Journal Archive



We have to bear in mind that in Pre Incan time, numerous cultures were spaced throughout the territory, each with its own customs and traditions, working with whatever elements from nature they had at hand. These prevail to our time, making patterns and colours in jumpers and rugs distinguishable to different areas even now. The sierra is cold, thus using and extracting their base material, wool, from the “auquenidos” like the alpaca. (The auquenido is a camel-like animal, minus the humps) The coast-based cultures had no need for high cold resistant fabrics, using instead mostly cotton. Today, alpaca wool is still rich, warm and expensive; the animals pasture the high territory in the mountains and have their wool cut for the manufacture of chals, jumpers and chullos – a hat-like device that covers the head and ears. Baby alpaca wool is softer and even more demanded for its quality. Pima cotton is Peru’s best cotton, hand picked even today to avoid having the machinery tinting the white with yellow. The different use of colours in each region is due to the simple fact that e.g. a sierra flower won’t grow on the coast, or the colour of the soil in the jungle areas, called the “selva” is redder than the brownish coastal soil, thus each culture used whatever they had at hand for the fabrication of their textiles.


These images show products from an Indian market in downtown Lima, mainly wool articles from Huancayo, Cusco and Puno, all sierra territory. Today of course, many things have been modernized and are manufactured in factories, with many of the end products intended for export to the United States and Europe, where the market is rapidly growing. These tend to be family business, who maintain the base coloration and designs and of the region they came from. These designs replicate those made in ancient times and are meant to narrate a story, represent an animal which was considered divinity, show the path traveled by it’s people or show an ancient calendar, among others.

The purses come from Arequipa and it's all hand sewn. The sewing is typically recognized as theirs, especially from the Colca area (which is one of the places where you can go see the condors in the early morning.) The condor has a strong link with Peruvian culture (songs, tales, etc.) The wall rug is describing a sierra scene, but it’s utility is different than the others. For starters, the details in it are sewn in high relieve rather than weaved and the colours used, bright green and pink, differ considerably from the usual. These are made by the sierra people, called “serranos” but who migrated to Lima. They are meant to show a scene in their life’s back home.

The last textiles come from the amazons and are done by a tribe called the “Shipibos”. These are not meant to be exported, but rather are made just for recreation, which then end up in Lima for sale. The patterns made are random, whatever the person who made it felt like doing. It’s all hand painted using mud, flowers and the root of trees found in the jungle, giving the fabric a unique colouring and texture.

Introduction Warli has been described as the art of the living. Unlike other folk traditions, it depicts not epics nor mythologies but the daily struggles and successes of the warli people, their lives dictated by climatic and seasonal changes. Austere in appearance, of stark palette, the paintings are neither. They are joyous and energetic, a celebration of life.

Mr. Subhash Nathu Sutar learnt the art from his father, Mr. Nathu Devu Sutar. Theirs is one of the few houses in their village still employed in making warli art. Shri Nathu Devu Sutar has achieved national and international recognition for the finesse of his paintings. At 21, Subhash has always been enamoured by this art which has been practiced in his family for generations. But recognising the lack of income that can be generated solely by painting he is pursuing his Bachelors degree in Marathi and Communicative English from Vadkun College in Karndikar in Maharashtra.

As an artist Shri Subash Nathu Sutar, known for his unique designs, has been invited to fairs in Nagpur, Hydrabad, Pune and Delhi to exhibit his art. Warli is the name of a tribe which resides in Thane district in Maharashtra, north of Mumbai. The main villages where this tribe is located are Dahanu, Talasari, Mokhada, Vada and Palghara. Artist Subash N. Sutar's village Raithali is 2 km from Dahanu (Tal) in Maharashtra.

People in the Raitali are primarily agriculturists and thus their paintings are influenced by the seasonal cycle. They worship Nath Dev, the God of Agriculture, Hiranya Dev, the imperishable, referring to Lord Brahma and Palghata Devi, deity of fertility. It is customary among the people of Raithali to make Warli painting on the walls of the house before marriage. These paintings are executed by artists, traditionally restricted to women, specially trained to create these "Shaadi Ka Chowks". The paintings, using symbols, highlight key ceremonies like the 'baaraat' (when the bridegroom reaches the place where the ceremony is taking place) and 'puja' (ritual of worship) of the wedding.

CREATING SHAADI KA CHOWKS

The warli women called Savasini meaning married women whose husbands are alive, paint a chowk or a square on their walls of their kitchen as they believe this is the most sacred wall in the house and therefore where the gods are placed. Before painting the wall surface is cleaned and polished, first with cowdung followed by Geru Mitti (red mud). The wall is polished by hand. With the help of a brush, the painter paints 'Shaadi Ka Chowk' on the polished wall and white colours are specially used for this. Apart from painting on the wall they are even drawn on clothes.

The pictures are in a square or round format. For the warlis, life is cyclic repeating itself eternally. Circles best represent the art of warli, which has neither an end nor a beginning. At all occasions - birth, marriage, and death they draw circles, symbol of Mother Goddess. Apart from wedding ceremonies warli paintings depict the stories Dhann Ki Mela, Manir Ki Puja, which pictorialize and narrate special and specific occasions. Apart from these, there are pictures which show poverty, suffering of the human being and animals, which the people experienced during the times of flood and other crisis situations. Today, warli artists are broadening their palette for paintings created outside the traditional context, especially for exhibitions. New demand and new markets are dictating new designs with suggestions being made by designers or from those working with warli artists who exist outside the traditional space from within which warli art emerged and was sustained by.

Availability of Raw Materials

The material for Warli painting is bought from the near by market in Raithali. In the earlier days people used rice powder solution and brushes made from bamboo sticks which are now being replaced by poster colours and the polished brush. There are three different varieties of sand, Geru Mitti which is red in colour used for polishing the wall or cloth before making the Shaddi ka Chowk, Kale Mitti, black in colour, and the last one is in 'cow dung powder' for dark green in colour. The black sand and the Geru sand is brought from the market and per packet cost Rs. 10 to 15. For making paintings on cloth, a typical Latha cloth is used.

Making A Living

Subash gets more orders at the time of marriage seasons which lasts from November to January. For a Shaadi Ka Chowk he charges between Rs 450 to Rs. 600. The cost varies upon the size and the design of the picture.Apart from this, warli paintings have huge markets at the time of fairs. Subhash believes that greater awareness and knowledge of warli has increased demand for them. His dream is that one day there will exist an international market for warli art. This will, in his opinion, also sustain the tradition which is suffering the decline of practitioners as fewer members of the new generation want to learn and sustain themselves by the art.Warli painting is a combination of cultural heritage, tradition and the art of living.

Mr. Subash Nathu Sutar can be contacted at:Subhash N. Sutar Raitali, (Patilpada), Post.Ganjad, Tal-Dahanu Dist-Thane Pin-401602

Nestling in rural Bengal, amidst the verdant paddy fields punctuated by picturesque pukurs (ponds) and grandiose antiquity, are entire weaver villages engaged in creating the equivalent of poetry on fabric. Triumphing over the trauma of partition, weaver families, which migrated to West Bengal in the 1950’s, have helped keep alive a priceless heritage of highly stylised weaving techniques honed over generations.

The handloom industry in the eastern region has had its share of bumpy rides, but Bengal handlooms have survived the ups and downs to become a household name among connoisseurs of handloom.

Mr.S.K. Ghosh, ex director, D.C. handlooms, currently functioning as a consultant and resource person for the Handloom Cluster Development Scheme, accompanied me as a sensitive guide, specialist and activist, on my journey to discover the real face of handloom in Bengal and to gauge the response of weavers with regard to the new Cluster Development Scheme launched by the union government.

Speeding through lush green mustard fields set jewel like amongst banana plantations, we headed towards the handloom clusters in the district of Nadia. Across the river Churni, home to over seven lakh weavers, Nadia occupies a very important place in the Handloom industry in the State of West Bengal and the handloom itself plays a pivotal role in its socio–economic status. The traditional production of Jamdani Saree of Nabadwip, Shantipuri of Shantipur and Tangail varieties of Fulia area have been popular in the domestic market years together. For the uninitiated, there are at least six varieties of Bengal handlooms, each deriving its name from the village in which it originated, and each with its own distinctive style. The undisputed queen of the range, however, is the fabled Jamdani, which in all its myriad local avatars continues to retain its original grandeur and sophistication. The initial version is referred to as Daccai jamdani, although it is now also produced in Nabadwip and Dhattigram, in West Bengal. Daccai Jamdani is distinguished from its mutant cousins by its very fine texture resembling muslin and its elaborate and ornate workmanship. The single warp is usually ornamented with two extra weft followed by ground weft. While the original Bangladeshi sari is almost invariably on a beige background, the Indian weavers are a little more adventurous in their choice of colour schemes. It is woven painstakingly by hand on the old fashioned Jala loom, and many take even up to one year to weave a single sari. It feels supple to touch and drapes gently to reveal the contours of the wearer. While the Daccai Jamdani is strictly a formal affair, the other Jamdanis are much sought after by fashion-conscious women for their elegance and affordability. These are mostly replicas of Jamdani motifs on Tangail fabric and are generally known by the confusing nomenclature of Tangail Jamdani. Although beige background is the most popular, these are available in a riot of colours, at affordable prices. Besides Tangail, Dhoneokali, Shantipuri and Begumpuri are the other popular styles of Bengal handlooms in the lower price range. Of these, Tangail, which comes from Fulia, has a fine texture, with its 100s count fabric and highly stylised motifs, while Dhoneokali is known for its stripes and checks. Over the years, the distinctive patterns have merged as weavers started experimenting with various combinations of design and yarn, so much so, it is now difficult to distinguish between the various styles, unless one is a technical expert. Bengal is a large hub of Indian saree suppliers and manufacturers. Besides being sold as exclusive items in saree shops all over India, these are also exported to other countries.

Ground Realities The enterprising weavers of Fulia, have organised themselves into Self Help Groups that go by the common name of Fulia 1, 2 and 3. Mr. Amulya Kr. Basak, Manager of Tangail Tantujibi Unnayan Samabay Samiti Ltd, fulia no. 2 is an affable gentleman with an honours degree in Mathematics. The Samiti has currently 558 members and functions as a nodal agency between its members and the rest of the world. The three Fulia Samitis collectively have an export turnover of almost 15 crores approximately. Their main buyers are based at Italy, Japan and France. The domestic turnover is however around five crores.

Interestingly these groups do not export directly but procure and deliver orders to various ‘agents’ in and around Kolkata. As a matter of convenience, the big buying houses appoint these agents/merchants who in turn get the fabric woven by the weavers. The weavers therefore work with a reduced profit margin of a mere 15%.

Mr. Basak expressed his desire to increase profits so that they could attain long term sustainability in direct export marketing. Another drawback of the existing arrangement was that the merchants in search of a perfect price had a tendency to source the goods from a variety of weavers or even distribute the order to other weaving centres like Benaras etc, thus making the prices and products more competitive. Therefore the Cluster Development Scheme’s focus on exportable items needs to be reviewed in light of this phenomenal loss of profit suffered by the weavers due to middlemen and duplication by other weaving areas.

As I walked around Fulia no 2, one saw a lot of activity, with woven fabric, scarves and sarees being received from members as well as yarn issued out to those wanting to take back fresh work. The cotton yarn currently used is procured from NHDC while the silk used is from Bengaluru and China as well. The Chinese yarn needs to be made into smaller hanks for better dyeing.

One also saw hand spun 200s count Khadi yarn being prepared for degumming and scouring. This was procured from the nearby weaving area of Murshidabad, which traditionally is a stronghold of Khadi spinning and weaving. Although, Murshidabad is only a few hours away, the price quoted by the Fulia weavers for Khadi fabric was much higher than that of similar fabric from Murshidabad.

The dye house was well equipped with an exclusive room for Natural Dyeing. This technique was re-introduced into the area only a few years ago. Mr.Ghosh, displayed with great pride an extensive shade card of colours that could be produced locally, if the need arose. Currently Natural dyeing had been suspended for lack of orders.

Design The TEXTILES COMMITTEE is looking after the Fulia cluster & Shantipur cluster. Mr. Saumen Mapdar is the Cluster Development Executive and senior quality assurance officer. He along with Mr. Debashish Shome, another technical expert from the Textiles Committee was present throughout my visit to Nadia. Mr. Mapdar was currently working on a layout of carry bags displaying the strengths of Fulia, while everyone enthusiastically suggested a variety of slogans that could be used as ‘catch phrases’ to represent this weaving area! As he candidly pointed out, they were there to assist the weavers to not only market themselves better but also provide improved technological support.

Another prerequisite of the cluster development scheme is the presence of a ‘directory’ of traditional designs that can be used as a reference point for designers and buyers. These need to be collected by the Implementing agency through the effort of its Cluster Development Agent. My inquiry with respect to this yielded an exchange of furtive looks and an explanation that such an exercise had not been conducted since the cluster was a recently formed. However I was assured that my pending, subsequent visit to weavers’ houses would surely reveal some of their traditional design wealth.

The ‘export’ design repertoire of Fulia No 2 was pleasantly exhaustive and impressive. Their ‘Buyer’s Room’ was well stocked and nicely displayed. A variety of fabrics were visible – linen and silk scarves, attractive silk stripes, single indent cotton pieces, extra weft designs, Jacquards, embroideries (machine, and I wondered WHY?), Sari designs translated into scarves and many more combinations. The effort and sincerity of these weavers to evolve was visible and impressive. My only regret was the lack of a sustained effort to maintain a cultural identity that stood witness to years of traditional weaving expertise.

Although the domestic section had a variety of saris and designs in a plethora of colours and weaves, yet the perfect amalgamation of form, colour and function, blended into a symphony of Universal design, that is traditionally the strength of Indian aesthetics was painfully obscure.

It appeared that the Fulia weavers were already on the roll through their own enterprise, and one couldn’t help wondering how and where the Cluster Scheme would intervene in this cluster and whether there was a specific road map that was being followed. Answers to this question were non-specific and the plan was to follow the general guidelines of the Cluster Scheme. Some interesting and vibrant designs of scarves and sarees were seen at the office of Shri R.N Basak, who was once a member of the Fulia consortium but separated a few years ago due to ‘political’ reasons. He now weaves for some well know designer labels and even claims to have woven the ‘chhatri’ used during Priyanka Gandhi’s wedding.

A lot of talk about the cluster scheme and its benefits seem to emanate from its strongest votaries by default – those associated directly with implementing the scheme. The gentlemen accompanying me were the only visible references to some activity related to the implementation of this scheme, flaunted much as the trump card of the current union government. The general opinion about it varied from being vaguely hopeful to downright dismissive, as the weaver populace seemed in the grey and a bit unsure of its success.

The local weavers have no time to waste in idle gossip. They had to finish what they were weaving so that they could get their wages of Rs 120/- to Rs 180/- per sari, depending upon the design. While the men were busy at the looms the women besides them alternated their chores between tending to the children and being actively involved in the pre and post loom processes.

Although these ladies assist the men in weaving delicate dreams, they themselves wore cheap printed polyester saris. Only the wives of the affluent master-weavers were seen flaunting their home produce.

This was nowhere more apparent than in the nearby town of Shantipur, where seven master weavers with about 350 looms approximately had just set up a consortia with a total turnover of Rs one crore. Infact the members of the Textile Committee accompanying me were visiting the area for the first time since the consortium was set up.

Presently the traditional Shantipuri Sari is only marginally different from that produced at Fulia. For differentiation, I was shown a ball of wet puffed rice that is used to finish the Fulia sari while in Shantipur it is saboodana starch that is used. Here weaves, counts and designs seemed to have merged into each other to produce confusing products and even more bewildering nomenclature.

However, zari, viscose and nylon yarns were used with greater panache in this area. The most revealing and an example of the direct intervention of the cluster scheme was visible when I was shown by hopeful hands a few ‘new designs’ developed by them as directed by the Designer in charge of this cluster. These were silk cushion covers in shades of grey and brown. On their own these looked ordinary and could have been woven in any part of India – Benaras, Bengaluru etc. Where was the strength of Shantipur reflected in these? Besides why was a traditionally and predominantly cotton weaving area concentrating on weaving silk, while its core strength still remained un-exploited? These issues when aired met with a stunned silence. Mr.Ghosh stepped in to make these simple souls aware of the highly competitive and cutthroat export/ external market. He explained that the looms needed special reeds to work with the finer silk yarns. The cost was higher and greater risk involved. It was suggested that they work around their very own ‘Shantipuri designs’ maybe in simple tonal colours to start with. The general complaint was a lack of the physical presence of the designer coupled with an incomplete and vague design brief used as a reference by the designer himself.

A small shed was being constructed in the village to accommodate a few looms and also function as the office of the consortium. Mr. Ghosh with his vast experience pointed out a major flaw in the new looms. His prompt and wise intervention made me marvel of the merits of such schemes, which although difficult to implement, could be precursors of transformation for those involved.

Without passionate dedicated officers the cluster scheme has the danger of disintegrating into yet another ambitious idea. And, it goes without saying that the products that are representative of its good intentions should also reflect them. Thoughtful, controlled and sensitive intervention was the key for its success.

My final stop was the Shantipur Kutirpara Co-op Weavers Society Ltd., one of the oldest weaver’s co-operatives. The mood here too seemed indifferent to the magic of the cluster scheme. The ground realities appeared to cloud any hopes of a magical turn - around through governmental intervention. As we sifted through their many samples highlighting the cluster scheme, the office bearers of the society busied themselves in dispensing weekly wages to their weavers. Amidst a cacophony of voices, as views were parried and ideas exchanged for and against the merits of the cluster scheme, language seemed only a barrier for the mind, the heart understood everything - their hopes, expectations, concerns and despair.

A silent resolve to continue our ‘Tuesday collective’ (an informal group comprising of Mrs. Kasturi Gupta Mennon, Mrs. Ritu Sethi, Mrs. Gulshan Nanda, Mrs. Rathi Vinay Jha, Mrs. Jasleen Dhamija and the baby of the group i.e. myself) efforts to be a truthful voice for these original masters of fabric and fantasy took root in my mind. I realised that only honest intentions and the ability to translate them into true action could create a force that might inspire these simple folks to continue and sustain their time-honoured traditions. This seemed imperative as ghosts of urban confusion garbed in ‘latest’ combat denims, slick tee shirts and garish georgette saris, humming nasal Himesh Reshammiya numbers threatened to take over the rural mindscape. Late in the evening as the warmth of the day gave way to the uneasiness of a cold night, the rustic landscape morphed into unnamed and unrecognisable shadows, sliced through rudely by our speeding vehicle. As I watched their mesmerising play, I realised that for our enterprising craftspeople the scarcity of resources or the hardships of daily life never acted as real impediments to their growth. For them life was tapasya, a penance to transcend the ordinary to experience the extraordinary. It was this extraordinary that manifested through their deft fingers to give a taste of bliss to both the creator and consumer. Today, unabashed and uncontrolled alien influences are making inroads into their sacred spaces leading to conflict, confusion and degeneration. It is these tamasic intrusions that we need to filter so as protect and prevent our traditional crafts and handlooms from decay. A movement to reconnect to all that is essentially Indian and truthful is the only way to regain and re-establish their past glory providing a conducive fertile ground to nurture the future.

Discussion on India’s handloom heritage swings between extremes. Some influential minds would have us believe the fabric is doomed to extinction, given the versatility, speed and economy of computerized production on powered looms. A contrasting conviction is of millions dependent on India’s second largest source of livelihood, serving a huge market at home and abroad, and creating what for some is ‘the world’s greatest fabric’. There is another argument, less heard yet probably of greatest import. It regards the handloom as symbolic of an alternative paradigm of human development, placing human and planetary wellbeing at the centre of concern. In this perspective, the Indian handloom is more than a tool. It emerges as a composite world view, as a culture, and as resource of wisdom and innovation that can respond to contemporary challenges with extraordinary creativity. A middle path must find its way through the debate and into the market place, where the user is judge and jury. So, who needs or demands hand-made fabric? Can demand be built over competition from mass-produced imitations and alternatives? What does ‘handmade’ actually mean in this age of mixed skills, materials and technologies? The answers should belong to the buyer and the weaver, yet both voices are stifled. The extinction argument is the one proclaimed loudest, by lobbies claiming to speak for the consumer, yet without any mandate from her. Their political clout is not matched by activists and aesthetes, inspired by the ‘charkha century’, or by the discipline of alternative economics that is largely unaware of the craft sector’s antidote to jobless growth. Research-backed, demand-driven handloom strategies are nowhere in sight. The sector’s last marketing genius was Gandhiji. He changed the tastes of a nation through a handloom revolution that gave the last century its grandest design story. That message echoed after Independence. Pioneers like Kamaladevi Chattopadhyay and Pupul Jayakar made the hand-made indispensable to defining who we are and who we want to be. That is, until globalization and ‘liberalization’ cloned Indian dreams into Shanghai and Silicon Valley fantasies. The handloom became an embarrassment when technology could deliver facsimiles at fractional cost, and to uniform, mass-market standards. In shops stacked with mass-produced imitations, few discerned the difference. So why care? Heritage should now move off the body and into museums. These arguments led a few years ago to an outrageous decision (fueled by lobby pressure to scrap the Handloom Reservation Act 1985) to fix electric motors on handlooms. The announced intention was to reduce drudgery, lift earnings and liberate the poor weaver. At one stroke, millions of handlooms would become power-looms and heritage skills lost, perhaps forever. India’s weavers suspected crocodile tears. Protests across the country finally led to a PMO assurance that handloom definition would “remain in the purest form”. Soon, a handloom blitz was launched from Varanasi, a new Prime Minister’s constituency and home to the ultimate symbol of India’s craft genius. Fashion galas have followed, all with the objective of ‘lifting global handloom demand’. Politics has forced the doomsday scenario into the wings. There, its whispers continue unabated. Market demand is and will remain at the heart of this issue. Given the scale of the industry and the market, the absence of serious research over almost seven decades is truly astounding. A fabric some consider the finest and others regard as terminally ill has been produced, sold, imitated, dumped, defended and promoted at highest levels without clear demand evidence or supply response. At a mega Mumbai event, a design icon demanded to know why all the fuss? There was, she claimed, no lack of demand for handloom quality, either at home or overseas. “There is zero resistance on price. Buyers pay for quality. I can sell whatever I make, and I can sell it all at home. I don’t bother about exports”. Her constraints were all in the supply chain, and in the appalling poverty that claims most Indian artisans. Bottlenecks in yarn delivery, transportation, poor market knowledge creating confusion on consumer preferences, inadequate access (to credit, design, IPR and technical services), a Reservation Act that is seldom implemented, dumping from East Asia, dreadful conditions of work and living --- all offered testimony to decades of schemes that have failed to deliver. The need was management, not 5-star hoopla. If the future is a land we cannot visit, another generation of weavers must resolve the argument. Some are indeed exercising the option of exit from a hereditary profession. So do their peers elsewhere. Others long to remain in the tradition of their forbears, but with hope and dignity. Both demand new knowledge and access to its sources. Investment in entrepreneurship is a first essential. Professionalism could at last bring an end to the dreadful tradition of handloom fabric promoted as a rebate opportunity, signaling a product to be bargained down and treated as charity, not as ‘the world’s greatest fabric’ with USPs that youth can recognize as simultaneously economic, social, political, environmental, cultural and even spiritual. And not just at the high end: the humble gamcha has a hugely profitable local market. Cynics continue to suggest that anything the hand can do technology can do better, even as jobless growth stares India in its face. Should this argument be used to dismiss other advantages of hand, eye and mind? Indigenous knowledge is increasingly respected as India’s priceless intellectual capital in agriculture, water, health, well-being, education, housing, combating climate change and in the arts. If technological and managerial advances do not torpedo other sectors of Indian creativity, why stop at weavers? They have welcomed change, innovated technologies and served global demand for centuries. Why assume that the great textiles of the future will not emerge from those who created the greatest 20^th century fabric? If cutting-edge indications are needed, listen to Nandan Nilekani: “Our mental models are outdated. Export led growth, ‘make in India’ and big firms are yesterday’s stories. The future lies in our domestic market….. In the new world order everything is micro, millions of small procedures aggregating their capability by using technology”. That is a truth young weavers across the country recognize. It is the opportunity they are demanding. It should be theirs. First published on July 16, 2016.

Tihar Jail Complex in New Delhi is one of the largest prison complexes in the world with a total population of around 12,610 prisoners. In a year about 70,000-80,000 prisoners remain lodged in these prisons for different duration. This prison population includes about 531 women prisoners with about 51 children below 6 years of age dependent upon them.
Tihar Prisons have a history of reformation programmes in tune with the current correctional philosophy. Education, Cultural activities, Vocational activities and Moral Education etc. have been going on in Tihar Jails for a long time as a part of the efforts of the Prison Administration for reformation of the prisoners. In the last five years the process has accelerated and received world wide attention. The reformation package tried out by the Delhi Prison Administration is popularly termed as "New Delhi correctional model", the basic characteristics of which are: Bringing the community into the prison, Formation of a self-sufficient community of prisoners, Participative management.
Tihar Jail is famous for the production of a variety of goods at its factory in Jail Number Two. The factory - a fully modernised and computerised unit - engages convicts productively in various activities like tapestry weaving, carpentry, chemical-making, paper making, tailoring and baking. Many of these reforms were initiated by Kiran Bedi while she was the police chief at Tihar from 1993 to 1995. One such project was to teach the women inmates weaving techniques. The Project: WEAVING BEHIND BARS Period: 1994 - Team: PRIYA RAVISH MEHRA Sponsors: DANIDA (DANISH INTERNATIONAL DEVELOPMENT ASSISTANCE) FROM THE ROYAL DANISH EMBASSY, NEW DELHI
Objectives Train the women inmates at Tihar weaving techniques and processes primarily as a medium of self expression and secondly an additional vocational skill which might be applied after their release. The intent was therapeutic. It aimed to empower the women socially, emotionally and economically.

In 1994, following an exhibition of her work at the British Council, Priya Ravish Mehra was invited to establish a tapestry weaving training program at the Tihar Jail. She maintains that tapestry weaving is an extremely introspective and meditative process. The fundamental characteristic of tapestry weaving is a simple frame on which weaving develops upwards - it is an open creative journey up the warp, one which she felt would channel the inmate's emotions and creativity slowly and methodically.

Priya began by presenting her work at the jail and gauging the interest of the inmates. Of those who attended the presentation and showed an interest in the program, twenty were selected to undergo training for three months. During these three months they were given a monthly stipend as an incentive to finish their training. The aim was to make the inmates self-reliant so that even if Priya left, the knowledge would be contained within the community and taught from inmate to inmate. Due to the strict rules on what might be used or brought into the facility, Priya had to devise simplified looms which did not contain nails and could be used to spin by fingers as needles and shuttles were banned. Each trainee was given one loom to work on. These were movable so the inmate could weave both indoors and outdoors. Workshops and classes were held on alternate afternoons for duration of three hours.

Though the objective was not only to create professional weavers but to create modes of self-expression many women should surprising skill, dexterity and aesthetic sensibility. It led the project leaders to organize an annual exhibition of the weaves at the Danish Ambassadors residence where the larger public appreciated and acquired the pieces. From the pieces sold, after the cost of material was removed the profit was placed in the bank account of the weaver inmate.

After the initial twenty women were trained they have continuously passed on their knowledge to the other inmates. Each weaver is provided with her own loom. The program continues though Priya's involvement stopped in 1997. She found that the level or lack of education did not affect the quality of the work produced. She imparted the most basic weaving knowledge so has not to hamper the imagination of the women. She learnt that because these women led such regimented and controlled lives projects like Weaving Behind Bars helped them to function beyond their assigned space, to live outside the walls. For further information please contact Priya Ravish Mehra at [email protected]

It is said that “the best teacher one can have is necessity” and no doubt, man has learnt from nature the beautiful art of inter working indigenous materials to create objects for his personal use and existence. Stretches of tall grasses growing all over the world and providing sustenance to animals, birds and insects also stirred the imagination of man who, taking a clue from innumerable examples offered by Mother Nature through the intricate weaving of nests by birds, gossamer webs by spiders, the natural criss-cross weaving patterns of branches of trees, leaves and twigs, and the intertwining of grasses and reeds, saw possibilities within the reach of his nimble fingers to use the abundantly growing vegetation to make baskets, mats, ropes and what not.

The origin of weaving can be traced back to a period earlier than the origin of pottery – one of the earliest creations of man. Archeologists claim that there is evidence for the use of woven baskets in Faiyum in Upper Egypt more than ten millenia ago. This has been a primitive folk craft common to every region – whether in hills or in jungles, in uplands or in marshes people have preserved the tradition and art of basket-weaving to the present day to meet the needs of people. Of the lesser known weaving grasses in India, is the Sabaii Grass, scientifically called Ischaemum augustifolium, mostly found in the Mayurbhanj area of West Bengal, and in Northern parts of Odisha. When we talk of weaving grasses, what comes to our mind are the traditional ones like – willow of Kashmir and Ladakh, Kauna of Manipur, Sarkanda grass of most plains of Central and North India, Sikki grass of Bihar and Madhubani, Sitalpatti of Assam, Madhur Grass of West Bengal and Kora grass, screwpine and palm leaf of South India. These are just to name a few. There may be many more weaving grasses and techniques prevalent in some of the interior areas in the country, which are not recorded. The use of Sabaii Grass was discovered by the British, during their rule in India. This strong and durable natural fiber was perfect for their military use, and, therefore rope making out of Sabaii grass became the occupation for some people in and around Calcutta. This craft that was promoted in jails, slowly spread to other communities as a means of earning money. But the major thrust that Sabaii grass weaving received for its commerciality, was about ten years ago, as a result of a Poverty Alleviation program by the World Bank and Ford Foundation. Now this craft provides regular employment to nearly fifty thousand people in the area. This grass that used to grow wild is now harvested every three months, the peak season being from November to January. The technique of processing the grass to render it fit for weaving into products has been improved a lot. The grass is collected from the fields and then is boiled with some natural preservatives and sun dried on the roads. The color turns from green to ochre, and it is then that the grass is separated into various qualities depending upon the fineness. The finer, the better. The grass then comes to the market, or the mandis, where it is sold in bundles. This is then either turned into ropes, or plaited and then woven into products like table mats, or bags or floor mats. Incase of dyeing, the grass is dyed before plaiting it. In some cases, rope, too is dyed. Dyeing is carried out in the traditional method, in the degchis, and then washed normally by leaving them in the pukhri, the local domestic ponds, for a while. The dyed grass is then sun dried on the tiled roofs, a typical scene in the villages of Odisha and West Bengal. The grass which was earlier used for making only rope, has now found its use for more attractive and appreciated products by the city dwellers, in the form of fashion bags, table accessories, floor coverings, and furniture. With the intervention of various designers and design stores, sabai grass products have found a notable place in the international window as well, giving an impetus to the craft. But now, due to other options available, viz synthetic materials for weaving, to the local inhabitants, the existence of this craft seems to be under threat, in some areas. Also, the history and tradition of almost all crafts show that patronage of arts and crafts by the wealthy has been the main reason for their survival and prosperity. Take for example, the timeless traditions of weaving of the zari and brocade of Benaras, kaanjivarams, ikat, chanderi, and chikan. The basket weaving, on the other end, has remained restricted to communities fairly low in status, due to the very simplicity of the material and the task. And thus has never received the kind of attention that other traditional crafts have. Also, Sabaii grass weaving has a social rather than an exotic historical or spiritual context to it. This was developed as a supplement income generation for the tribal and the local inhabitants in the below poverty areas. To keep this craft skill alive, it has to be brought to people in a more contemporary fashion. Also, facing a tough competition from the south Asian countries, globally this would die out if it is not upgraded in terms of design and quality. It will not take a tsunami wave, but our own ignorance to gnaw away the sole means of survival of half a million people in the East Coast of India, along the Bay of Bengal, who depend upon sabaii grass for a living… Let us weave a dream wherein every species has a future, every skill has respect, every pair of hands has work and every mind is creatively active…

Abstract Urmul Marusthali Bunkar Vikas Samiti (UMBVS) is a community-based organization that has succeeded in improving the social and economic status of handweavers in villages of Western Rajasthan. This article gives a narrative account of the formation of UMBVS and the changes in circumstances among traditional pit loom weavers who have joined UMBVS and received training in the weaving of new products for urban markets. The vision and persistent efforts of key leaders have helped UMBVS to thrive despite many challenges, not only in product and market development but also in generating the trust and participation essential to community development. The article includes the background of chief executive Ram Chandra Barupal whose commitment has helped weavers break the constraints of poverty. The author's experience at the Urmul Phalodi Weavers' Centre and nearby villages conveys the atmosphere of the place and the voices of the people. Weaving New Freedoms in Rajasthan Proud and industrious artisans were once the backbone of Indian economy, providing much of the goods and services that our people needed. Today these artisans have been marginalized by the modernization and industrialization of society. Though some have managed to adapt to changing times and a few have even thrived, most of them live in abject poverty with no hopes for a better tomorrow. (1995, Status Report of India's Artisans) Urmul Marusthali Bunkar Vikas Samiti (UMBVS) is a grass roots organization in rural Rajasthan that is well-known in India for improving the economic status of handweavers and contributing to the survival of traditional crafts. In a relatively short period of time, UMBVS evolved into a hriving community- based organization by building on traditional crafts skills and knowledge and bridging the gap between rural artisans and urban consumers. As a consequence of integrating craft and community development weavers and their families are finding new freedoms and possibilities. UMBVS is one among many craft development organizations in India that are confronting the enormous challenges of establishing sustainable employment within viable craft communities. To name but a few others: Dastkar Andhra in Andhra Pradesh, SEWA Luchnow in Uttar Pradesh, REHWA Society in Madhya Pradesh and Jawaja Weavers' Association in Rajasthan are several examples of organizations that address the needs of handweavers and help create conditions for sustainable social and economic development. It is my intention in this article to examine one such organization. I focus on the story of the Urmul weavers, including, the emergence and development of UMBVS, the role of chief executive Ram Chandra Barupal, and events I experienced during my visits to weaving villages. The common aims and challenges among different craft development organizations will be pursued in another article. Journey to Urmul Phalodi I arrived in Jodphur, Rajasthan, with my husband after an eleven hour overnight bus ride, 526 kilometres northwest of Ahmedabad in the state of Gujarat. The next morning David and I travelled four more hours by train to Phalodi, 125 kilometres away. We sat on wooden enches; open windows let in the warm November air. Going west from Jodhpur we entered a vast expanse of sparsely vegetated land. We passed dry cultivated fields and sweeping sand dunes and the train stopped at each town along our route. Men in white dhoti's and turbans and women in colourful saris sat with us on the train. I had arrived for my first time in India nine weeks earlier to begin research sponsored by a fellowship from the Shastri Indo-Canadian Institute. My intention was to investigate community- based initiatives that support the continuity of handweaving skills and knowledge in India. I wanted to learn about innovative education and development projects that involved handweavers. Beginning in New Delhi and continuing in Ahmedabad at the National Institute of Design, I talked with many people who were knowledgeable about the complex problems faced by handweavers in India. Now, I was on my way to Phalodi to visit a weavers' organization that I heard was exemplary as a development initiative. The train arrived at Phalodi station and we hired an auto rickshaw to take us to the outskirts of town where Urmul Phalodi Weavers' Centre was located. We were greeted warmly at the entrance to a large stone-built complex and taken to a guest room on the second floor that opened onto a large balcony. Within a few moments of settling into our room, a student from the National Institute of Fashion Technology (NIFT) in Delhi came to tell us that a jeep was leaving shortly for one of the weavers' villages and we were welcome to come along. After a meal together, I climbed into the back of the jeep with the four students and we rode along a narrow highway, bouncing over potholes and raised sections of the road. Speaking loudly over the noise of the jeep, I learned that the students were doing a Craft Documentation Project, travelling from village to village in Rajasthan studying traditional handicrafts. Pitloom Weavers of Western Rajasthan After about twenty miles we turned off the main road onto a one lane paved road. Soon we were following a track across dry sandy soil, with the jeep kicking up dust until we stopped next to several mud houses with thatched roofs. We were taken to where a weaver worked. Hundreds of fine black warp threads stretched parallel a few inches above the ground, extending approximately fifteen feet from the weaver's sitting position in a thatched roof shelter. A young man, seated on a thin cushion on the ground, passed a shuttle of fine black cotton back and forth across the width of the warp. With his feet, the weaver operated treadles located in a small pit dug in the earth below the loom. The treadle action moved the loom harnesses which separate different groups of warp threads. With skilful fingers, the weaver quickly manipulated the yarn to make detailed design motifs in a black and white fabric. This weaver was one of twelve men from his village of Bengiti who had been trained at the Weavers' Centre and become members of UMBVS. Traditionally the weavers of this area wove plain cotton cloth for pattus (shawls) or woolen dhurries for floor coverings, working on traditional two foot wide pitlooms that are used extensively in India. During three months of training at Phalodi, they learned to weave new designs on looms of three, four or five foot width. They also learned about the aims of UMBVS. On completing their training, weavers could buy a new wider loom at half price and they were given yarns to start weaving designs on order. Although many of the weavers of Bengiti were away from the village working in the fields until evening, we were taken to see one other weaver. A woman in purdah, face covered with a bright yellow fabric, was sitting at a pitloom just outside the door of her house, weaving a two foot wide piece with no design details. She had learned to weave five months earlier when three women from the village took part in the first UMBVS weaving training program for women. Traditionally, men are weavers in most regions of India and women help by doing the tasks of winding yarn and making the warp. However, when women expressed interest to join UMBVS and learn to weave, a new training program was started. We returned to Phalodi as the sun was setting. Skeins of coloured yarn were spread out to dry all along the balcony railing of the Weavers' Centre. That evening, Ram Chandra Barupal, Chief Executive, and Revata Ram, manager of income generation programs, visited us. With one of the NIFT students translating, we learned that two people who worked for Urmul spoke English and they would be arriving the following day. The fact that none of the managers of UMBVS know English is considered a problem for the organization because English is the language for dealing with the outside world. The next morning, smells wafted up from juniper wood fires heating huge metal dye vats. We watched as two strong young men lifted a heavy metal rod holding about ten skeins of hot wet yarn that had been submerged in the vat. They carried the dripping weight over to a rack and then repeated these motions with three more rods full of dyed yarn. Then, wearing long rubber gloves, they washed each skein in soapy water, squeezing out the remaining water. Supervised by the dye manager, these men had learned the exacting process of yarn dyeing, and each month dyed approximately 120 kilograms of yarn needed by weavers to fill orders. In another room four men worked cutting woven cloth into sections for cushion covers, measuring and joining fronts to backs, and sewing finished edges. Across the hall, there was a storeroom with floor-to-ceiling shelves of colourful woven products, such as shawls, bedspreads, cushion covers and upholstery material. In this room, the stock manager receives new products from the villages and, after quality checking, ships the pieces to fill orders in metropolitan areas. The weavers' training area, a large room at the back of the building, was temporarily being used for making door and window frames for a new weavers' centre in Pokhran about sixty kilometres away. The Phalodi Weavers' Centre had become too small for the growing organization and a new much larger building was under construction. Urmul Marusthali Bunkar Vikas Samiti Formally registered in January 1991, UMBVS began with seventy weavers from six villages. In 1997, membership had grown to one hundred and fifty weavers from thirteen villages in three districts of West Rajasthan. Weaving is central to the organization and other activities include: a women's development program, an integrated rural development program, and the implementation of an extensive education program in conjunction with the Rajasthan Government. Since its inception, the vision of UMBVS has been: "To establish a society free of inequalities and oppression." The mission is "To organize the target group and help them to participate freely in all aspects of their development by making them more aware of their rights; to keep traditional craft alive by upgrading their skills." The goals are to free weavers from exploitation by traders and middlemen, provide alternative marketing support and regular remunerative employment, and to bring about social and economic development, including the preservation of art and culture in a professionally managed environment (UMBVS unpublished report, 1997). Before UMBVS began training weavers to make new designs and establishing markets to sell their products, weavers in many villages had stopped weaving. Some of them had been investing money in yarn, dyeing the yarn, weaving, and then taking their products to markets. Sometimes their work would sell, but often they lost their investment and had to take out loans from money lenders, which resulted in the loss of some of their belongings. Some weavers had arrangements with merchant-middlemen from big towns like Jodphur, Jaiselmer and Bikaner. The middlemen provided weavers with dyed yarn, but paid very low wages for the weaving while selling it at a good profit. Now, as members of UMBVS, weavers are paid at the end of each month by a production manager who picks up finished work and pays on a piece rate basis according to the size and detail of each design. UMBVS then sells their products to stores in major Indian cities and also for export. Over a ten year period, UMBVS has emerged as a vibrant, successful organization through the energy and commitment of key people brought together during desperate circumstances. Ram Chandra Barupal is one of the key figures. On my last day in Phalodi I had opportunity to tape record a translated interview with him, learning how his vision and effort in the face of many challenges are integral to the Urmul story.

RAM CHANDRA BARUPAL

Ram Chandra came from a village in Jaiselmer district where the stony, rough land was not conducive to farming. He attended school until ninth grade, and then left against the wishes of his parents because he saw that his family was poor and he needed to earn some money. He did physical labour, including work in the salt mines. Although his father did not weave, Ram Chandra used to sit at his great uncle's loom whenever the old man stopped weaving to go to eat. Sometimes Ram Chandra wove several inches, but got it wrong, or sometimes he broke a warp thread. Afraid he had spoiled the weaving, Ram Chandra ran away when his great uncle returned. But sometimes he got it right. At sixteen he decided to learn to weave. His family mocked him because they wanted him to go to school. So Ram Chandra worked alone to figure out how to make a warp. The first one took him seven days to make properly and then there were other difficulties with the loom set up. After twelve days of weaving he completed his first pattu which he sold in the market for 14 rupees. Out of that, ten rupees paid for the wool. Ram Chandra persisted even though no one supported what he was doing. Weaving appealed to him and he appreciated the historical and cultural aspect, knowing his ancestors had also been weavers. He thought weaving was a better way to earn money than doing tough physical work. Gradually he earned ten to fifteen rupees for his pattus above the cost of the wool. He began to weave for villagers who wanted his pattus while other weavers were selling outside the village. Later he began buying wool in bulk and having other weavers make pattus which he sold at fairs and outside markets. Nobody in his village knew how to do the traditional embroidery weave. So Ram Chandra bought a woven pattu from a fair and over six months he perfected the technique of inlaid weft. Gradually he became known for his unique pattus. People could look at them and know that he had woven them. Since he was able to weave fast and his quality was very good, he began to earn up to thirty rupees for a pattu while others earned ten to twelve rupees. When his family was in debt, Ram Chandra stopped weaving for two years to earn more money. He took out a loan to buy seed to sell. He sold food at hotels and at fairs. He bought sheep and goats, reared them, and took them to sell in big markets in Delhi. He invested in a fodder machine and made fodder for cattle. But he didn't make a profit from any of this work. When the Government of India sponsored a famine relief effort in the nearby Bikaner district in 1987, Ram Chandra went to work there on a watershed management project, building a small dam. Whenever he earned some money he returned to his village and his loom to weave.

THE URMUL TRUST

The Urmul Trust, an autonomous organization based in Lunkaransar in the Bikaner district, began work in the field of primary health care and non-formal education in 1986. A year later, Rajasthan experienced its worst drought of the century and people faced near starvation. Under the leadership of Sanjay Ghose, the Urmul Trust started an experiment in income generation based on dormant wool-related crafts of the region. Local women knew how to spin and the raw materials and equipment were available locally. Urmul Trust arranged to sell all the yarn that the women produced to a Government Khadi agency in the area. While six hundred women were employed in thirty villages around Lunkaransar, the Urmul Trust accumulated fifteen hundred kilograms of spun wool. However, the Khadi agency refused to buy the yarn because it was not produced by a certified body within their jurisdiction. Sanjay Ghose and others at Urmul Trust began looking for alternative places to sell the spun wool. An itinerant salesman told them that the pattus he was selling had been made by the weaver, Surjan Ram, of the village Bhojasar. They went to meet Surjan Ram who was working with about ten weavers who filled orders for Jodhpur merchant-middlemen. After some discussion, a decision was made for Urmul Trust to supply wool to the weavers and then purchase everything they made on a piece rate basis. Dastkar, an NGO based in Delhi, helped Urmul Trust by arranging exhibitions and selling the woven products at city bazaars. Sanjay Ghose and Tarun Salwar (who joined Urmul Trust after completing studies at London School of Economics) saw the potential for a good income generation project in the weaving of pattus using the two traditional embroidery styles of the region, Bhojasari and Mhulani. They needed weavers who were able to do this, but only a few in Bhojasar knew the embroidery style. Surjan Ram suggested they go to the annual fair near Pokhran to meet weavers selling woven products. At the fair, Surjan Ram put Sanjay Ghose and Tarun Salwar in contact with two master weavers, who introduced them to another weaver who knew the Mhulani embroidery style. This weaver told them about Ram Chandra, who wove the Bhojasari embroidery style. In this way, a network began among the weavers who later became the managers of UMBVS. Several people from Urmul Trust went to meet Ram Chandra. Impressed by his work, they asked him to weave for them and Ram Chandra started right away. Others from Urmul Trust and two designers from National Institute of Design (NID) made trips to watch him weave. They asked him to come and work for them in Lunkaransar, offering him a stipend of 450 rupees per month to learn new designs and train other weavers. At the time, Ram Chandra was earning more than 800 rupees by sitting at his loom. So he told them, "I'll learn here. I've learned myself. Give me a new design and I'll figure it out myself." He refused to go to Lunkaransar but they persisted and came back two or three times. When he did go, Urmul Trust again asked him to train local weavers in Lunkaransar. He said, "No." There were weavers he knew in his village that he wanted to train first. After teaching them for one year to weave and do the embroidery styles, then he would be ready to train other weavers. Urmul Trust agreed to his condition of training weavers in his own village first.

FORMING THE WEAVER'S SOCIETY

Five weavers from the Phalodi district went to live in Lunkaransar and Urmul Trust laid the foundation for their knowledge about creating and running an organization. The weavers learned the basics of marketing, accounting and yarn dyeing. They learned to weave new embroidery style designs and products designed by a student from NID. Surjan Ram began working as middleman for Urmul Trust, taking wool to weavers in the villages and bringing finished products back to Lunkaransar. In the first year, they trained fifty local weavers. Few weavers in the villages were clearly informed about the Urmul Trust. They thought it was a rich international organization and they wanted to earn as much money as possible. The weavers produced in quantity, but their quality suffered and Urmul Trust accumulated a large amount of poorly made unsold products. Urmul Trust called a meeting of weavers and 150 attended. Sanjay Ghose explained Urmul's objectives to the weavers, saying, "You are poor people who have been taken advantage of. We want to organize you into a group that one day will stand on it's own" (Barupal interview, 1997). Product-related marketing problems had to be faced. Pattu weaving was traditionally done in wool, but the market for new woollen products such as cushion covers was seasonal. And people living in the cities of South India did not want wool furnishings because even the winter months are not cold. With product and marketing advice from Dastkar, the decision was made to weave with cotton in order to reach a broader market and provide a steady income to weavers throughout the year. There were also problems with the yarn dyeing being done in the villages. Because the colours bled, the popularity of products diminished and sales stagnated. After Ram Chandra and several others were trained at Lunkaransar in the use of new chemical dyes, the quality of yarn colours improved. Products started to do better in the market but there was still trouble with quality and with sending products on time. Some sections of Urmul Trust complained about the high costs of covering the weavers' annual losses. They said they could no longer accept poor quality work. Sanjay Ghose and Tarun Salwar went from village to village to talk with weavers, explaining that Urmul Trust was a large institution with health and education programs and it was not imperative for them to support the weavers. They decided to shut down the weaving production for two months to emphasize the need to increase the quality of finished work, stop taking things for granted, and begin to stand on their own feet without depending on Urmul Trust. Only the very good weavers and the trainers continued weaving during that time. In 1989, a meeting was called at Phalodi to discuss the formation of a weavers' organization separate from the Urmul Trust. Subsequently, meetings were held in the villages to encourage weavers to become active in strengthening the organization. To instill a sense of ownership for the society, each weaver was asked to contribute 1000 rupees as capital; profits and losses would be shared by each member. According to Sanjay Ghose, UMBVS "was borne out of a sense of desperation. They had to do something to get work otherwise they would have been reduced to absolute penury" (Ghose, 1992). UMBVS was registered formally and an elected executive committee was comprised of the five weavers who had been working at Lunkaransar. These leaders went back to Lunkaransar to learn more about running an organization. Each according to their interests, they learned about stocks, accounting, and marketing.. The UMBVS leaders wanted to leave Lunkaransar and set up their organization in Phalodi, a central location for the weaving villages of Jodhpur, Jaiselmer and Bikaner districts. Sanjay Ghose and Tarun Salwar were keen for the weavers to go on their own, but others at Urmul Trust did not support the idea. Instead of waiting and possibly not having any support for the idea later, the UMBVS leaders decided to leave for Phalodi. It turned out that half the weavers wanted to work in Phalodi and the other half wanted to stay in Lunkaransar. Some weavers mistrusted the leaders. They believed the leaders would exploit them, earn all the money, and do nothing for them. To settle the dispute, a compromise was reached and Urmul Trust sent four people to Phalodi to work there, including a manager, a designer, and an accountant. After a while the UMBVS leaders realized that the managerial staff sent from Urmul Trust had high expenses on marketing trips. The Urmul staff stayed in hotels that suited their higher social background. When costs were totalled the leaders realized how much profit was needed just to cover these expenses. They decided to manage without the staff from Urmul. However, some weavers opposed this idea, continuing to mistrust the leaders and believing that the presence of the Urmul Trust staff members ensured fairness. Despite the resistance of some weavers in the villages, the leaders persisted. They wanted the freedom to run the organization themselves. They knew they were being blamed losses that were due to a management problem. So they sent the staff from Urmul Trust back to Lunkaransar. Then the leaders were very strict about their own expenditures because they wanted to prove UMBVS could make a profit. They lived spartenly; they took buses, never taxis, and they slept in inexpensive tariff hostels where sleeping was outside. By the end of the first year in Phalodi, UMBVS made a profit. After covering the Urmul Trust losses of the previous year, the organization was able to distribute a bonus to the weavers. Receiving a bonus for the first time, the weavers finally believed in UMBVS and saw that the leaders could manage the organization on their own. Living and working in a rented house in Phalodi, the weaver-managers were discriminated against because of caste. UMBVS needed their own building, especially for the training of weavers. A weavers' meeting was called and the weavers decided to contribute to the purchase of land. UMBVS also applied for and received international funding from Action Aid and Save the Children's Fund. In 1994, the construction of Urmul Phalodi Weavers' Centre was completed and UMBVS began to train more weavers.

In the Village of Karwa

After a morning exploring the Urmul Weaver's Centre, David and I were greeted by Kunjan Singh, returning from Bikaner. Kunjan had been hired by UMBVS as a designer after completing her studies at the National Institute for Fashion Technology eighteen months earlier. For her NIFT diploma project she had documented the handwoven textiles produced by Urmul weavers and she had created a design collection of home furnishings and apparel for production by UMBVS. Kunjan invited us to go with several of the UMBVS managers to a meeting in the village of Karwa, sixty kilometres or about an hour and a half jeep ride away. After lunch, we travelled narrow roads through dry land, occasionally passing clusters of houses, or women walking with large bundles of sticks for firewood on their heads. At times we passed camels pulling a load of wood or a large metal storage tank for water. These sights were continually new for me. The spaciousness of the desert and clean air was a blessing in comparison to the crowded polluted cities of Delhi and Ahmedabad. During the ride, Kunjan explained that a semi-annual meeting was held in each village to discuss whatever issues or problems of weaving production had occurred in the preceding six months. The UMBVS managers also share information about new designs, markets, and initiatives. Kunjan said the scope of UMBVS continues to expand and people from more villages want to become members of the society. Before a new village joins UMBVS, a detailed study is undertaken of the village, the people, the agriculture, economy, incomes, and resources. However, the managers do not want the organization to become too big and they train only five new weavers a year. Arriving in Karwa about four o'clock, we went directly to an area adjacent to the weaving manager's pitloom, where a long warp stretched out from the thatched roof shelter. The weaving manager and two elders greeted us. An Indian cot was put out and David and I were told to sit there. Everyone else sat on a carpet on the ground. We were served tea and Kunjan translated some of what was being talked about. We learned that the meeting would be delayed until weavers working in the fields returned at the end of the day. Kunjan suggested we walk around. There were several connected buildings belonging to two brothers and their families. A hard packed earth courtyard between a circular mud house and a rectangular stone house had been swept meticulously. We were introduced to the weaving manager's wife who greeted us from behind her veil and spoke to us intently in Hindi. Children stood nearby looking at us curiously. Walking further, I was attracted by a long blue warp stretching out from another weaving site. We were welcomed to go inside to look at the loom. When David asked about an object he saw hanging from the roof beams, the weaver took down a five stringed instrument, unwrapped its cloth cover and began playing. Within minutes a dozen young men appeared, some with small drums or hand cymbals, and together they played and sang. Kunjan explained later that they were singing a devotional song to Lord Ganesh who protects their weaving. It was a song about a weaver preparing his warp and being ready to weave. While the men and boys were singing, I noticed the peg positioned a short distance from the warp beam on the right hand side of loom. The peg is tied with a rope that holds the warp in tension. Called the Viniak, another name for Lord Ganesh, this peg is the most sacred part of the loom. Each time a weaver starts to weave, he prays to the Viniak or touches it as a form of respect. During festivals he puts jaggery (ground sugar that is considered auspicious) on the Viniak as an offering of food (Singh interview, 1997). Dusk arrived by the time we returned to the meeting place and were told that the meeting would not occur until late that evening. Ram Chandra said this was a good time for me to put questions to the weavers. Five Karwa weavers sat with two elders and my four companions from UrmulPhalodi. I was pleased to be given this unexpected opportunity. I asked: What is different now that you are weaving for Urmul? One young man said that now he has much more respect from people in the village. He used to take construction work to earn money, but now weaving lets him earn money and feel respected at the same time. An elder expressed the satisfaction of being respected for their work, in contrast to the sense of desperation that forced them to take anything in pay. There used to be competition; if someone asked 10 rupees for a piece another would undercut him by saying his weaving was only 8 rupees. Now there is a fixed price for each piece which everyone knows. "We are a community now," he said. It was dark when we ate dinner prepared by the weaving managers' wife. Then David, the weaving training master, and I were driven back to Phalodi, leaving the others to stay in the village of Karwa for a late night meeting. The next day we joined them at a different village for another of the semi-annual meetings.

Changes and Challenges for Weavers

Weavers are traditionally lower caste people who have been oppressed for a very long time. According to Ram Chandra Bharupal, the most important achievement of UMBVS has been to help weavers break out of the constraints of the caste system. As they became united and formed a strong identity, they were able to fight back. Over time, there has been a significant psychological change, a feeling of relief and self-respect. Ram Chandra said, "You don't have to drink water separately or pour it from a vessel untouched. It is a change to your psyche that you are not looked down upon so much anymore. It is no longer only the higher castes that are worthy. Weavers can say, "We are useful too. We too can sit on the chair. We can wear good clothes." In addition, weavers' social and economic status in the villages has improved. Because of their success in earning a decent living through weaving, weavers are viewed differently by other villagers. Their voices are heard more often. Earlier, weavers worked for the well-off higher caste people. They took loans from them, and were indebted to them. Under UMBVS a new kind of prosperity has freed them from confinement of caste and low status. Very few weavers are in debt, but if needed they can take out a loan from the society. Women also can have savings and get loans. In order to initiate a women's development program, the men who were weavers agreed to put thirty percent of their monthly pay directly into the wives' accounts. UMBVS managers are prepared to meet more challenges. Ram Chandra said, "It is a changing, dynamic process. When something demands that you learn, you set about learning it." Recently they tackled the legalities and paperwork for government permission to receive international funds directly rather than indirectly through other organizations. The next challenge is to learn about forming a company and getting an export license to be able to bypass the middlemen in international sales. Marketing continues to present major challenges. Although UMBVS has established reliable contacts they still need to assess and expand their markets. To fill export orders they have to maintain a high standard of quality because products with small flaws are sent back. They have to be very specialized and meet deadlines, and at the same time, take into account that weavers are farming during the four months of agricultural season. UMBVS works through consultation with the weavers, who feel in turn it is their wishes being carried out, their organization being run. However, the UMBVS leaders are continually trying to involve more weavers in the community development process. Some weavers are initially concerned about their own welfare, but discussions at annual meetings, awareness camps and exposure visits teach them to see others' point of view. Summary Reflection An enormous commitment of time and energy is required in the operation of UMBVS to bring the benefits of the organization to as many people in the villages as possible. Given the hardships that arise from extreme climatic conditions, rigid social system, and poor access to health and education programs, an organization that helps villagers break the constraints of poverty is highly regarded. UMBVS builds on the skills and knowledge of weavers as a base for economic and community development, and in the process, contributes to the preservation of local culture, specifically, a unique form of handweaving. The Urmul Trust played an important role in bringing together the best weavers of the region for an initial income generation project, then giving the weavers access to knowledge and information that eventually allowed them to manage UMBVS on their own. Input from experts on product and design development and marketing was also essential in moving toward the weavers' economic survival. The vision and determination of Ram Chandra Barupal, along with the other weaver- managers, has been instrumental in the formation and ongoing development of the organization. The UMBVS managers have taken on immense challenges, keeping the needs of the village weavers continually in mind. Initially, competition made building trust and developing a sense of shared ownership a struggle. Weavers and their families are learning to overcome attitudes that have restricted them in the past; they are learning new ways of working and living in their communities. By being participants in the opportunities offered to them through UMBVS they are creating a conducive climate for preserving handweaving and achieving new freedoms. References Barupal, Ram Chandra. Interview by C. Jongeward, translation by Ardash, tape recording. November, 16, 1997. Phalodi, Rajasthan. Ghose, S. 1992. The Urmul Experiment. In Report of the National Meet of the Crafts Council of India. New Delhi. Satyanand, K. and Singh, S. 1995. India's Artisans: A Status Report. Society for Rural, Urban and Tribal Initiatives (SRUTI): New Delhi. Singh, Kunjan. Interview by C. Jongeward, tape recording. November, 8, 1997. Phalodi, Rajasthan. Urmul Marusthali Bunkar Vikas Samiti. 1997. Unpublished report, photocopy. Phalodi, India. This article was published in 1998 in Convergence,31(4), a publication of the International Council for Adult Education The author acknowledges the financial assistance of the Government of India through the India Studies Programme of the Shastri Indo-Canadian Institute.

The Project: WEAVING PEACE Design Student: SMITHA MURTHY, SRISHTI SCHOOL OF ART, DESIGN AND TECHNOLOGY Location: BONGAIGAON, ASSAM Duration: 6 MONTHS - MAY 2002 TO NOV. 2002 Sponsor: THE ACTION NORTH EAST TRUST (ANT)
	Background About the Community The BODOs, a tribal community in Assam, have been involved in a political struggle against the Assamese for the last two decades. The ethnic conflict has been exacerbated by the erosion of farming land of the tribal community by the main rivers, thus creating a struggle for resources between different communities. Many landless families survive on the men's daily wages and the sale of vegetables by the women in the local haats, both not being reliable or steady sources of income. Reaching the markets takes much time and energy, as the women have to walk many miles. Almost all BODO women can weave as the craft is passed on from generation to generation. As weaving is a household activity, every home has a throw and fly shuttle loom. Traditionally the women wove textiles for themselves and their families in their spare time. Using acrylic yarn, that was easily available, the woven items were the dokhna and chaddar, an unstitched traditional garment, around 50 inches wide and 3 meters, long that is draped from the chest to the ankle and is tied above the chest and at the waist.
Almost all BODO women can weave as the craft is passed on from generation to generation. As weaving is a household activity, every home has a throw and fly shuttle loom. Traditionally the women wove textiles for themselves and their families in their spare time. Using acrylic yarn, that was easily available, the woven items were the dokhna and chaddar, an unstitched traditional garment, around 50 inches wide and 3 meters, long that is draped from the chest to the ankle and is tied above the chest and at the waist.

The Mission Women weavers, especially the landless, needed a market to transform their weaving activity into a significant source of steady income. This required a market that appreciated hand woven products; product diversification and adaptation of the colours and designs to suit customer preferences - a risk that individual landless weavers were unable to take.It was hoped that through this project, the women who otherwise supported their family income by selling vegetables, would now get a constant source of income.

Objectives The project was called 'weaving peace'.

Promote the traditional weaving craft of rural BODO women to create a significant and sustainable source of livelihood by design and market intervention.
To enhance and build a positive image of the BODO tribe by promoting their rich weaving tradition as against the currently existing militant image.

Methodology The methodology and the process to be followed to achieve the objectives was left to the designer.

PHASE 1 An attempt was first made to spread the idea to all the villages involved. Textiles woven by weavers of other states were shown to the stake holders. This actually boosted their interest in the project. The idea of urban people wearing and using textiles woven by them fascinated them the most.

Simultaneously the designer started a thorough research into the variety of traditional motifs, colours, raw material, the origin and stories behind the creation of each motif. With this knowledge the acceptability of traditional motifs and colours for a probable market was identified and studied. Documenting traditional motifs and designs of the BODOSs to create a reference point for future development became an ongoing process throughout the project. A number of villagers and people with different issues relating to the BODOs were spoken to for feedback and information.

PHASE 2 The designer studied and learnt the weaving technique practiced so that developments could be demonstrated on the loom rather than conveyed verbally or through drawings. While she was there at the behest of ANT, the designer had to gain the trust of the weavers and establish her own equation with them. In her own words, she was completely paralyzed due to the language barrier.

The process started with Smitha, the designer, communicating first with the men of the community, establishing her credentials and gaining the confidence of the women. What helped was the fact that she was from Bangalore, where many of their own children were studying. She ate and drank whatever they offered, keen not to give offence to anyone. Seeing Smitha's daily struggle of commuting 30 kms on a bicycle to reach their communities, weaving herself, making the prototypes - and all this without knowing their language - won the respect of the weavers.

PHASE 3 After studying the old, heirloom dokhnas and chaddars, four main motifs that the weavers were familiar with were chosen which were mixed and matched to create new designs. The colour pallet was retained for its close identity with the community. Each of the five traditional colours ranging from lemon yellow, orange to deep red had its own significance and its own local name.The borders used were traditional - on both striped and plain cloth. Experimentation was carried out with uneven borders and different pattern were created using the same warp.

PHASE 4 Sampling Stage - 4 months The beginning was made with five weavers in one village using cotton yarn, which itself was difficult, as the cotton yarn broke and faded more easily when compared to acrylic or synthetic yarn they had gotten used to. Slowly the cloth was woven. The women were paid for their time and effort - an amount much higher than that paid to other Assamese weavers.

	PHASE 5 The initial products developed were unstitched textiles like shawls, stoles and scarves which helped the weavers adapt to further developments and initiated them into commercial weaving for a distant market. The warps were planned in a way they could be turned into skirts and garments similar to those worn by Manipuri women, a culture they were familiar with.The next stage was the production of garments: Prototypes of the stitched and completed products were made and included jackets and skirts. This excited the women who admired and tried out each garment. Production of ready make garments was a different matter altogether and it was imperative to find somebody close by. Eventually they located a boutique in Guwahati, in Assam that could stitch the garments.
PHASE 6 The textiles and products were exhibited and sold at 'Nature Bazaar', an exhibition organized by Dastkar in New Delhi November 2003. The products received a very good response from a distant urban market.
In Retrospect Smitha Murthy, Designer, Weaving Peace Project December 2004
Today when I look back to the journey from the five weavers we started sampling with to the 130 weavers we support today I feel one big achievement has been that women now see weaving as a constant source of income and not just a leisure activity. There has been constant appreciation for the designs and textiles from consumers and I see great potential ahead. The weavers are now registered under a different name- 'aagor', and have formed a managing committee of their own. I would however call this project truly successful when I see the women running this weaving program successfully on their own. I hope the day is not too far when people identify the BODOs as creators of classic textiles with vibrant colours and intricate weaves and not just as people fighting for their right and land.

Through analysis, observation and discussion we need to reach an understanding, and if possible consensus, on what can be done to improve the marketability of the crafts and the status of crafts persons in the eight North-Eastern states and provide them opportunities and options.

During my few visits – not too many in number but spanning over a period of twenty five years, some impressions have stayed.

On my first visit to Sikkim I was fascinated by their weaves, though I was left with the impression of the prices being too high. When I did the costing, I realized that the weaver, for almost eight hours of non-stop work on the back strap loom was earning a pitiful Rs.10 only. She was not even getting 30% of the cost as 60% was going towards raw-material with 10% on incidentals. It should actually have been the other way round.

Two years ago, I visited a village in Nagaland where there were two National Awardees in basket making. The price of the basket quoted to me was Rs.3000/-. It was artistic, authentic and extremely well finished. The problem was how many can he sell at that price.

Going into details, I was told that the master basket maker himself goes to the forest to select the bamboo, cuts it, dries it, keeps it on top of a special open oven to destroy the fungus and then dries it for several days before it is ready to be cut into fine splits. It takes two weeks to process the bamboo. He uses only one implement the dao. One wonders why a group of people do not get together to do the various mundane jobs and leave the master to just weave the basket. One also wonders why tools made especially for the various processes are not accepted by the craftsmen. One also wonders why the various Bamboo Missions cannot make splits and why they cannot encourage basket weavers to use them where they are being made.

There are many such stories but I would like to start with a statement that whatever one makes, the final test is the market place. If it sells, it’s a success because it brings money to the maker.

As one goes around the fifty stalls at the Uttara Poorav Utsav North-East craft festival in Dilli Haat (28 Jan-8 Feb, 2009) one realizes that there are two distinct characteristics of the displayed merchandise – the revival of traditional designs – like in Assam and the attempt at contemporizing the existing items without deviating from traditional skills.

I would like to take up here the case of the second category which can find a market for the bulk of consumers – creation of contemporary life style items inspired by and with the use of traditional skills. This includes garments, cushion covers, mats, basket trays and file folders, jewellery, wooden bowls and cutlery among others.

We are therefore trying to focus on items that can compete in the market – have a good finish and an aesthetic design. They have to be a good quality, have a utility value and yet be able to fetch a price that makes them worth the while for a craftsperson.

The market has three important components, design, quality and price – each enhances the other. The fact that sales are not good enough to provide continuous year round orders, points towards the problems.

Difficulty in procurement of raw material specially yarn which is particularly unique to the North East. By and large, weavers buy yarn from the ‘Marwari’ and beads from the ‘Bhutia’. Cost is reduced by using acrylic and synthetic yarns. The weaver is not concerned where the yarn comes from. At the North-East Festival a start has been made by setting up stalls of yarn providers and the subsequent interaction on quality and price has led to the opening of new avenues.

Price is a very important factor in finding a market. In an effort to reduce prices, the quality of raw-material is being compromised and the wages of weavers being reduced which eventually is reflected in the quality and finish going down.

Situation on the ground points towards non-contextualized assistance, indifferent Govt. schemes, badly conceptualized with no follow up and monitoring of implementation, middlemen exploitation at acquisition of raw material level, poor design assistance, not cognizant of changing market dynamics.

Schemes well intended but jobs half done, require just one little step forward to make them more efficient. Here are some suggestions:

Hundreds of design schemes every year have not created even a stir, leave alone a revolution because they are not linked to the market.

Hold the designer accountable and responsible to the market place by creating a design which has an acceptable quality and a reasonable price. Involve state and Govt. emporia and crafts councils and NGO shops in retailing assistance.
Raw material banks, CFCs should neither be commercial nor merely Govt. departments. They are intended to be service providers and that’s what they should be. Quantities should not be limited to bales, bundles or quintals but to smallest individual requirement of a craftsperson or weaver.
In the North-East where distances and transportation are an impediment, self help groups can play an important role in accessing schemes available to craftsperson’s and weavers. They can form mini depots for raw material and send out combined cargos to common destinations, thus reducing the cost per item.
Encourage NGOs to tackle problems like raw material banks, loans, freight, marketing and design assistance. This may be a center or state subject but most importantly, it’s a subject that concerns every day life and existence of the craftspersons.
Monitor all schemes. They may be wonderful on paper but most difficult to implement. All schemes should be such that impact can be measured in terms of markets, life styles and status of craftspersons.

What is the sari? According to the Concise Oxford, "A length of cotton or silk draped around the body, traditionally worn as a main garment by Indian women." Ah, the perils of being concise, or being understatedly Oxford. This 'length of cotton or silk draped around the body' is surely the most magnificent garment the human imagination has ever been able to invent. Its magnificence has less to do with cost or embellishment. It has much more to do with its love of the body, its ability to bathe the wearer in colour, to move with her in a thousand ways, to alter its structure to suit her moment, to transform every woman and each of her movements into creations of art irrespective of age or of dimension. The sari doesn't stop there. It is in itself an entire civilisation, carrying artistry and craftsmanship of infinite variety --- material, texture, weave, pattern, shade, embellishment. And yet the sari is never a uniform. It offers endless possibilities of distinct identity to each wearer --- an identity of place, of community, of taste, of standing out from a mass. A sari can be a design encyclopaedia, and yet for all that, the sari is discrete. It offers its wisdom and knowledge through service to the wearer, while beckoning the scholar with its memories. A generation and more ago, the sari led the handloom movement, shaking an empire in one of the greatest design stories of all time. In the years of its glory, Air-India proved to the world that the sari could not only serve as a brilliant brand in a ruthlessly competitive market, but that it could also meet the practical needs of a demanding industry. Affording dignity and beauty without exception every time, the sari also offers livelihoods. Millions (no one knows for sure how many millions) depend for survival on the tasks and processes of spinning, weaving, making, embellishing, distributing and selling the sari. For them, the sari spells the difference between hope and misery, a 'product of conscience' if there ever was one. Yet this is the garment under relentless attack by dictates coming in from alien cultures that offer grotesque catwalk 'statements' lapped up by those for whom mimicry means progress. Indian men may be to blame, once again. They started the mimicry long ago. The dress culture that resulted now encourages some (including several Clubs I know) to declare that male garments of this land are unacceptable to 'shining India'. Their foolish lead is, alas, one that many of the other gender seem determined to follow. The loss will be theirs, and of all for whom the sari-clad form in its myriad ways has remained one of life's enduring rewards. Women, men --- and children too. Some time ago, on a long train journey, the miracle of the sari was demonstrated by two mothers travelling in the same tiered compartment. Both had children. One also had newborn infant. She was in a sari, the other in blue jeans and a shirt. As the day wore on, the sari served to protect the baby from light, from heat and then from the evening chill. It was at once a shield, a fan, a shawl, a curtain that allowed nursing the infant without any compromise of modesty. Every now and then, the older child would use her mother's sari as a napkin, a towel, a handkerchief, or for the sheer comfort of burying her head in its folds between romps up and down the passageway --- the sari as a symbol of reassurance and protection, once familiar to every Indian child. By nightfall, both children were wrapped in one end of the sari as they and their mother drifted off to sleep. The mother in blue jeans was an 'organised traveller', constantly ferreting in a large bag for towels and kerchiefs and other supplies to soothe her lively ward. Two shirt changes, and a third before arrival at our destination, where the child wanted to hang on to her mother in all the confusion of alighting at a crowded station. Mother in jeans had her hands full and kept reminding the child not to cling and to be watchful. Mother in a sari needed no change, even if her 'length of cotton or silk' had been softened with folds and creases. She too had her hands full. Yet her tot clung on to the sari as they went down the aisle, a regal figure in motion, a child secure through contact. Dignity, reassurance, protection, love. The message of the sari is for all time. This article was originally written for the Craft Council of India

New Product Development Product development is an essential process for any organization as the entire gamut of selling activities revolves around the core qualities of the product. It’s very important to lay down clearly the entire process of developing a product.Core Product It’s usually believed that we sell craft; what we actually sell is a crafted product. If the consumer finds utility in the product he buys he would definitely come back and buy more of it. Therefore it is essential to focus on the benefit, core advantage that the product would offer which determines the buying decision.Therefore when bringing a new product into picture it makes business sense to have answers to the following questions .

Who is the target market and who is the decision maker in the purchasing process?
What product features must the product incorporate?
What benefits will the product provide?
How will consumers react to the product?
How will the product be produced most cost effectively?
Prove feasibility through virtual computer aided rendering, and rapid prototyping
What will it cost to produce it?

The answers to the above questions help in the development of a healthy Core Product Developed the Core The market is slowly evolving and craft adds an indigenous edge to the product. Many of our business partners in the retail industry are now realizing the same and incorporating the same in the product lines. Banjarans of Rajasthan would have never imagined their old sarees being used on wall hangings, cushion covers, stationery and even umbrellas. The product is beautiful very different and so ethnic. Termed as old moti the technique is fast catching up and the spread very visible on the streets of Jaipur and suburbs like Durgapura. I would term is as innovation and evolution of an existing product using craft. Saw Madhubani paintings on lampshades, coasters, trays, kurtis, and sarees at Madhubani Bihar. Chiffons with goddess kali painted in different hues of red looked feminine – outstanding! Products invoke the character of the individual and craft the essence. Shibori is on sarees, bedcovers, dupattas and stoles. So far Japanese influence was seen in cars and food, but an amalgamation of the Indian tie and Dye technique with a Japanese twist only goes to show the evolution and preference of the customer. Crochet skirts are popular and so are the cushion covers in the lovely little town of Mahableshwar, which has tourists taking back crochet table linen, shawls, and wall hangings. Today crochet is widely used on many products .It adds an altogether different character to the product. Many designers today have craft as a different section of their product line, which is so very encouraging. New ideas can come from anywhere. Students, artisans, designers, customers. Hence product development is important. It involves various stages and is the most important process of any business and needs to be an ongoing process. Hence the final product in order to adapt to the business environment and find a competitive edge should be

Fit for use
Reliable
Pleasing in appearance
Easy and efficient to use
Easy to maintain
Safe to use and manufacture
Financially viable
Legal
Environment friendly

Thus Craft combined with a healthy core product can better the overall offering. A better offering gives rise to better sales and a developing market and hence more New Products!

When the music changes, so does the dance¹ After fifteen years absence it was wonderful to return to India, meeting friends and colleagues from the past and encountering new people working in the crafts and other development sub-sectors. The visit provided opportunities for new understanding of this hugely energetic nation shifting and evolving at a tremendous pace in urban areas, while rural communities seem to have changed little in comparison with the 1980s.Most fascinating was learning that most of the new generation of workers in projects were suffering identical or similar challenges in obtaining support for their work as those endured by myself and colleagues working during the 1970s and 1980s. Having worked during the intervening years in other countries in the Far East, Africa and Latin America, it is clear that these challenges are not just Indian or even sub-continental in nature. The impression gained from people of many nations is that a generic state of near dysfunction has existed in the development sector for a very long time, particularly in the support provided to workers in the artisan and other creative sub-sectors.Over many years, development agencies at international, national, provincial, and even NGO levels have used intensely hierarchical, usually internal, and top down procedures for:

identification of potential projects and "target groups",
project proposal preparation;
scheduling and regulating;
implementation; monitoring and management,
evaluation of outcomes, during and at the end of the programme.

Communal or organisational participation at any stage in these processes is negligible. It is rare to find transparency and accountability to the taxpayers who pay for their work or to the people they are supposed to be assisting. Yet these disadvantaged people are identified in development terminology as "beneficiaries". If they are really to be beneficiaries, should they not be the major contributors in determining what is to be provided to whom, how, where and when it is to be done? Would they then not own the project, instead of being forced to "own" project ideas about which they know little and probably care even less? Official attitudes for non-inclusion of beneficiaries in development processes vary from:

"Too high a risk of mismanagement";
"No knowledge of development priorities";
"Inadequate education";
"Low capacity among beneficiaries for responsible participation".

Yet on an almost daily basis, in almost any country around the world, press reports tell of gross mismanagement of publicly funded projects undertaken by the very same agencies who claim that the poorest people cannot manage to improve their lives without the intervention and support of agencies who clearly suffer from almost the same failings apparently possessed by these "beneficiaries". The same rigid and hierarchical procedures are applied by funding agencies or banks, which use similar arguments to refuse loans or grants to small organisations or enterprises applying for financial support to improve a business or community activity. Yet these same financial institutions have senior executives who receive huge bonuses for presiding over financial practices which, in some cases, have decimated economies around the globe. Nor are these executives penalised in any way for their failure, while small enterprises are hounded to extinction for failing to repay much smaller sums on which they are defaulting. Other very well known and enormously wealthy funding agencies carry notices on their web sites in effect saying "Ordinary people from foreign countries need not bother to apply because we only work with officially certified organisations in our own countries which conform to the norms and principles we control." Applications for project proposals and project funding are demanded using up to 15 pages of digital applications only, to be completed in 45 minutes, usually in languages not known by most persons wishing to become "beneficiaries". As another aspect concerning suitability for receiving funding, the majority of the world's poorest have survived centuries of abuse, corruption, exploitation and manipulation from rulers varying from total tyranny to incompetence. The disadvantaged mainly live in conditions that would make many development agency personnel extremely sick mentally and physically. The poor are highly adaptable, stubbornly persistent and hard working, because if they were not they would be dead. They possess lifetimes of knowledge about their locality and environment, its social and political nature, advantages and challenges; usually far more than most "highly qualified" experts who appear with clipboards in communities to "assess potential for a project.", without actually spending sufficient time to listen to members of the communities If the same experts were simply to go into communities and enquire what the people there wanted to do for their futures, agencies might have more projects which are truly embedded in the community and therefore have better chances of survival. Finally, events beyond India also have a bearing on the global development and governance activity. Tunisia and Egypt's peoples have had enough of being ignored and treated like dirt. The sheer mass of human energies, coupled with modern technology, have given ordinary people the capability to show governments that they wish life to be different and better, if not for themselves, then for their children. It is merely a matter of time before these inequities in development and funding protocols are changed by popular demand. So should we not now do as Mahatma Gandhi said "Be the change you want to see in the world". Footnote reference:

African proverb

A narrow dirt road veered off, to the right of the main road, from the town of Udupi to the village of Kaapu. Dusk was turning to night and the tube lights lining the road, the sound of beating drums and the distant singing of the paad-danaa, oral narrative, pointed to activity ahead. We had reached the ancestral home of Surendra Shetty, where the annual Bhuta Kola was being performed that evening. Bhuta Kola or Spirit Worship is an ancient form of animistic religion that dates back to pre-Vedic times, prevalent in the Tulunaadu region of coastal Karnataka. A highly stylized version of the ritual dance of the spirit impersonator, it has over the years evolved into a complex and creative amalgam of ritual, oral epics, music, dialogue, costume, masks and a folk theatre. The spirits, commonly known as daivas, have fixed spheres of influence and are generally associated with a family, community or village and the devotees offer them periodic oblation. In turn, the spirits protect the villagers and their livestock from impending dangers, cure diseases and even settle village disputes. There are some 350 Bhutas that are worshipped in this region of Karnataka, as a living tradition. This evening, the Shetty family, hailing from the landed Bunt community, was holding the annual kola in honour of their family deity, Dhumavathi, vanquisher of the asura Dhumasura. This daiva takes on the merged form of Shiva and Parvati and her mask is manifested in a male-female form, wearing a crown of nagas, with a moustache and a breast plate. We were greeted warmly by the yejamana, head of the household and given prominent seats at the edge of the chapra, pavilion. The orchestra seated on our side of the chapra, consisting of percussion instruments tase and dhol, wind instruments (nagaswaras) and a shruti, drone, increased their rhythm and beat.

Prelude

The Bhuta impersonator (who generally belonged to the Parava, Pambada, or similar caste) had his purificatory bath that prepared him physically and mentally for the ritual. Clad in red trousers and jackets embellished with silver, he wore a silver crown, taramani, edged with a row of naga hoods interspersed with garlands of jasmine and orange kanakambaram flowers and the bunta, associate, wore a similar crown crafted in bronze. Whilst they put on their makeup, with a yellow paint, made out of medicinal plant extracts, a family member began to sing the paad-danaas to the accompaniment of the tembare, small drum, that describes the birth of the spirit and its adventures. The music facilitated the process of self-hypnotism and the spirit came into the body — maytu battundu. They became possessed, a state that is expressed through kumbarunu, continuous shaking of the body. The atmosphere was charged with electricity and a rush of expectation coursed through the crowds as the daiva and his bunta got up and appeared at the entrance of the chapra and began their ritual movements.

The spirit called out and addressed the authorities by rank, who asked for benedictions and protection. The oracle spoke and gave his blessings. They then ceremonially wore the ghaggars anklets and danced in backward and forward movements, slowly working themselves into a trance. The attendants then wrapped the siri, tender coconut leaf, slit skirts around them, trimming the edges neatly with a sickle. The music reached a crescendo, crackers exploded in beautiful flower patterns and the Bhuta dancers began a frenzied dance, with a flicking movement of the skirts, the attendants lighting their faces with deevatiggais, lit torches, creating a breathtaking, surreal theatre of its own.

Settling disputes

Now was the time for the darsana, appearance or revelation. A long curly haired priest, clad in a silk zari dhoti, with sword and bell in hand appeared representing Dhumavati. He interacted with the elders and gave judgements in disputes presented to him. In Tulunadu, these adjudications are accepted unconditionally. At this stage, the yejaman was temporarily possessed by the spirit, Bhuta pattundu and carried on a dialogue with him in a loud and belligerent manner. Possession is known to be transferred to family members during a kola. Surendra Shetty later told me that he did not remember a moment of the episode. The priest then left, giving his blessings and the dancers returned. The attendants then affixed the areca leafed ani, a mat like structure onto to the back of the Bhuta impersonator. The silver mask was stitched onto the centre of the ani and placed on the dancer's forehead. The silver breast plate was placed onto his chest and the hooped palm-leaf skirt fixed onto his waist. The bunta also has an ani. As the night melted into dawn, the anticlimax happened when the ani and the mask were removed and the spirit slowly left the body. The Dhumavati Bhuta Kola was over.The next day, we were invited to witness the Bhuta Kola at the daivasaana, shrine, of the Alva family near Suratkal, where members of the family clan meet every year, to hold and witness the Kola of their family deity, the cultural hero Jarandaya, seated on a white horse. Several kilometres away from the manor house, guttu, was the garbhagudi, shrine, set in a spacious courtyard, high on a hillock, resplendent in decorated neon lights in aesthetic designs. The night was pierced by the glow of numerous, lit standing torches that transported us to a bygone era, a time and space when there was no electricity. Ashok Alva showed us, standing in a corner of the courtyard, the 7th century stone inscription that documented the origins of the Alva family and their connections with the ruling dynasty. The impersonators of the Jarandaya Bhuta and his bunta, mate, were seated on a stone platform nearby, putting on their yellow paste make up, assisted by their helpers.Crowds began to take their seats along the edges of the courtyard, the male elders of the family and community seated in the front rows. The orchestra, consisting of a brass band supported by traditional percussion and wind instruments began to play the music and one recognised the popular tune “Satyam, Shivam, Sundaram”.

Electrifying atmosphere

The ritual then began with the Jarandaya Bhuta spirit impersonator entering the courtyard. Our attention was suddenly diverted to the bunta on the platform being pulled into opposite directions by his helpers. The brass band had left and we were seated, rivetted by the electrifying sounds of the racing drum beats and piping tunes of the nagaswaram. The bunta jumped from the platform on to the mud courtyard along with his helpers and raced along the edge and up the stairs of the garbhagudi, now bucking like a colt towards the flagstaff, dhwajasthamba, then racing towards the entrance of the courtyard. Round and round the courtyard he jumped, danced and raced. The bhuta impersonators then went into the shrine, received the ghaggaras, ceremonially wore them and overwhelmed by the spirit's power, went into a trance. Later they wore the siri palm leaf skirts and danced with lit torches bearing onto their chests. Suddenly the bunta dragged one of his attendants into the centre of the courtyard and would not let go. The attendant had been “caught by the spirit” and after a while, drained and exhausted, had to be taken into the shrine for rest by the other helpers. The Jarandaya Bhuta now entered into a dialogue with the lord of the manor, the yejamana and the other elders of the community, bringing them into the centre of the courtyard and after intense dialogue, escorting them back to their front row seats. In a later round, he got involved in settling disputes of the village community members. In the third round they began to dance, with fly whisks and fans, then wearing the ani and mask and concluding with the ritual of removing the mask and the spirit departing from the body.Witnessing a living tradition of the Bhuta Kola in its geographic and cultural context was a lifetime's experience. The rich and refined aesthetics of the Tulunadu region of Karnataka, including the excellence in craftsmanship of metal and wooden masks, icons and statuary is a treasure. As an effort to preserve these unique arts and crafts, The Crafts Council of Karnataka has undertaken a craft documentation of these objects.

World leaders clash over international trade rules and regulations during the latest round of World Trade Organization trade talks. Policy analysts debate the pros and cons of trade and aid as means for less developed countries to find ways out of poverty. Corporate social responsibility (CSR) is increasingly a factor in social marketing and investment strategies. In 2005, “31 million people from 84 national coalitions around the world” took part in a global campaign to Make Poverty History, calling for “governments of the richest countries to make the political decisions that deliver justice for the world’s poorest people” (Http/www.makepovertyhistory.org). How do the worlds’ craftspeople fit into this picture?

Millions of artisans work skillfully with wood, clay, fibre, metals and other materials creating a vast array of beautiful and functional handmade items. They add finishing touches, display, and when possible, sell the products of their labour. Much of this work goes unrecognized or unaccounted for in international trade statistics. However, there are encouraging signs. The International Trade Centre (ITC) in Geneva, over many years, led negotiations that resulted in a harmonized system for codification of crafts. This system not only facilitates the collection and analysis of craft trade data, but also helps “measure the impact of crafts, and demonstrate their important role in economic development and world trade” (Caroline Ramsay, Crafts News Magazine, Summer 2000). Many governments and international agencies now recognize the role of craft in poverty reduction strategies, women’s income generation, enterprise development, and cultural heritage preservation. In each case, decisions are made about how best to apply limited resources to optimize the beneficial impacts on craft production and trade. One Canadian example of international trade support directed towards strengthening the craft sector is a partnership project between the Trade Facilitation Office Canada (TFOC) and the Board of External Trade of the Tanzanian Government. This project is part of PACT, Programme for Building African Capacity for Trade, which “primarily targets small and medium enterprises and their support institutions” and “addresses supply-side constraints of developing countries and the goal to diversify their production and export base” (TFOC). Although Tanzanian craft companies constitute a very high proportion of Tanzanian participation in international trade fairs, the country’s craftspeople are not organized and there is no database on craft supply. TFOC has designated project funds towards the creation of a directory of craft producers and products. Additional support is directed to the establishment of a national craft association to represent the needs of the craft sector, particularly for export marketing. International trade policy makes little reference to craft, but on-the-ground projects and programmes in many countries support the work of craftspeople. Inevitably issues of international aid and trade arise as each craft organization struggles with questions about the effectiveness and long-term sustainability of their initiatives: How can technical programmes for artisans be maintained or expanded? How will craft organizations strengthen leadership and institutional capacity? How can craftspeople acquire current market information and make products that fit with changing markets? How can sales be maintained or increased so that artisans are paid properly and benefits accrue to their communities? Handmade traditional craft and textiles possess distinctive cultural, economic and environmental value. This is a significant leverage point for craft trade in a world where the concepts of social responsibility and social marketing are increasingly in play. A new form of political consumerism is emerging among a growing number of people with concern about global poverty and sustainability issues. For these people, each buying decision (when possible) is a vote for the kind of world they want to live in. The Fair trade movement is now an established expression of this and has gained sufficient ground to influence mainstream shopping: “A recent survey, carried out in 25 European countries, shows that Fair Trade sales in Europe have been growing at an average 20% per year since 2000. The annual net retail value of Fair Trade products sold in Europe now exceeds EUR 660 million…Fair Trade has thus become one of the fastest growing markets in the world. Fair Trade products can now be found in 55,000 supermarkets all over Europe and the market share has become significant in some countries” (Karsten Weitzenegger, Development Gateway, April 21 2006). Although primarily focused on coffee, cocoa and other foods, networks of Fair trade shops do link many craft producers to international markets. There is great potential. But how will this trend of a new consumerism translate into increased access to viable markets for handmade products and greater benefit for craft producers? Traders -- exporters and importers-- are an important link between craftspeople and craft buyers. How can the numbers of “traders with integrity” be increased? Although far too many craft producers suffer economic exploitation, there are good examples of traders who make the rights and well-being of artisans central to their marketing plan. MAIWA is a Canadian company working primarily with women’s cooperatives in India. MAIWA has defined itself by paying good prices for high quality work based on traditional skills and designs. The company helps craftspeople view themselves as international traders. MAIWA organized the exhibition Through the Eye of a Needle: Stories from an Indian Desert, opening July 2002 at The Vancouver Museum, and subsequently in other North American Museums. The exhibition displays Gujarati embroidery as artwork, along with stories of women who made them. Charlotte Kwon, founder of MAIWA, writes, “This embroidery tells of their past, their journey to the present, and the possibility of a future rich with heritage and cultural memory” (http/www.maiwa.com/exhibitions_1.html). Vision and trust, and also a great amount of learning through experience, are part of the trading process. It would be valuable to pool the resources of such experienced international traders and create some kind of “school” for traders with integrity. It is not clear to what extent anti-poverty and sustainability issues are impacting people’s buying decisions, particularly purchases of handmade items. Market research is needed to reveal how attitudes of consumers are changing in directions that improve craft trade and also to provide information about niche markets and types of saleable craft products. At the same time, people who want to buy ethically produced and traded handmade crafts need to know what products are available and where these can be obtained. And they still look for things that are well-made and useful or appropriate to their lifestyle. Product design, product branding and internet communication are powerful tools that can be utilized in response to these contemporary marketing issues.

This is a tale of a traditional Indian Sari. The garment, which belongs to my mother, is far more that just a personal clothing item. Its warp and weft weaves together historical value of great significance. More than a 100 years old, this sari belonged to my mother’s great-grandmother Gyanadanandini Devi who was the wife of Satyendranath Tagore (1842-1923) - the paternal grandfather of my Grandmother Jayashree Sen, and elder brother of Rabindranath Tagore. He was the first Indian to join the Indian Civil Service. He was also an author, song composer, linguist and made significant contribution towards the emancipation of women in Indian society during the British Raj.

After Satyendranath Tagore returned to Kolkata from abroad he had to leave for Mumbai for his posting in the civil services. He wished to take his wife (my grandmother’s grandmother) Gyanadanandini Devi with him. But a serious problem cropped up as to the dress the lady would wear while stepping out of her inner quarters. The solution to this problem came from a French tailor. He prepared an oriental dress for the lady. Later in Bombay, Gyanadanandini ransacked the market for a perfect dress that would be fashionable as well as fit to be worn in the society. She appreciated the style the Parsi women adapted while wearing the sari. She emulated them and also mastered the use of petticoat, the chemise and the blouse. Thus she became the founder of the contemporary Bengali fashion for ladies. This historic sari belonged to her and was a gift from her to my grandmother's mother Sanga Devi, who later gifted it to my grandmother. It was a present to my mother from her mother during her wedding in 1963. The sari is a traditional Bengal Baluchari sari, which depicts scenes from the contemporary political and social life in Bengal through its designs.

Baluchari saris, which have been now revived as a traditional handicraft from Bengal, also sometimes depicted scenes from mythology and Hindu gods and goddesses. When my grandmother Jayashri Sen (nee Tagore) gifted the sari to my mother, she had also shared with her anecdotes about Gyanadanandini and her huge collection of beautiful saris. My grandmother was a favorite grand-daughter and had spent a lot of time with her grandparents and was deeply attached to them before she married my grandfather - Mr. Kulaprasad Sen, who was the Post-master General of Eastern India when he retired.I’m sure there are many other women such as my mother across India, who possess such beautiful saris which have such wonderful bits of history attached to them.

Kabiraj is one of the last four Bomkai weavers in Odisha. In the front room of his small brick-and-mortar home in the center of Bomkai village in Berhampur district, the source of this rare and original weave, sits the pit loom on which his textiles are woven. Tall and well built, Kabiraj is a weaver of the Patra Tanti caste from the Vaishnav community, crafting Bomkai designs perfected over generations. Worked on an extremely primitive pit loom with no extra attachments, weaving a Bomkai sari is like doing hand embroidery on a loom, forming a delicate and elaborate tapestry. It takes Kabiraj 7-10 days to complete a regular Bomkai sari and up to a month for an intricate silk one. In the last five years, the price of cotton yarn and silk yarn has tripled while his earnings have not grown at the same rate. A highly skilled worker whose weaves are works of art, he doesn't earn anywhere near commensurate pay. He makes about four cotton saris a month and earns around Rs 8,000 for them - enough to provide his family with three meals a day, but not enough to send his two children to a good school. In his village, Kabiraj has become a rarity. Most handloom weavers have migrated to Surat or Tamil Nadu in search of work. To most people with a hazy idea of handlooms it would seem like a romantic lie to hear that Kabiraj likes and chooses to work in handlooms. A particular set of circumstances allows Kabiraj to continue - and it isn't quite what you think. There is a common myth among government policymakers on the handloom industry - including officials in the Directorate of Handlooms and the Ministry of Textiles at the center and state levels - that it's only urban markets and exports that can save the handloom industry. As they see it, that's where the money lies. This is problematic because it is also clear that there are strong, thriving local markets in some states that remain independent of outside pressures to a large degree. And these local markets provide real answers for the future of handloom (and Kabiraj's future). Urban markets are important to the handloom industry, but let us not forget that most of our population lives in villages and in smaller towns (the 2011 Census shows that 83.3 crore Indians live in rural areas - that's 68.84 percent of the population), and that the market for handloom products in urban areas is a niche one. It is as if the policy makers are deciding on behalf of most Indians that they should no longer wear or use the cloth they prefer. Another myth, even more puzzling than the first, is that India's handloom industry, the largest in the world, is a 'sunset' industry. But the facts indicate that the handloom industry continues to grow and be profitable - in 2009, handloom exports were worth 264.8 million dollars, and in 2011 this rose by 44.6 percent to 554 million dollars. According to the 2009-10 Handloom Census, there are 43.32 lakh people (although I believe this is a conservative figure) working as weavers or in allied activities - pre-loom activities such as preparing yarn, dyeing it, preparing the warp, spinning bobbins for the weft, etc. and in post-loom activities such as applying starch, rolling and ironing. The handloom sector remains India's second-largest employer after agriculture. In May 2013, the Ministry of Textiles submitted a proposal to the government seeking to change the definition of the term 'handloom' so that products made on mechanized looms could also be classified as handloom products and sold for the same premium price. In the face of fierce opposition by weavers, handloom activists and concerned organizations, in January 2014 the government said it would not push this agenda. But with a powerful, organized powerloom lobby, it's likely we haven't heard the last of this idea. The market today is being inundated with powerloom and mill-made goods, sold at the same premium price that handloom textiles command. India even imports cheap lookalike handloom saris all the way from China! The Handloom Reservation Act of 1985 reserved 22 textile items to be produced exclusively by the handloom industry. Ten years later, this number was reduced to 11. Powerlooms openly violate the Act, while experts such as Dr. D Narasimha Reddy of the Chetana Society, Hyderabad point out that enforcement of the Act would do a great deal to support the handloom industry. The powerful powerloom lobby remains the biggest threat to weavers and allied workers, for whom handlooms can mean more than just a livelihood. Handloom textiles are woven manually on looms that do not require electricity. It is a largely rural practice, with 87 percent of household units - according to the Census - engaged in handloom activities lying in rural areas. Making one product, such as a sari, involves work by at least six to ten people (sometimes an entire family), Let's look at the employment figures. In India, powerloom produces 62 percent production of all textiles and provides employment to 70 lakh weavers. Handloom, on the other hand, contributes to 11.28 percent production and provides employment to 43.32 lakh weavers - and so is a much more efficient employer than powerloom. Of handloom's employees, 77 percent are women (10.13 percent SC, 18.12 percent ST, 45 percent OBC, and 1 percent other). The women are the main stakeholders in the sector, which empowers them and allows them financial independence. The powerloom industry provides valuable employment, but it's important that the roles of the powerloom and handloom industries in the market are kept separate. What will happen to the highly skilled population dependent on handlooms when you merge their products with those created by machines operated by a largely semi-skilled workforce? I've seen cases where till some years back, weavers' wages had not increased in the last 20 years - in Nuapatna village in Cuttack district of Odisha, most weavers abandoned their craft as a result. The cause for this is startling. Despite the fact that India is the world's third-largest producer of cotton and the second-largest producer of silk, most of it is exported. Hence, weavers are forced to buy imported yarn, the price of which is significantly higher. So in the last five years, weavers say the approximate cost of local cotton yarn has risen from around Rs 1,200 to around Rs 3,600 for a bundle (4.5 kg), while that of mulberry silk has quadrupled from around Rs 900 to around Rs 3,600 per kg. Local desi tussar yarn has risen from around Rs 1,000 to around Rs 4,000 per kg, while tussar from Korea costs around Rs. 4,800 per kg. The price of the end product can be controlled by the market or fixed by the government, but traders instead ensure they get their margin by lowering the wages of the weaver. The handloom industry is still a profitable one, but it is going down the same route as agriculture where farmers are caught in a debt trap, being made to buy all their inputs from fertilizer to seed from large companies such as Monsanto. The government isn't hammering away at the right nail - rather than check the price of yarn or set a minimum wage for weavers, it's now giving out loans and credit cards to weavers, leading them down the same doomed path as farmers. Almost every state in India produces unique handloom products: Pashmina shawls from Kashmir, Banarasi brocade from Uttar Pradesh, Chanderis from Madhya Pradesh, Patan patolas from Gujarat, Ikats and Jala work from Odisha, Kalamkari, Uppadas and Ikats from Andhra, Jamdani from West Bengal, Kanjeevarams from Tamil Nadu, and so on. In Odisha, where I work, practically every district has unique handloom products and a key reason why the industry keeps going is that to a large extent, weavers still have access to local markets and do not depend only on outside buyers. Gandhi recognized that alienation and exploitation often occur when production and consumption are divorced from their social and cultural context, and that local enterprise is a way to avoid these problems: "Swadeshi is that spirit in us which requires us to serve our immediate neighbors before others, and to use things produced in our neighborhood in preference to those more remote. So doing, we serve humanity to the best of our capacity. We cannot serve humanity by neglecting our neighbors." Handloom haats, held much in the same way as vegetable mandis, still prevail across India. In districts in Odisha, for example, anyone from an individual weaver like Kabiraj to a cooperative society to a trader can sell his or her wares at these handloom haats. To a large extent, there is no hierarchy within these markets and there are no conditions placed on who can sell. Access to the market, in this case, can lie directly with the weaver - the product doesn't pass through multiple hands and the profits are made straight from the customer. Western Odisha is known for its cotton and silk ikats - famously called Sambhalpuris - and the main handloom hub there, the Balijodi Haat, still does business of Rs 1-2 crore every Friday - all the while 'serving its neighbors'. Held on an open field, the weekly haat sees weavers from Odisha and neighboring states sell items such as yarn, saris, dhotis, dress material, bed covers, etc. Business begins in the early morning when traders arrive to snap up items in bulk and continues through the day. Apart from doing roaring business, the sense of pride among small sellers there is palpable - with direct access to the market, it's also an important platform for feedback and encouragement. Given that revenue streams into the same area where the products are made which further strengthens the local economy, the haat's decentralized model - right from producing yarn down to selling the products - is a very good one to look into. Similar models exist in other states. Malkha, a type of khadi, is produced through a decentralized model in Andhra promoted by Uzramma (founder of the non-profit research center Dastkar Andhra), from the procuring of cotton yarn to producing handspun, natural dye and marketing. The Developing Ecologically Sustainable Industry (DESI) Trust in Karnataka, run by theater personality T Prasanna, also promotes such models that have proved extremely successful. These are the models we need to take forward and replicate. Instead, the current market for handlooms has been growing further and further away from the weaver - with plenty of push from misguided textile policies. Although weaving is a highly skilled craft, the demands of the current market have meant that instead of being recognized as artists, weavers have been pushed to produce as mere laborers. The urban market dictates a different aesthetic entirely, which sometimes makes it difficult to allow weavers to design their own pieces - it merely requires them to produce material to suit a prescribed template. In westernized cities, elaborate traditional motifs are giving way to simpler, more minimalist designs and traditional skills are gradually slipping away - weaving a fish motif, for example, takes considerably more skill than it does to weave a straight line. Apart from traders and middlemen inserting themselves into the process of selling handloom products, government schemes - handed out like lollipops to weavers and formulated by bureaucrats and officials with insufficient knowledge of the handloom sector - have disturbed the decentralized systems already in place. The Janata Cloth Scheme, for instance, which was abolished in 1996, was meant to provide employment to weavers who were not part of cooperatives while providing cloth at lower rates to the poor. Weavers were only required to put in low-skilled work to produce poor quality cloth, with the result that the government was unable to market these goods. The scheme was meant to help people in the handloom industry produce more at subsidized rates for better prices, but it became a huge part of the problem - rather than strengthening the local market, the government took it away. It moved the platform for handlooms away from villages and small towns to urban centers. The market moved to bigger cities, to boutique stores and to foreign countries. I remember jokingly asking Kabiraj one day why he didn't move to Bangalore or Surat in search of work, considering he would have made as much money breaking stones. He laughed and replied that he would have, and was certainly was tempted to, but it just wasn't the way he wanted to live his life. He said that in cities, he only saw pollution and poor living conditions. To him, living a healthy lifestyle and being with his family outweighed the temptation to earn more. The main reason why the Bomkai weave has survived is its very strong link to the local culture. It is a thick cotton sari that works well in the hot, humid climate of Odisha, and the motifs on the borders are drawn from their immediate surroundings: kumbha (temple spires), dalimba (pomegranate) and nagabandh (snakes intertwined) are some examples. Pallu motifs use kalera (bitter gourd), mayura (peacocks), rookha (wooden lampstands), domboru (drums), and so on. The formulae for weaving these motifs differ across families, preserved in the form of rhymes handed down from ancestors. In earlier times, when weavers had creative control over their work, no two Bomkais would ever be alike. Bomkai saris are deeply linked to cultural practices in Berhampur district, which has a local deity called Thakurani, said to be a combination of Durga and Kalika. Every year in April they have the Thakurani jatra, for which the head priest and priestess wear red and black Bomkai cloth - colours said to represent Durga and Kalika. Around this time, the Bomkai village's four weavers know they have a definite market for their products. Berhampur, being close to Andhra, also sees several communities in the vicinity head here for its Bomkai saris, since some wear it as a traditional wedding sari. In Cuttack district lies the village of Nuapatna, where silk ikat is woven. The khandua patterns and local silk weaves - especially the calligraphic ikat pieces containing different verses from the Gita Govinda written by the poet Jayadev - are linked with the Jagannath cult, and a lot of the saris there are woven for the Jagannath temple in Puri or the different Jagannath temples in the area. Produced within a specific context and with influences traced directly to local culture, some handloom weaves are strong markers of identity. When it comes to the younger generation of weavers, there aren't many who are willing to take up this traditional occupation as their first choice. Failed by an abysmal education system, which makes them look down on traditional occupations without leaving them equipped to succeed in others, I've often seen youngsters leave their villages for jobs in the mechanized industry. But not being qualified enough for good jobs in the mining or steel industries, they end up breaking stones or working as security guards or, ironically, operating powerlooms before realizing that they can earn more from handlooms. In Gopalpur village, where tussar silk is woven into saris, I met Babuli, who is around 21 years old. His father is a highly skilled weaver who earns well for himself. But Babuli, who believed that weaving was beneath him and that his education could get him a better job, left for Bangalore. While his father kept trying to persuade him to return and work with him, since he knew handloom weaving, Babuli found that his working conditions while doing machine embroidery on saris were poor and extremely exploitative. Most of the Rs 7,000 per month that he earned was spent on food, lodging and other living expenses. He even began to get nosebleeds without being able to figure out the cause. After just two and half a months of trying to make it in Bangalore, he went home to Gopalpur to work as a weaver. Just last year, he won a state award for a sari he created - it's given him a feeling of dignity, and now he's proud to be a fulltime handloom weaver. He's clear that it's what he wants to do for the rest of his life. Mechanized looms have taken away the dignity of weaving to a large degree. If a weaver can earn the same amount of money for breaking stones under the NREGA as he does for weaving handloom, no one recognizes his work for the highly skilled occupation that it is. Protecting local knowledge and the environment has to be factored in when we talk of the industry. Along the coastal belt of north Orissa belt, there's a strong tussar industry, where districts have Adivasi communities involved in collecting tussar silk cocoons. The women there are financially independent because they spin thigh-reel yarn on their own. The problem is that many skilled weavers are forced to make plain tussar yardage to feed the export market. Their products are supplied mostly to Champa in Jharkand, from where tussar thans are exported in bulk. They still get good wages, but by catering more to their local markets, they'll be able to meet local demands, experiment more, and keep their skills alive. Several tribal communities in the region manage to work while living sustainably with nature. I don't mean this in a romanticized way. They give back as much as they take from nature and maintain that careful balance. I once asked a member of the Dongria Kondh tribe in the Niyamgiri hills (who are Odisha's only tribal community who do hand embroidery), if he didn't want development. He replied that his community lived healthy, sustainable lives without having to depend on the outside world and was skeptical of the idea of development. Our development model for the handloom industry is deeply flawed. The so-called 'sunset' handloom industry continues to grow at an encouraging rate. The challenge lies in bringing more weavers into this environmentally sustainable practice. We, as conscious consumers, and the government at the policy level, have to rethink the way we approach handlooms. First published in Grist Media on 26th February 2014.

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.

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]

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]

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.