.
Apart from scaling up existing weaver communities, there is huge scope for creating ancillary skills that service them: (i) The cultivation and production of raw material (cotton, silk, hussar, linen, jute and wool yarn); (ii) pattern making, embroidery, block and screen printing dyeing; (iii) making of tools and equipment, including looms, spindles and shuttles; (iv) warping of looms, cutting, tailoring, accessorising, washing and dry cleaning; (v) packaging, entrepreneurship development for marketing; and, of course, (vi) cultivation and development of all those exciting new fibres such as banana leaves, nettle and water chestnuts.
This would create additional employment in crafts pockets, as well enable greater professionalism and more productivity in the existing crafts community.
Dastkar’s own intervention with Berozgar Mahila Kalyan Samiti in Bihar, and the transformation of rural spinners and weavers from bonded labour into a several-crore-turnover enterprise, is another example of undervalued traditional skills becoming a lucrative source of employment and earning. However, today, at the apogee of their demand, they are again facing problems due to the unavailability of raw Tussar, once found wild in their forests. This is a reminder of the dependency of craft traditions on many external factors: market linkages, access to finance, design and market information, appropriate raw material – all of which are necessary to build a prosperous India.
New ways of seeing
In order to realise the potential of our own unique skill-sets, creativity and expertise, we need to relook the whole way we deal with the sector. We need to realise that though handloom weavers number in the millions, each family is a unique specialised unit, working in hundreds of different traditions, often with their own special techniques and design directory – and with their own individual needs. To lump them together in generic government cluster development schemes or textile parks does not necessarily work. They should be treated like other entrepreneurs, with easy access to resources and investment.
A Kanjeeveram sari weaver with the potential to weave a brocaded wedding sari worth a lakh rupees is quite different from a weaver in Barabanki making coarse cotton bedsheets. Their raw materials, R&D requirements, production capacities, design references, storage needs and even potential markets are all quite different. To position them together in an open-air Handloom Expo is dumbing down the potential of both. One needs the hushed exclusivity of a carefully-lit showroom, saris wrapped in fine muslin covers, being reverently unfolded one by one; the other needs wholesale orders.
One major factor in the decline in the numbers of young craftspeople leaving the sector (an estimated 10-15% every decade, an acknowledged fact, taken from the census and handicrafts board figures of the last several decades*) is the conflict between the need for formal education and learning the family craft skill. Either they become unlettered artisans, placed very low in the social and professional hierarchy, or – if they do opt for formal education – they lose their inherent dexterity, but often do not qualify for alternative occupations.
If craftspeople are to be on par with other professionals, they need skills other than simply craftsmanship, skills like entrepreneurship, merchandising, finance, IT know-how, access to technology and contemporary design. Where can they acquire these skills? How do we embed these functions in crafts communities, without impacting the cultural and social subtleties of their traditions and ways of life?
One example is comprised of the young craftspeople of Kutch and Kashmir, who have perceived the advantages of learning the terminology and practice of design, graphic communication and entrepreneurial skills, along with English and accountancy, as a way to upgrade and value-add to the skills they have inherited. Institutions like Judy Frater’s path-breaking Kala Raksha Vidyalaya, the Craft Development Institute in Srinagar, the Handloom School and now the Somaiya Kala Vidya, have given them the confidence and ability to use their creativity in new ways. They look at their traditions as a calling card, not a cage. We need to replicate these modules all over India sensitively, taking weavers and handlooms into the global marketplace and 21st century.
Philosopher historian Ananda Coomaraswamy said a century ago: “The most important thing that India can give to the rest of the world is simply its Indianness. If it were to substitute this for a cosmopolitan veneer, it would have to come before the world empty handed.” Politicians, bureaucrats and economists, trying to turn us from ‘developing’ to ‘developed’, need to recognise the value of existing indigenous technologies, skill sets and knowledge systems. If we can do it for yoga, we can surely do it for handlooms, which would benefit hundreds of millions.
Hopefully, Irani’s pugnacious, proactive nature will find an outlet combating the dominant view of handlooms as an irrelevant, outdated part of our past. If nurtured, they could be such a dynamic part of our economic future.
- These statistics are from a report previously accessed by the author.
Wood Carving of Basti Pathuria Sahi, Odisha,
Looking back into a tradition of craftsmanship going back generations National Award Winner Ashok Kumar Mohapatra, 37, speaks with pride of his craft and vocation of wood carving. Born into a family of traditional stone carvers at Basti Pathuria Sahi in the historic town of Puri (Odisha) he received his first lessons and training from his father and uncles, who in turn had learnt their consummate art from Shri Giridhari Lal Mohapatra his talented and distinguished grandfather. The Mohapatras have earned a name for excellence in stone carving, statue making and temple building. They trace their ancestry to the builders of the acclaimed temple of Lord Jagganath at Puri.
A smile of satisfaction touches Ashok Kumars face as he reminisces how as a child he enjoyed polishing stones on way to school and even at that young age earned a little money selling small images of Lord Jagganath near the beach. The excellence in his craft came later under the careful guidance of his father Madan Mohan Mohapatra who recognized in his son talent and capability to take on the family inheritance. While the older generation had mastered the craft of carving granite, sandstone and red stone Ashok Kumar made a niche for himself as an entrepreneur carving in wood. Interestingly this happened when a businessman marketing his fathers carvings suggested that he try his hand at wood as many Japanese tourists were looking for crafts in a lighter medium.
The wood’s he chose to work on are ‘pani gambhari’ a soft creamish white teak along with the harder ‘phula gambhari’ and the darker sisu or rosewood for heavier pieces, which he buys from Puri. While features in painted wood carvings are usually less defined and diffuse, those done on ‘gambhari’ are sharp and fine and attain an exquisite work finish resembling the workmanship of sculptors.
The motifs include various stylized animals and birds, elephant, lion, tiger, bull, peacock etc, Radha, Krishna and sakhis and the three most popular deities of the Puri temple, Jaganath, Balabhadra and Subhadra. The three chariots of the Puri car festival are decorated with wooden images depicting various deities as parswadevatas. A popular image is from the Mahabharata, of Krishna the sarathi or charioteer teaching Arjuna the tenets of the Gita while guiding the horses harnessed in front. Excellently proportioned and finished to fine smoothness these wood carvings depicting myths, legends and folklore are a collector’s delight. Good examples of the work of the wood carvers of Odisha can be found in temple ceilings and carved wooden beams and doors in places like Charchika temple, Buguda, Banki, Birnchinarayan temple, Kapilas, Siva temple and the Laxmi Nrusingha temple at Berhampur.
Ashok Kumar’s winning work is the ‘Buddha Kila’ a mural composed of many scenes from the life of the Buddha. A relief work composed on a single plaque of wood it has taken him two years and seven months to complete. With grace, delicacy and beauty the figures present different stages of Bhagwan Buddha’s life. The serene Buddha and his life fascinated the young Ashok Kumar. Seeing images brought to life in stone by his father brought in him a dream of some day doing the same. While many craftsmen were depicting the life stories of Gods and Goddesses of the Hindu pantheon the life of Buddha was ignored for reasons unknown. His award winning Buddha collage is culmination of single minded devotion to his art.
Ashok Kumar is happy being in Delhi to show his craft to a wider audience and to receive the National Award for Master Craftsperson’s given by the Ministry of Textiles, Government of India. This exposure gives him an opportunity to reach out to a wider audience and contact more buyers. His one regret as he says is “works such as mine with an earthy character and rough texture, with no lacquer finish do not find too many ready buyers anymore. Buyers are today looking for glitter and shine…even in engravings and carvings. The market is changing fast and I will have to consider innovating”. But then cheerfully adds” however there still are a few who appreciate that not all that glitters is gold”.
Looking back into a tradition of craftsmanship going back generations National Award Winner Ashok Kumar Mohapatra, 37, speaks with pride of his craft and vocation of wood carving. Born into a family of traditional stone carvers at Basti Pathuria Sahi in the historic town of Puri (Odisha) he received his first lessons and training from his father and uncles, who in turn had learnt their consummate art from Shri Giridhari Lal Mohapatra his talented and distinguished grandfather. The Mohapatras have earned a name for excellence in stone carving, statue making and temple building. They trace their ancestry to the builders of the acclaimed temple of Lord Jagganath at Puri.
A smile of satisfaction touches Ashok Kumars face as he reminisces how as a child he enjoyed polishing stones on way to school and even at that young age earned a little money selling small images of Lord Jagganath near the beach. The excellence in his craft came later under the careful guidance of his father Madan Mohan Mohapatra who recognized in his son talent and capability to take on the family inheritance. While the older generation had mastered the craft of carving granite, sandstone and red stone Ashok Kumar made a niche for himself as an entrepreneur carving in wood. Interestingly this happened when a businessman marketing his fathers carvings suggested that he try his hand at wood as many Japanese tourists were looking for crafts in a lighter medium.
The wood’s he chose to work on are ‘pani gambhari’ a soft creamish white teak along with the harder ‘phula gambhari’ and the darker sisu or rosewood for heavier pieces, which he buys from Puri. While features in painted wood carvings are usually less defined and diffuse, those done on ‘gambhari’ are sharp and fine and attain an exquisite work finish resembling the workmanship of sculptors.
The motifs include various stylized animals and birds, elephant, lion, tiger, bull, peacock etc, Radha, Krishna and sakhis and the three most popular deities of the Puri temple, Jaganath, Balabhadra and Subhadra. The three chariots of the Puri car festival are decorated with wooden images depicting various deities as parswadevatas. A popular image is from the Mahabharata, of Krishna the sarathi or charioteer teaching Arjuna the tenets of the Gita while guiding the horses harnessed in front. Excellently proportioned and finished to fine smoothness these wood carvings depicting myths, legends and folklore are a collector’s delight. Good examples of the work of the wood carvers of Odisha can be found in temple ceilings and carved wooden beams and doors in places like Charchika temple, Buguda, Banki, Birnchinarayan temple, Kapilas, Siva temple and the Laxmi Nrusingha temple at Berhampur.
Ashok Kumar’s winning work is the ‘Buddha Kila’ a mural composed of many scenes from the life of the Buddha. A relief work composed on a single plaque of wood it has taken him two years and seven months to complete. With grace, delicacy and beauty the figures present different stages of Bhagwan Buddha’s life. The serene Buddha and his life fascinated the young Ashok Kumar. Seeing images brought to life in stone by his father brought in him a dream of some day doing the same. While many craftsmen were depicting the life stories of Gods and Goddesses of the Hindu pantheon the life of Buddha was ignored for reasons unknown. His award winning Buddha collage is culmination of single minded devotion to his art.
Ashok Kumar is happy being in Delhi to show his craft to a wider audience and to receive the National Award for Master Craftsperson’s given by the Ministry of Textiles, Government of India. This exposure gives him an opportunity to reach out to a wider audience and contact more buyers. His one regret as he says is “works such as mine with an earthy character and rough texture, with no lacquer finish do not find too many ready buyers anymore. Buyers are today looking for glitter and shine…even in engravings and carvings. The market is changing fast and I will have to consider innovating”. But then cheerfully adds” however there still are a few who appreciate that not all that glitters is gold”.
Wood Carving of Odisha,
Looking back into a tradition of craftsmanship going back generations National Award Winner Ashok Kumar Mohapatra, 37, speaks with pride of his craft and vocation of wood carving. Born into a family of traditional stone carvers at Basti Pathuria Sahi in the historic town of Puri (Odisha) he received his first lessons and training from his father and uncles, who in turn had learnt their consummate art from Shri Giridhari Lal Mohapatra his talented and distinguished grandfather. The Mohapatras have earned a name for excellence in stone carving, statue making and temple building. They trace their ancestry to the builders of the acclaimed temple of Lord Jagganath at Puri. A smile of satisfaction touches Ashok Kumars face as he reminisces how as a child he enjoyed polishing stones on way to school and even at that young age earned a little money selling small images of Lord Jagganath near the beach. The excellence in his craft came later under the careful guidance of his father Madan Mohan Mohapatra who recognized in his son talent and capability to take on the family inheritance. While the older generation had mastered the craft of carving granite, sandstone and red stone Ashok Kumar made a niche for himself as an entrepreneur carving in wood. Interestingly this happened when a businessman marketing his fathers carvings suggested that he try his hand at wood as many Japanese tourists were looking for crafts in a lighter medium. The wood’s he chose to work on are ‘pani gambhari’ a soft creamish white teak along with the harder ‘phula gambhari’ and the darker sisu or rosewood for heavier pieces, which he buys from Puri. While features in painted wood carvings are usually less defined and diffuse, those done on ‘gambhari’ are sharp and fine and attain an exquisite work finish resembling the workmanship of sculptors. The motifs include various stylized animals and birds, elephant, lion, tiger, bull, peacock etc, Radha, Krishna and sakhis and the three most popular deities of the Puri temple, Jaganath, Balabhadra and Subhadra. The three chariots of the Puri car festival are decorated with wooden images depicting various deities as parswadevatas. A popular image is from the Mahabharata, of Krishna the sarathi or charioteer teaching Arjuna the tenets of the Gita while guiding the horses harnessed in front. Excellently proportioned and finished to fine smoothness these wood carvings depicting myths, legends and folklore are a collector’s delight. Good examples of the work of the wood carvers of Odisha can be found in temple ceilings and carved wooden beams and doors in places like Charchika temple, Buguda, Banki, Birnchinarayan temple, Kapilas, Siva temple and the Laxmi Nrusingha temple at Berhampur. Ashok Kumar’s winning work is the ‘Buddha Kila’ a mural composed of many scenes from the life of the Buddha. A relief work composed on a single plaque of wood it has taken him two years and seven months to complete. With grace, delicacy and beauty the figures present different stages of Bhagwan Buddha’s life. The serene Buddha and his life fascinated the young Ashok Kumar. Seeing images brought to life in stone by his father brought in him a dream of some day doing the same. While many craftsmen were depicting the life stories of Gods and Goddesses of the Hindu pantheon the life of Buddha was ignored for reasons unknown. His award winning Buddha collage is culmination of single minded devotion to his art. Ashok Kumar is happy being in Delhi to show his craft to a wider audience and to receive the National Award for Master Craftsperson’s given by the Ministry of Textiles, Government of India. This exposure gives him an opportunity to reach out to a wider audience and contact more buyers. His one regret as he says is “works such as mine with an earthy character and rough texture, with no lacquer finish do not find too many ready buyers anymore. Buyers are today looking for glitter and shine…even in engravings and carvings. The market is changing fast and I will have to consider innovating”. But then cheerfully adds” however there still are a few who appreciate that not all that glitters is gold”.
Looking back into a tradition of craftsmanship going back generations National Award Winner Ashok Kumar Mohapatra, 37, speaks with pride of his craft and vocation of wood carving. Born into a family of traditional stone carvers at Basti Pathuria Sahi in the historic town of Puri (Odisha) he received his first lessons and training from his father and uncles, who in turn had learnt their consummate art from Shri Giridhari Lal Mohapatra his talented and distinguished grandfather. The Mohapatras have earned a name for excellence in stone carving, statue making and temple building. They trace their ancestry to the builders of the acclaimed temple of Lord Jagganath at Puri. A smile of satisfaction touches Ashok Kumars face as he reminisces how as a child he enjoyed polishing stones on way to school and even at that young age earned a little money selling small images of Lord Jagganath near the beach. The excellence in his craft came later under the careful guidance of his father Madan Mohan Mohapatra who recognized in his son talent and capability to take on the family inheritance. While the older generation had mastered the craft of carving granite, sandstone and red stone Ashok Kumar made a niche for himself as an entrepreneur carving in wood. Interestingly this happened when a businessman marketing his fathers carvings suggested that he try his hand at wood as many Japanese tourists were looking for crafts in a lighter medium. The wood’s he chose to work on are ‘pani gambhari’ a soft creamish white teak along with the harder ‘phula gambhari’ and the darker sisu or rosewood for heavier pieces, which he buys from Puri. While features in painted wood carvings are usually less defined and diffuse, those done on ‘gambhari’ are sharp and fine and attain an exquisite work finish resembling the workmanship of sculptors. The motifs include various stylized animals and birds, elephant, lion, tiger, bull, peacock etc, Radha, Krishna and sakhis and the three most popular deities of the Puri temple, Jaganath, Balabhadra and Subhadra. The three chariots of the Puri car festival are decorated with wooden images depicting various deities as parswadevatas. A popular image is from the Mahabharata, of Krishna the sarathi or charioteer teaching Arjuna the tenets of the Gita while guiding the horses harnessed in front. Excellently proportioned and finished to fine smoothness these wood carvings depicting myths, legends and folklore are a collector’s delight. Good examples of the work of the wood carvers of Odisha can be found in temple ceilings and carved wooden beams and doors in places like Charchika temple, Buguda, Banki, Birnchinarayan temple, Kapilas, Siva temple and the Laxmi Nrusingha temple at Berhampur. Ashok Kumar’s winning work is the ‘Buddha Kila’ a mural composed of many scenes from the life of the Buddha. A relief work composed on a single plaque of wood it has taken him two years and seven months to complete. With grace, delicacy and beauty the figures present different stages of Bhagwan Buddha’s life. The serene Buddha and his life fascinated the young Ashok Kumar. Seeing images brought to life in stone by his father brought in him a dream of some day doing the same. While many craftsmen were depicting the life stories of Gods and Goddesses of the Hindu pantheon the life of Buddha was ignored for reasons unknown. His award winning Buddha collage is culmination of single minded devotion to his art. Ashok Kumar is happy being in Delhi to show his craft to a wider audience and to receive the National Award for Master Craftsperson’s given by the Ministry of Textiles, Government of India. This exposure gives him an opportunity to reach out to a wider audience and contact more buyers. His one regret as he says is “works such as mine with an earthy character and rough texture, with no lacquer finish do not find too many ready buyers anymore. Buyers are today looking for glitter and shine…even in engravings and carvings. The market is changing fast and I will have to consider innovating”. But then cheerfully adds” however there still are a few who appreciate that not all that glitters is gold”.
Wooden Lacquerware of Chennapatna, Karnataka,
The world of gaily coloured lacquerware toys - red and yellow dolls, bright magenta wheels, orange and green tops - from the town of Chennapatna denotes a cheerful space filled with play; however, there is an impressive complex of work, skill and dexterity that converts a combination of Hale wood and shellac into a charming array of toys. Chennapatna toys, as the name denotes, are a speciality of Chennapatna town (in Karnataka state); they are also made in the surrounding villages in Chennapatna taluk, Bydara, Hali, Neelasundara and Harisundara being a few of the villages where these toys are made. Material remains from the Indus Valley cities of Harappa and Mohenjo Daro show evidence that toys have been a significant artisanal craft in the subcontinent from that long ago. The raw materials differ, the finish(es) differ, but a singularly striking chain runs through from the clay toy carts found in these Indus cities to the brightly lacquered red and yellow carts and train sets made in Chennapatna. Toys continue to be enormously visibly and dearly loved both in urban and rural India. They often acquire a special significance during celebratory festivals like Dussehra, when toys are among the gifts given to children. Lac-turney was an indigenous industry in Chennapatna, practised by artisans known as chitragars. The making of lacquerware toys was, however, begun in the 1920s, spurred by an attempt made by the Superintendent of the Industrial Training School at Chennapatna to expand the product range among local craftspersons.
The world of gaily coloured lacquerware toys - red and yellow dolls, bright magenta wheels, orange and green tops - from the town of Chennapatna denotes a cheerful space filled with play; however, there is an impressive complex of work, skill and dexterity that converts a combination of Hale wood and shellac into a charming array of toys. Chennapatna toys, as the name denotes, are a speciality of Chennapatna town (in Karnataka state); they are also made in the surrounding villages in Chennapatna taluk, Bydara, Hali, Neelasundara and Harisundara being a few of the villages where these toys are made. Material remains from the Indus Valley cities of Harappa and Mohenjo Daro show evidence that toys have been a significant artisanal craft in the subcontinent from that long ago. The raw materials differ, the finish(es) differ, but a singularly striking chain runs through from the clay toy carts found in these Indus cities to the brightly lacquered red and yellow carts and train sets made in Chennapatna. Toys continue to be enormously visibly and dearly loved both in urban and rural India. They often acquire a special significance during celebratory festivals like Dussehra, when toys are among the gifts given to children. Lac-turney was an indigenous industry in Chennapatna, practised by artisans known as chitragars. The making of lacquerware toys was, however, begun in the 1920s, spurred by an attempt made by the Superintendent of the Industrial Training School at Chennapatna to expand the product range among local craftspersons.
Raw Materials and Crafts Technique
Chennapatna toys are crafted out of either Hale wood (Wrightia Tinctoria) or yellow teak wood (Bhuria mara /Adina Cordifolio). Hale wood is close grained, and ideal for turning. Mohammad Jigria, who learnt the craft from his father, refers to the wood in the vernacular as dudhi (milk-like). He remarks that the softness and pliability of this particular wood, as well as its light colour, make it ideal for turning and lacquering respectively. The wood is seasoned in order to diminish the moisture content without it developing cracks. The wood is then shaped by turning it on a lathe: initially there were only manually-operated lathes but now power lathes have been introduced. A traditional manual lathe (pattari) is a rectangular block of wood (2" x 4" x 18") fixed into the ground. It is linked to another piece of wood, the same size, but with a cross section 3" x 1" attached to it in the form of a T-joint. The wood is rotated with the help of a bow-shaped tool, made of bamboo or cane, and about four feet in length. This bow-shaped tool is topped with a round wooden kit on which the thread or rope is twined. It has a hole in it to permit the reed or rope to pass through it. The bow is held with the rope tight, the rope going around the wooden kit to enable it to rotate.
Only the most basic shapes - conical, oval or round - are created on the lathe. Usually the bow on the lathe is worked with the right hand, while the wood is cut and shaped into required forms with a chisel held in the left hand. In a power lathe, the wood is turned on a machine; however, the chisel work, and hence all the detailing is done by hand. The chisels vary in function and application; some of the commonly used ones are (i) the straight-spade chisel; (ii) the bent-spade chisel; (iii) the screw-shaped chisel; (iv) the dog-leg chisel; and (v) the ordinary chisel. Great dexterity is required in using the lathe and the chisel(s), especially as any imperfect movement can destroy the shape of the article being created.
The coloured lacquer surface finish is created with a mixture of shellac, lithopone powder (a compound of barium sulphate and zinc sulphate) and aniline colours. Before the lacquer is applied, the shaped piece is polished with a fine powder made from broken pottery in order to fill up the pores. To make the coloured lacquer, the shellac is melted over fire and then a small quantity of pigment - dissolved in water or oil - is deposited in a hollow formed on the surface of the melted shellac. The hollow is closed and the lac is pounded vigorously till the lac mixes in. The hammering also heats the shellac and creates an India rubber like consistency. This is then cut into strips known as battis. The pigment is in the form of battis when applied to the wood. The batti is pressed against the article as it revolves on the lathe; the heat generated melts the lac and colours the wood, unevenly at first, but with increasing evenness as the colour diffuses. A rag with coconut oil is rubbed over the lacquered surface after which a screwpine (Talegari) leaf is rubbed gently to impart a gloss. The pigments used include sulphur, white lead, red mercury, Prussian blue, lamp black and indigo. A metallic effect can be created by mixing lac with powdered mica, powdered tinfoil or with an amalgam of mercury, lead and tin.
Products and Markets
Among the toys made at Chennapatna, complete sets of kitchenware, including items regularly found in Indian households (grinding stones, mortars, pestles, rolling pin) are a speciality item. Brightly coloured rolling pins, often multi-hued, with different colours running through in circular bands are part of the original set of wooden lacquerware products from Chennapatna. The range of toys has, however, expanded remarkably: dolls, musical bands, spinning tops, train sets, carts, baby rattles, egg holders, and an array of animal and bird shapes are common. Utilitarian items like pen and pencil holders, candle stands and napkin rings are also being made, increasingly for export, as are small items of jewellery like bead necklaces. While, some of the object are created by joining together several individually shaped pieces, others - like pencil holders - are often hollowed out from a single piece of wood. Experimentation with mixing shades with each other as well as with metallic substances has thrown up some very sophisticated hues - rust, mauve, ochre - quite startlingly different from the bright - and sometimes a little garish - flat colours that characterised the early lacquerware toys. Export has a lot to do with this increased sophistication in detailing and in lacquering. Local sales accounts for a fairly small part of the actual turnover of the Chennapatna toy-makers. Most sales are made through dealers and orders for export, or else through the large orders procured from state and central handicraft corporations. These state handicraft corporations are working towards organising and streamlining production and sale of Chennapatna wooden lacquerware. This is an extremely important step, especially because, the Chennapatna toy-makers are in serious need of organisation if they are to benefit from the increased demand there is for their lacquerware items. When asked as to why the Chennapatna craftspersons could not initiate organisation among themselves, Mohammad Jigria says that the internal competition among them precludes such a move; it is necessary to have an external agent involved in organising them. So far, the external agents have been dealers - interested in their own profits rather than in the craft and the craftsperson at Chennapatna. More non-partisan involvement is being supplied by state interest; the process of empowering craftspersons in Chennapatna, however, is gradual and needs sustained and multi-pronged inputs.
Conclusion
The influx of toys from all over the globe, has seriously challenged the visibility of traditional Indian toys, especially in urban India. However, wooden lacquerware toys - like those from Chennapatna - are special, if not unique, on several counts: for the safety value of the materials used (wood); for their link with objects and activities that are ingrained in the cultural memory and reality of the subcontinent, for their relative inexpensiveness; and last (but not least) for the breathtaking ornamentation and colour that they display - always delighting to children.
Wooden Lacquerware of Nirona, Gujarat,
Wooden lacquer from Gujarat is famous for its exquisite beauty and vibrant colors. The nomadic tribal community of Vadhas in the Nirona region of Kutch is highly talented in making wooden objects with lac colouring. Teak wood or hard mango wood are commonly used for the purpose. In Girona village around 40 families are engaged with this craft.
Wooden lacquer from Gujarat is famous for its exquisite beauty and vibrant colors. The nomadic tribal community of Vadhas in the Nirona region of Kutch is highly talented in making wooden objects with lac colouring. Teak wood or hard mango wood are commonly used for the purpose. In Girona village around 40 families are engaged with this craft.
Tools
Hammer and Chisels |
Lathe
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Colors |
Coconut Sticks to create patterns
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Technique and Process
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Teak wood and hard mango wood from forest are available in the market in square blocks. The basic shape is hewed from the block using a chisel and hammer. To prepare a wooden spatula the wood cut in the basic shape and holes made on either side to place in the lathe |
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| Before coloring, the surface is polished with sand paper and, then put on a lathe and rotated. | |
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The friction softens the lac which is then smeared all over according to the design and a number of layers. |
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Excess color is removed using a stick made from coconut. |
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Lacquer in different shades are laid one over the other or smeared horizontally like a band. |
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A lace stick is pressed against the colored spoon. Using this the craftsman works out the designs with a chisel, then scrapes the colors thus creating designs which otherwise would be impossible. Friction make the lac smooth and the pressure is exerted according to the design. |
The Craftsman
Popat Vikiya Vadha learnt the craft from his father Shri Vekya Meram Vadha, a skilled craft man given the State Award in 1995 for making a wooden lacquer bangle stand. His products range from rolling pins, mortar pestles, spoons, spatulas and a special spindle used in every household in Kutch and also outside Gujarat. Now he is planning to expand their market abroad.Popat Vikiya Vadha explained how the many fairs and exhibitions are beneficial is expanding their market. Though the cooking utensils are being replaced by metal ones, there is a large demand for the toys.
Popat Vikiya Vadha learnt the craft from his father Shri Vekya Meram Vadha, a skilled craft man given the State Award in 1995 for making a wooden lacquer bangle stand. His products range from rolling pins, mortar pestles, spoons, spatulas and a special spindle used in every household in Kutch and also outside Gujarat. Now he is planning to expand their market abroad.Popat Vikiya Vadha explained how the many fairs and exhibitions are beneficial is expanding their market. Though the cooking utensils are being replaced by metal ones, there is a large demand for the toys.Products
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Spatula |
Mortar and Pestle |
Candle Stick |
Spinning top |
Box |
Candle Sticks |
Rolling Pins |
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Wooden Toys of Kondapally, Andhra Pradesh,
The fame of wooden dolls and toys of Kondapally is spread all over Andhra Pradesh. Stylised in form and colour, they are crafted by artisans known as arya kshatriyas. Using a soft wood called poniki, the themes crafted include everyday scenes from village life, figures of deities including the dasha avataras (ten divine manifestations of Vishnu), birds and animals. The figures are extremely well formed and are sometimes made in large sizes also. The style is realistic and great attention is given to the smallest detail. The painted faces are expressive and each figure has a distinct identity and beauty.
The fame of wooden dolls and toys of Kondapally is spread all over Andhra Pradesh. Stylised in form and colour, they are crafted by artisans known as arya kshatriyas. Using a soft wood called poniki, the themes crafted include everyday scenes from village life, figures of deities including the dasha avataras (ten divine manifestations of Vishnu), birds and animals. The figures are extremely well formed and are sometimes made in large sizes also. The style is realistic and great attention is given to the smallest detail. The painted faces are expressive and each figure has a distinct identity and beauty.
Process and Techniques
Each piece of poniki wood is first heated slowly to draw out all the moisture. This wood - as light as air - is easily malleable; it is sold by the head load and prices range from approximately Rs 200 per head load for larger pieces of poniki to Rs 150 per head load for smaller pieces. The tools used by the artisan are rudimentary and include three sizes of saws and a hammer, with chisels and files used for the final finishing.
The artisan first carves the main portion of the figure. At the next stage every limb is separately crafted and then joined to the main body with an adhesive paste made of tamarind seeds. The entire figure is then given a coating of lime glue. Finally, a base called chakla is made for the figure(s) to stand on. This gives stability to the final product. A single artisan can carve about 200 pieces a month and an additional 15 days are required for the painting of the figures. The painting is done with very fine brushes made of goat hair. Water, oil and enamel colours are used.
Traditionally, the men carve the wood while the women paint the figures. Interestingly, the turban or headpiece of the figure is always painted first and the colour used is the bright vermilion red with yellow highlights to enhance the base colour. Black is the last colour to be applied. The painting is done with great attention being paid to the expression and to the dress details.
Practitioners and Location
Kondapally toys, as the name suggests, are crafted in the village of Kondapally in Krishna district near Amravati in Andhra Pradesh. Initially the craft was practised only by hereditary artisans; however, over the last few decades, training schemes offering both advanced and apprentice courses have been set up by the government to encourage new entrants into the field. Shri Dasu Rau, who belonged to a traditional sonar (jeweller) family was trained in this scheme in 1971-72 and now practises this craft along with his whole family. There are approximately 30-35 families in Kondapally who practise this craft, which serves as a full-time occupation for them. Their products are mainly sold through exhibitions and through state emporiums.
Designs/Products
The wooden toys of Andhra Pradesh are well known all over India, with each district being distinctive for its own style and characterisation. The toys of Kondapally are noted for the delicacy of carving, stylised colouring and delicate form. The toys include characterisations of Hindu deities like Hanuman, Laxmi and Ganpati, representations of the 10 incarnations of Vishnu, scenes from the Ramayana, features of from daily life and depictions of various arts and performers are also carved. Caparisoned elephants, human figures, and birds and animals are also popular. The products are light in weight and are usually small in size. The characters portrayed are realistic, easily recognisable and colourful to behold. Figures are priced at Rs 80 upwards.
Words and Birds,
Issue #007, Winter, 2021 ISSN: 2581- 9410
Marlies and Meeta started working together in 2017 as part of a Textiel Factorij project. They continue to collaborate and create fibre art together at Studio Chaubundi Kaladera, Rajasthan, Paris and Haarlem in the Netherlands. Their work has shown in the Netherlands at The Zuiderzee Museum, The Dutch Costume Museum in Amsterdam, Rijksmuseum at Twenthe, Lloyd Hotel and Cultural Centre in Amsterdam, Galerie Kruis-Weg 68 in Haarlem.
Working with Cane Fibre in Cordoba, Colombia – 2003-2004,
Presenting the Cooperative at the stand of Proexport, the Colombian Government Export Promoter.
INNOVARTEProject: Strengthening of the handicraft sector working the cane fibre in the region of Cordoba, Colombia 2003 - 2004 |
| The Zenu people With little growing land, inexistent industry, frequent tropical cyclones, a high level of illiteracy and the extortion of paramilitary groups, the Zenu people, living in poverty today, were in the Precolombian times one of the most educated prosperous cultures. | |
| Excellent handicraft workers on gold and ceramics in the tenth century, nowadays they only work the cane fibre and are the creators of the Vueltiao hat, one of the national symbols. Made in a type of native cane, it uses mainly two colours, brown and white. The drawings they use, of great semiotic importance, are different according to the families and communities. |  |
| The areas where INNOVRATE carried out the project are where most skillful cane fibre working handicraft people live, being this their only working activitity. | |
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Products The "Vueltiao" hat is the basic product and the origin of all the production in cane fibre in the Zenu indigenous community.About 22 years ago, products such as bags, wallets and wristlets were introduced and they were the present offer at the time when we travelled there. Little had been added up to them and they suffered a stagnation in the creation of new products. |
| The Design team from INNOVARTE visited the region of Cordoba and met the Artisans from the Cooperative. The handicraft people, perfectly organized and very participative, gave different exhibitions of the process of their products elaboration, and prepared a representative exhibition of their products. | |
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A handicraft worker shows the process of the preparation of the cane fibre. |
| Visits to several artisan homes. The Design team studied the different steps of the cane fibre work. Many technological problems were detected, such as the slow and tiring processes, as the ironing of the fibre, or the use of very old sewing machines. | ||
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| New proposals. A market research had previously been made in Spain on products elaborated with vegetable fibre. The new proposals were shown there. | ||
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At work creating prototypes. During the visit, the design team helped the handicraft men and women to elaborate the new products. |
| Our task consisted on adapting the design and quality of the products elaborated in cane fibre to the North American and European markets, as well as their presentation there. On the slide, some samples designed by INNOVRATE: bracelets, folders and sandals. |  |
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| The new image was created for the new handicraft cooperative. | |
Presenting the Cooperative at the stand of Proexport, the Colombian Government Export Promoter.
| Presentation at "Expoartesanias" Fair, Bogota, Colombia |
Yak Wool- A unique fibre from the Himalayas,
Issue #10, 2023 ISSN: 2581- 9410 The yaks on the Changthang Plateau in Eastern Ladakh live in altitudes between 4,000 and 5,000 m and therefore, need to have a very warm coat to keep warm during the cold winter months with temperatures up to -40 C degrees. They have a three-layer coat. On the very outside, the hair covering the yak is used for making tents and ropes. The mid-layer is a bit thinner however too rough to use as a fine wool. The wool closest to the body is the finest and used for garments. It is called ‘khullu’ and keeps warm, is odor-resistant as it absorbs moisture easily and releases it into the air.
Each year in the summer, we source yak wool from the nomad community in Kharnak.
In Ladakh, the yak appears in 3 different colors: dark brown which is the most common, beige which is less common and the rarest, the white yak, its wool can sometimes have a tint of grey, too.
Yaks have always played a big part in the life of the nomads. Their wool is precious and they were the means of transport during the many moves each year. Even now, the group of nomads we work with still moves 7 times a year. That’s why the yak is such a help for the nomadic community. However today, the possessions of the nomads are no longer transported by yak but by car. Also, the yak is important as a food source in the winter as well as leather for traditional shoes. The yak hair is used to weave the traditional tents called “reibo” of the Kharnak nomads. Moreover, it is also used to make ropes to attach the animals or for the tents.
On average, a family owns about 30 yaks. Approximately half of them live in the mountains almost all year around whereas the smaller yaks and mothers return each day after grazing to the nomad’s camp.
However, the yak population is decreasing as people are keeping less and less yaks as they are no longer required for transporting the belongings. Some families do not even have a white yak, some have only one. The beige yak wool is very popular among the families themselves.
Once we have sourced the precious wool the processing begins. The sorting and washing takes a lot of time. Sorting by hand, separating the coarser hairs from the soft “khullu”, which has a micron of around 16, just a bit higher than cashmere. Already in this process we have only 50% maximum left of what the initial weight was. Yak wool is always very dusty as the yaks like to lay down on the ground and rest and often scratch their backs by rolling around in the dust. Once the sorting is done, we are washing the wool by hand, only with biodegradable soap as with all our other wools. In this step there is less of a loss as most of the dust comes out during sorting.
Now comes a very time intensive and risky job: dehairing the yak wool by machine at our workshop. Out of our ambition to get the softest yak wool we can with our entirely natural way of processing we put the yak wool up to 6 times through our dehairing machine. Each time we lose more of the coarser fibres and are left with about 30% of what we have put through the machine. Of course, we do not ‘loose’ this wool as we use it in our carpets. However, the amount of soft khullu of each kilogram of yak wool is very low.
The next step is the hand spinning and weaving, the same process as with our other textiles. Here the spinning of yak wool is more challenging as the fibre is shorter and therefore breaks more often during spinning. After weaving, the finishing is done and then a little wash by hand. The finished products of our yak wool are so precious to us. We look back at the days of work, starting with the sourcing itself and all the steps which follow.
Issue #10, 2023 ISSN: 2581- 9410 The yaks on the Changthang Plateau in Eastern Ladakh live in altitudes between 4,000 and 5,000 m and therefore, need to have a very warm coat to keep warm during the cold winter months with temperatures up to -40 C degrees. They have a three-layer coat. On the very outside, the hair covering the yak is used for making tents and ropes. The mid-layer is a bit thinner however too rough to use as a fine wool. The wool closest to the body is the finest and used for garments. It is called ‘khullu’ and keeps warm, is odor-resistant as it absorbs moisture easily and releases it into the air.
Each year in the summer, we source yak wool from the nomad community in Kharnak.
In Ladakh, the yak appears in 3 different colors: dark brown which is the most common, beige which is less common and the rarest, the white yak, its wool can sometimes have a tint of grey, too.
Yaks have always played a big part in the life of the nomads. Their wool is precious and they were the means of transport during the many moves each year. Even now, the group of nomads we work with still moves 7 times a year. That’s why the yak is such a help for the nomadic community. However today, the possessions of the nomads are no longer transported by yak but by car. Also, the yak is important as a food source in the winter as well as leather for traditional shoes. The yak hair is used to weave the traditional tents called “reibo” of the Kharnak nomads. Moreover, it is also used to make ropes to attach the animals or for the tents.
On average, a family owns about 30 yaks. Approximately half of them live in the mountains almost all year around whereas the smaller yaks and mothers return each day after grazing to the nomad’s camp.
However, the yak population is decreasing as people are keeping less and less yaks as they are no longer required for transporting the belongings. Some families do not even have a white yak, some have only one. The beige yak wool is very popular among the families themselves.
Once we have sourced the precious wool the processing begins. The sorting and washing takes a lot of time. Sorting by hand, separating the coarser hairs from the soft “khullu”, which has a micron of around 16, just a bit higher than cashmere. Already in this process we have only 50% maximum left of what the initial weight was. Yak wool is always very dusty as the yaks like to lay down on the ground and rest and often scratch their backs by rolling around in the dust. Once the sorting is done, we are washing the wool by hand, only with biodegradable soap as with all our other wools. In this step there is less of a loss as most of the dust comes out during sorting.
Now comes a very time intensive and risky job: dehairing the yak wool by machine at our workshop. Out of our ambition to get the softest yak wool we can with our entirely natural way of processing we put the yak wool up to 6 times through our dehairing machine. Each time we lose more of the coarser fibres and are left with about 30% of what we have put through the machine. Of course, we do not ‘loose’ this wool as we use it in our carpets. However, the amount of soft khullu of each kilogram of yak wool is very low.
The next step is the hand spinning and weaving, the same process as with our other textiles. Here the spinning of yak wool is more challenging as the fibre is shorter and therefore breaks more often during spinning. After weaving, the finishing is done and then a little wash by hand. The finished products of our yak wool are so precious to us. We look back at the days of work, starting with the sourcing itself and all the steps which follow.
Zari, Zardozi, Tinsel Embroidery,
Different styles of Indian embroidery have been handed down from generation to generation: zardozi, chikankari, sujuni, kantha, kasuti, toda, mirror work. The passion for embroidery in India has led to great experimentation in the field, with several styles, creating dazzling effects such as the 'stained glass' look, the long cross stitch, rice stitch, textured panels and much more. One can see embroidery on wall hangings, saris, textiles and garments, incorporating unique motifs and patterns. Zardozi is one of the oldest and most beautiful embroidery styles of India. It is used extensively in clothing and home decoration. Painstakingly and delicately done by hand, creations in zardozi work are timeless, unbounded by the shackles of trends.
Different styles of Indian embroidery have been handed down from generation to generation: zardozi, chikankari, sujuni, kantha, kasuti, toda, mirror work. The passion for embroidery in India has led to great experimentation in the field, with several styles, creating dazzling effects such as the 'stained glass' look, the long cross stitch, rice stitch, textured panels and much more. One can see embroidery on wall hangings, saris, textiles and garments, incorporating unique motifs and patterns. Zardozi is one of the oldest and most beautiful embroidery styles of India. It is used extensively in clothing and home decoration. Painstakingly and delicately done by hand, creations in zardozi work are timeless, unbounded by the shackles of trends.
History
Zardozi - the magnificent metallic embellishment of India - dates back to ancient times. It finds mention in Vedic literature, the Ramayana and the Mahabharata, and all accounts of the Sultanate period. The country, from very early times, was known for the use of gold embroidery on a variety of objects including furnishings, trappings, parasols, and equestrian ornaments. The more aesthetic and evolved embroideries were used on court costumes and especially on accessories such as shoes.The historical accounts of this craft are shrouded in romantic stories and no accurate data is available. An imperial craft brought to India by Delhi's first Turko-Afghan sultans in the 12th century, zardozi became equally popular with the wealthy Hindu, Muslim and European elite down the ages. History says that from the 13th century, the craftspeople who worked with this medium, setting seed pearls and precious stones with fine gold and silver wire, were known as zardos workers.
Today several families in Varanasi, Agra, Lucknow, Rampur, Bareilly and Farukkabad have revived this old craft to supply exquisite zari embroidered bridal outfits and salwar kameezes to boutiques around the country. In recent years, zardozi has seen a renewed interest in Hyderabad. Zardozi is also combined with Dabka work and is originally said to be from Lucknow.
Traditionally, only men did zardozi work, and mostly in Lucknow and Kolkata but this no longer holds true. In Hyderabad, a growing zardozi centre, 10-15 per cent of the thousands of zardozi workers in Hyderabad are women.
Done with metal wire and metal pieces or sequins on velvet, satin and heavy silk bases, zardozi is one of the most famous and elaborate techniques in metal embroidery. The original embroidery of zardozi was done with pure silver wires coated with real gold, and was known as Kalabatun. Though silver and gold wires have now been replaced with synthetic threads, the art remains the same. The use of metal embroidery in Indian textiles and costumes, especially those used for ritual or ceremonial purposes, demonstrates the importance of gold and silver within the culture.
Of all the crafts of the country, zardozi seems to have flourished and survived to the present day like few others.
Regions Known For Zardozi Work in India
- Hyderabad
- Lucknow
- Jammu, Kashmir
- Kolkata
- Varanasi
- Agra
- Delhi
- Farrukkabad
Raw Material
Metal ingots are melted and pressed through perforated steel sheets, to be converted into wires. They are then hammered to the required thinness. Plain wire is called badla, and when wound round a thread, it is called kasav. Smaller spangles are called sitara, and tiny dots made of badla are called mukaish.The original zardozi thread was made from an alloy of silver and gold. The wire that came out of the furnace, although containing a lot of silver in it, glittered like gold. This flattened wire was then twisted around silk threads to form the spring like zardozi. Zardozi uses dabka (a spring type of thread), kora, katori, tikena, and sitara (sequins) and also glass and plastic beads at times. Heavy and grand to look at, garments made with zardozi embroidery can weigh a lot in terms of pounds and kilos.
Raw Material Procurement
The zardozi thread comes in long curled strips of shiny gold wire and is sold by weight. It has to be cut to size depending on the design. A variety of materials are used for the embroidery: zari, sequins, cowries, beads, shiny stones that look like diamonds, dabka, sitara. They are all purchased from the local market. All these embellishments are usually bought in bulk and stored for later use.
Tools Used
Frame / Adda: This is a wooden or metal frame over which the cloth is pulled tightly, so that it does not move while the artisans are at work. This also enables faster movement and clear vision.
Needle: The embroidery is done with a needle. A hooked awl kind of needle called ari can be used, or a simple stitching needle. The needle used is the smallest available, generally numbered nine. But it could depend on the design and the thread used.
Scissors: A pair of scissors is an essential tool of the workers involved in the embroidery. It is required time and again to cut the threads and loose ends.
The Process of Zardozi Embroidery
Zardozi is sheer magic of nimble fingers and imaginative designs.
Designing
Earlier the designs used to be very Mughal in nature, comprising of floral and leaf patterns derived from that era. With modern influences, the patterns have changed. More and more geometric designs are used but flowers, petals and leaves still find their place. The design is first traced on a tracing sheet and holes are made along the traced pattern using a needle.
Tracing
The fabric on which the embroidery is to be done is placed on a flat table and the tracing sheet is placed in position. A solution of kerosene and Robin Blue is made. A wad of cloth is dipped into this solution and wiped against the tracing so that the ink seeps through the holes to trace the design on to the fabric. This is then sent to the embroidery workers.
Setting the Adda/Frame
The fabric to be embroidered is stretched taut over a frame called the adda. This concept has evolved from a knockdown camp bed called the khatia used in rural areas. The adda follows the assembly and tightening principles of the khatia, and gives the cloth a uniform tension. It consists of four wooden spars (sometimes, bamboo is used for the end members) resting on wooden posts. The frame can be made to fit any size of fabric.
The artisan sits on the floor behind the wooden frame working on the piece of cloth. The frame itself is quite large, and can comfortably accommodate five to seven artisans working together on the pre-traced designs.
Tracing
The fabric on which the embroidery is to be done is placed on a flat table and the tracing sheet is placed in position. A solution of kerosene and Robin Blue is made. A wad of cloth is dipped into this solution and wiped against the tracing so that the ink seeps through the holes to trace the design on to the fabric. This is then sent to the embroidery workers.
Setting the Adda/Frame
The fabric to be embroidered is stretched taut over a frame called the adda. This concept has evolved from a knockdown camp bed called the khatia used in rural areas. The adda follows the assembly and tightening principles of the khatia, and gives the cloth a uniform tension. It consists of four wooden spars (sometimes, bamboo is used for the end members) resting on wooden posts. The frame can be made to fit any size of fabric.
The artisan sits on the floor behind the wooden frame working on the piece of cloth. The frame itself is quite large, and can comfortably accommodate five to seven artisans working together on the pre-traced designs.
The Embroidery
A simple needle or a crochet like hook fixed to a wooden stick called the ari are used for the embroidery. The ari greatly enhances the speed of the work, as it enables the artisan to pass the threads both above and below the fabric. The ari has its disadvantages, though. One tug at a loose thread can spell disaster to the entire design as it can unravel in a matter of minutes. The needle and thread method is far more dependable, but is very time and labor consuming, and hence far more expensive.
All kinds of combinations are used to add to the grandeur of zardozi. A little bit of thread work here or a few sequins or semi precious stones added there, can make the fabric appealing while giving it a unique exclusivity.
If the design is smaller, then a smaller metal frame can also be used instead of the wooden planks. This is much more comfortable when the embroidery is to be focused in a particular area of the fabric.
The smallest work takes a day to be completed and the most exclusive one can take up to ten days. Each piece is charged per design and material used. For bridal wear, the embroidery is usually very intricate and neatly done with the finest dabka, cowries and stones. For such work, the embroidery could cost as much as Rs 10,000-15,000/-.
Use of The Product
These days zardozi is used to make exquisite evening dresses, coats; fashion accessories like purses, handbags, belts, shoes; ceremonial adornments like badges and insignia; furnishing accessories like cushion covers, wall hangings table covers and boxes etc.
Marketing
Zardozi embellished outfits have always been 'en vogue' especially for weddings and special ceremonies. During the last fifty years, the revival of zardozi has been phenomenal. Not only is it found in the latest designer outlets, but it is being used yet again for interiors of mega weddings and grand ceremonies. Today the Indian ramp is ablaze with products of the craftspeople - the materials may not have the same aesthetic of the Mughals, but they do cater to the demand for highly ornamented garments with glittering beads and sequins.
With the change in times and demand, the zardozi craftsman has become vital to the garments 'en vogue' in Hollywood and Bollywood.
Changes in Recent Years
By the end of the Mughal era, the art declined because of its high cost and the lack of precious metals for the purpose of embroidery. It was again revived in the 20th century. Today, like everything else, zardozi too has its limitations: being sold in the market at a much cheaper cost, made out of copper and brass wires plated with gold. The latest additions are colored zardozi with a plastic base. Far more pocket friendly, this new zardozi lasts longer and is lighter to wear.
At times the base fabrics have plastic replacements in place of what was formerly pure gold and the motifs are so far removed from the original, that the product does not resemble what had at one time bedazzled visitors to the royal courts of India. The days of using real gold and silver thread are now history. What one can get, however, is synthetic or 'tested' zari embroidery.
The richness of gold may no longer grace the work of zardozi craftsman, but the glitter and glamour endures - hopefully it will for years to come. Zardozi is as tenacious as the wires the craftsmen work with.
References
www.chennaibest.com
www.freemarriage.com
www.thehindubusinessline.com
www.telegraphindia.com
www.indian-embroidery.com
Zottim Leather Chappals of Goa,
The wearing and making of the Zottim leather chappals ((slippers) is another facet of the disappearing Goan way of life. Like many other traditions it is slowly vanishing - unsung and unnoticed. Ideally suited to the warm and humid climate of Goa these open slip-on chappals keep the feet cool and dry. Crafted for men, women and the young the Zottim chappal takes over 12 to 14 days to make, each bit hand-crafted and hand-stitched for long lasting durability. Though overshadowed by their better known neighbors in Kolhapur, Maharashtra the sturdiness and resilience of the the Zottim is a byword and part of local folklore which claims that a well made pair of Zottims lasts a lifetime. A popular tongue-in-cheek Konkani proverb - Ek soirik korunk, sat zottim zhorunk zai – which roughly translates as –‘to get a single wedding proposal be prepared to wear out seven pairs of Zottims’ is testimony to the difficulties faced in finding a partner and the resilience of a Zottim. The makers of these bespoke leather chappals belong to the Hindu Sawant community and are followers of the 15th-century poet, social reformer, savant and Bhakti Saint Sant Ravidas. Their crafting skills extend to making a variety of chappals from the elegant and popular toe-ring T-strap Zottim, to the slip-on, the enclosed slip-on, the toe-divider, the Y-strap chappal and to other customary patterns that the client may want. Using leather that has been vegetable dyed and tanned the Zottim chappal is made by hand with minimal tools employed. A stone slabs forms the sturdy work-table, hammers, awl, scissors, pincers of different sizes, a set-square and compass, embossing and punching tools and needles are what form the bases of the trade. The chappals are made from both buffalo and bullock hide. Hard wearing buffalo hide is used for the sole with the craftsman gluing and hammering down several layers to make a single sturdy, tough usage sole. The final touches being the patterns that are etched and engraved on to the sole before it is hand stitched on to the upper part of the chappal where the more pliable and supple bullock leathers are used. The last stage is the coloring of the completed footwear. No nails are used in the making. Regular clients have their Zottims made-to-measure with the craftsman taking into account each customers individual needs and foot peculiarities. Off the shelf chappals are on sale in the shop. By custom none of the chappals have foot sizes assigned to them as the maker can find the right size by just briefly examining your feet. Besides the Zottem a wide variety of chappals were crafted in Goa from the single toe wooden sandal – the Padukka that is worn by Hindi ascetics to the boat shaped pointy curved Choddem. As it was customary to walk bare feet within the home the footwear was left at the doorstep, to be used only for wearing on the streets. Other footwear customs of interest included that worn by the Goan Kulmi community whose chappals were made from the bark of the Kumbyo tree (Careya arborea ROXB) and formed part of their wedding ritual in the auspicious ceremony that involved the hiding of the groom’s chappal by the bride’s sisters. While In the Kharvi community of fisher folk the women wore disposable footwear made of coconut leaves when they went door-to-door selling fish. All this is now a thing of the past. As young apprentices are hard to find and the well educated youth of the family are taking on other jobs the numbers of practitioners has been slowly dwindling. Some continue in the trade and can still be found in some of the smaller towns of Goa in the chappal workshops that double as their showroom-cum-outlet. Till now the few remaining outlets have managed to successfully fight of the onslaught from new and modern styles retaining the loyalty of their customers. However their situation is now quite dire as they face an acute shortage of good quality and reasonable priced leather that is their main raw material. The ban on buffalo slaughter has dealt the final death knell as this shortage has resulted in a huge increase in the cost of the leather that is correspondingly reflected in the price of a pair of chappals - out-pricing it for their middle-class Goan clientele. The once buzzing shop-cum-workplace in the bustling Calangute market has downed its shutters bearing testimony to this decline. The fate of Manohar Sawant and others like him is uncertain as he is amongst the last in his line to continue in his hereditary craft at his workshop-cum-store in a prime location in the town of Mapsa. Set up by his father almost seven decades ago in a time of certainties. [gallery ids="165411,165413,165414"] First published in the Sunday Herald.
The wearing and making of the Zottim leather chappals ((slippers) is another facet of the disappearing Goan way of life. Like many other traditions it is slowly vanishing - unsung and unnoticed. Ideally suited to the warm and humid climate of Goa these open slip-on chappals keep the feet cool and dry. Crafted for men, women and the young the Zottim chappal takes over 12 to 14 days to make, each bit hand-crafted and hand-stitched for long lasting durability. Though overshadowed by their better known neighbors in Kolhapur, Maharashtra the sturdiness and resilience of the the Zottim is a byword and part of local folklore which claims that a well made pair of Zottims lasts a lifetime. A popular tongue-in-cheek Konkani proverb - Ek soirik korunk, sat zottim zhorunk zai – which roughly translates as –‘to get a single wedding proposal be prepared to wear out seven pairs of Zottims’ is testimony to the difficulties faced in finding a partner and the resilience of a Zottim. The makers of these bespoke leather chappals belong to the Hindu Sawant community and are followers of the 15th-century poet, social reformer, savant and Bhakti Saint Sant Ravidas. Their crafting skills extend to making a variety of chappals from the elegant and popular toe-ring T-strap Zottim, to the slip-on, the enclosed slip-on, the toe-divider, the Y-strap chappal and to other customary patterns that the client may want. Using leather that has been vegetable dyed and tanned the Zottim chappal is made by hand with minimal tools employed. A stone slabs forms the sturdy work-table, hammers, awl, scissors, pincers of different sizes, a set-square and compass, embossing and punching tools and needles are what form the bases of the trade. The chappals are made from both buffalo and bullock hide. Hard wearing buffalo hide is used for the sole with the craftsman gluing and hammering down several layers to make a single sturdy, tough usage sole. The final touches being the patterns that are etched and engraved on to the sole before it is hand stitched on to the upper part of the chappal where the more pliable and supple bullock leathers are used. The last stage is the coloring of the completed footwear. No nails are used in the making. Regular clients have their Zottims made-to-measure with the craftsman taking into account each customers individual needs and foot peculiarities. Off the shelf chappals are on sale in the shop. By custom none of the chappals have foot sizes assigned to them as the maker can find the right size by just briefly examining your feet. Besides the Zottem a wide variety of chappals were crafted in Goa from the single toe wooden sandal – the Padukka that is worn by Hindi ascetics to the boat shaped pointy curved Choddem. As it was customary to walk bare feet within the home the footwear was left at the doorstep, to be used only for wearing on the streets. Other footwear customs of interest included that worn by the Goan Kulmi community whose chappals were made from the bark of the Kumbyo tree (Careya arborea ROXB) and formed part of their wedding ritual in the auspicious ceremony that involved the hiding of the groom’s chappal by the bride’s sisters. While In the Kharvi community of fisher folk the women wore disposable footwear made of coconut leaves when they went door-to-door selling fish. All this is now a thing of the past. As young apprentices are hard to find and the well educated youth of the family are taking on other jobs the numbers of practitioners has been slowly dwindling. Some continue in the trade and can still be found in some of the smaller towns of Goa in the chappal workshops that double as their showroom-cum-outlet. Till now the few remaining outlets have managed to successfully fight of the onslaught from new and modern styles retaining the loyalty of their customers. However their situation is now quite dire as they face an acute shortage of good quality and reasonable priced leather that is their main raw material. The ban on buffalo slaughter has dealt the final death knell as this shortage has resulted in a huge increase in the cost of the leather that is correspondingly reflected in the price of a pair of chappals - out-pricing it for their middle-class Goan clientele. The once buzzing shop-cum-workplace in the bustling Calangute market has downed its shutters bearing testimony to this decline. The fate of Manohar Sawant and others like him is uncertain as he is amongst the last in his line to continue in his hereditary craft at his workshop-cum-store in a prime location in the town of Mapsa. Set up by his father almost seven decades ago in a time of certainties. [gallery ids="165411,165413,165414"] First published in the Sunday Herald.