Craft
A sari tale
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Traditional weavers are at crossroads. An intense pride in their work goes hand in hand with despair at the bleak financial prospects. What price craft? PANKAJA SRINIVASAN
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Thangavel Deivasigamany, an angry young man, resists all attempts to romanticise his vocation.
What does the future hold? (Clockwise from top) A weaver at the loom; and intricate and ever-changing patterns.
Damayanti pachchai, nagapazham karuppu, elai pachchai, ennai sheghappu… beautiful Tamil names describing colours ring pleasantly as sari after another, co
mes floating down. There is so much colour, drama, history and culture woven into each warp and weft of the handloom cotton sari. And, if it is a South cotton you are throwing on, then that is nearly 2,000 years of tradition you are wr
apping around you (it is well known that the Romans traded in textiles from these parts). Poets and travel writers have waxed eloquent about the quality of Indian textiles. Indian handlooms are compared to the silks of Han China and the linens of the Pharaonic Egypt. And, cotton handloom is hailed as one of the greatest contributions of ancient cultures to the legacy of textiles of the world.
Armed with this piece of information, we head off to Negamam. A propitious start, as there is a soft breeze and the road is lined with lush thotams, and when the destination, it has been promised, is a warehouse of saris, the mood is definitely upbeat.
Riot of colours and designs
Clickety clack, clickety clack…the looms. Imagine yards of saris flowing out in all possible colours and designs. We are on the way to the home of a master weaver who has a number of weavers under him. (We learn that with a fe
w exceptions, the master weaver is usually just a middle man, who may not be a weaver at all). He gives them the yarn and the designs and commissions the saris to be woven that are supplied by him to the big showrooms and shops across
the country. Rudraksha, annapakshi, peacock, paisley — one marvels at the intricate motifs. It is a work of art.
But Thangavel Deivasigamany, an angry young man, resists all attempts to romanticise his vocation — weaving handloom saris. For generations his family has been in this business in a village called Samathur, in Tamil Nadu. And,
if he could have his way, he says that his is the last generation that will work on a loom. “I sit at the loom at 5 a.m. And, I get up only after 13 to 15 hours. At the end of a good month, I get to make about Rs. 4,000,” he says.
It is a familiar story. Of how government grants are plenty, but where middlemen come in the way. “I believe there are many sops for the weavers. I wish we knew what they were,” says Panchalingam, another weaver. Panchalingam worries about retirement. “After a day’s weaving, our toes are on fire. Knee pain usually overtakes us when we are barely into our forties and by then we are no good for any other profession. And, since most of us had taken to weaving when we were 12 years or even younger, there is little else we are good for.” An improvement in their post-retirement benefits is what Panchalingam is hoping for. “The time of our retirement is the time our children are ready for marriage, and so we fall into the debt trap,” he says.
Need to revamp
Deivasigamany insists that the co-operative societies, formed with the praiseworthy intention of helping the weavers, should be revamped or inspected by the government regularly. He complains of apathy, indifference, and even favouritism shown by the managers and the appraisers. “On paper, 300 members are shown reaping the benefits of medical insurance. But, in reality, not all the 300 do.” There is no respect for the weavers. “We are a downtrodden lot,” he says. Still, he can’t keep the pride out of his voice as he shows off a mustard yellow sari that is fresh off the loom. It has taken 30 hours to weave it.
If P.S. Rangaswamy’s dream comes true, then the likes of Devasigamany will have something to smile about. A weaver himself, Rangaswamy is today in a position to create work for many weavers who supply saris to his shop (PSR) i
n Coimbatore. As a member of the All India Handloom Committee, he is hoping a “cluster” will bring about a change for the better in the lives of his brethren. A cluster will set up looms in several acres of land. Those weavers who cannot afford to maintain looms on their own will be welcome to come here and weave. All aspects of handlooms — from the processing to the marketing will be handled here. The yarn, designs, everything will be taken care of. People can come directly to the cluster and buy the sari from the weaver, and that will write the middleman right out of the picture. A handloom weaving service centre will upgrade weaver skill and reawaken their creativity, says Rangaswamy.
The weavers in this district pride themselves on their ability to weave any pattern, be it a Balucheri, a Patola or an ikat. But, it is this very mixing and matching that has sadly seen the fading away of old, traditional designs and motifs. P. Gopala Krishna, former President and life member of the Crafts Council of Tamil Nadu, bemoans the fact that there is no proper documentation of designs. “Before it all completely disappears, someone should take the trouble of locating and duplicating old designs. There should be a textile museum where designs are catalogued for posterity,” he says. There are individuals who scour the State for old designs, but these are few and far between.
Documenting the designs
One of these rare breed is Visalakshi Ramaswamy. Along with a student of the National Institute of Design (NID), Shubra Nayar, she has documented Chettinad saris. “A Photographic Design Directory of Chettinad Saris” is t
he working title. She plans to bring it out as a book and as a CD. Asked if traditional designs and motifs have disappeared, she says they come and go. “But, every time the motifs return after a gap, there is some change in them, either in the colour combination or in their use. With weavers incorporating newer designs and ones from other States, the authenticity of a particular area is lost”, she feels.
“I hate changing even one line of a design,” says Visalakshi, but admits that she is often confused about that stand. “One has to be practical. There is only a niche market for the ‘authentic original look’. Some people love it, others don’t like the designs and colours at all. But, the weaver has to live. He will weave only that which will sell well,” she says. “So one can’t blame the weavers and nor can I sit in judgement”. In the process, authenticity is lost. “For my part, I am doing all I can to document these traditional designs and making it available for anyone who may be interested,” she says. She tries to retain the original flavour as much as possible in the saris she creates at Kandangi, in Chennai.
Other jobs are luring traditional craftsmen away from their centuries-old profession. In areas in and around Kanchipuram, weavers are offered better pay at factories. They are picked up from home and dropped back, get subsidised meals and have to work less hours. This could well be the story of other weaving districts, too. The way things are, it will not take very much for a Devasigamany to turn his back on his loom and look elsewhere for a better life. And, the traditional handlooms may well become history.
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