Exploring My Textile Obsession with Eri Silk of Meghalaya, Guest Post by Anna-Louise Meynell



5 generations of women and girls from a weaving family

Working with textiles, as I have done for the past fifteen years, is often a passport to genuine experiences and interactions with rural artisans. Each time I visit an artisan village on ‘work’ I leave feeling truly blessed to be able to overcome language barriers, by communicating through the language of textiles – its warp and weft – a mutual understanding of the craft of weaving.

Working with the weavers

I was trained as a weaver in Scotland, where I also grew up. I moved to Bangalore in 2005, and my relationship with Indian textiles and traditional artisans grew with each year I spent there. With such a rich textile heritage, it is easy to develop many textile obsessions, but there is one fabric that captured my attention from the moment I came across it. Eri silk. The soft handle, the rustic and slubby texture of the yarn, the matt sheen of this unusual silk, the weight and drape of the cloth and the subtle shades of natural dyes drew me in and found a place in my mind. I was fascinated by the fabric and the place where it was produced - North East India.



Family collection of traditional Khasi pieces

When people talk of textiles of North East India, it is rarely textiles of Meghalaya that will be first brought into the conversation. Bold tribal textiles of Nagaland, Eri and Muga silk with figurative motifs of tribal Assam are well established on the textile map. Some may know of the fine and compact Phanek embroidery and the Wangkhei Phee textiles of Manipur (using the same technique of jamdani from West Bengal and Bangladesh), while textiles from Meghalaya are barely given a mention. What a treat for me then, to be invited into the villages on a textile consultancy with NESFAS, a Shillong-based NGO, to assess the potential and production constraints of the Eri silk weavers, spinners and dyers and work with them to expand their markets. I found that while Meghalaya is a state more or less off the well-trodden textile trails of India it has a rich, sincere and humble textile history.

From Mustoh to the plains of Bangladesh,

As a Scottish weaver I have received a very warm welcome in Meghalaya. Each person I meet reminds me that Meghalaya was affectionately named ‘Scotland of the East’ by the British. I (try to) respond with equal enthusiasm every time as I talk of the similarities with Scotland; the rolling hills, the deep gorges, pine forests and clean fresh rivers. To talk of Meghalaya or equally of Scotland and not to mention the rain is impossible. Rain shapes a land, gives life, fertility and endless shades of the colour green. I have always found an affinity with people who come from rainy places and Meghalaya is no exception - though the rain here is on a completely different scale to my homeland. Officially known as ‘the rainiest place on the planet’ the people have come to accept and understand how to live with the rain, enjoying the dynamic seasons, never leaving the house without an umbrella. One particularly poignant moment for me was in Mustoh, a village in the hills bordering Bangladesh. Looking down on the flooding Bangladeshi plains while being pummelled with torrential rain (over several days) gave me real experience of the forces of nature that impact the lives of so many people.

Eri silk fibre and thread

But back to the weavers, and the indigenous craft culture of Meghalaya. While Eri silk is best known for its production in Assam, it also has a long history with the people of Meghalaya. The main hub of Eri silk weaving in Meghalaya is the Ri Bhoi District, an area on the border of Assam, halfway between Guwahati and Shillong. It is a lush, fertile area where literally anything will take root and flourish. The self-sufficient and naturally sustainable communities of Ri Bhoj are primarily agriculture based, their main produce being innumerable varieties of rice, ginger, turmeric, and a range of delicious seasonal vegetables such as pumpkin, spinach, radish, squash, brinjal, tree tomato, beans and many more. In most villages farming responsibilities come first, with the whole village working on planting and harvesting of rice. Traditionally weaving activities are integrated into village life in the moments when agriculture is less demanding. When women get together in the community it is not rare to see them spinning eri silk with the takli or drop spindle, as they share anecdotes from their family life. Understanding the relationship between Eri silk production and the rhythm of the agricultural seasons is the first step towards understanding the weaving communities in the Ri Bhoi District.



Studying the Khad Ar Lyngdoh designs

Village life in the Ri Bhoi District

Eri silk in Meghalaya has always been cultivated domestically, and still is today.  The silk worms feed on the leaves of a number of plants, most commonly the castor plant, and grow fat and green in the shelter of the rearing house - generally a purpose built bamboo shed in the compound of the home. For those of you reading this blog post who do not know about Eri silk, it is also known as ‘ahimsa silk’, ‘peace silk’ or ‘non-violent silk’ due to the non-violent method of extracting the silk from the cocoon. The cocoon is spun of short fibres, making it impossible to reel the silk from the cocoon. The majority of the world’s silk is reeled, whereby the cocoon is boiled with the worm still inside to loosen the silk filament before reeling. The Eri silk worm however is either taken out by breaking open the cocoon, or the worm is allowed to eat its way out through the cocoon to emerge as a moth and continue the cycle. As Eri silk is hand-spun, it is of no matter that the cocoon has been broken open, thus saving the worm of being boiled alive. The amusing irony that I have observed with this reference for Eri silk (‘ahimsa silk’), is that once out of the cocoon the majority of the worms will be served up for dinner or turned into pickle! Ultimately the worm is not harmed in production of the silk, but being a great source of protein, it is not wasted. You can often see large bamboo trays of these worms being sold in the market, and in fact they can fetch as high a price as the silk cocoon itself.

Eri silk worm

Cocoons are washed, hand-spun and the yarn is dyed with natural dyes. Traditionally the colours used in Meghalaya were stick lac red, turmeric yellow and black from iron ore. Today, with training and support from government and NGO’s, the artisans have greatly increased their repertoire of colours, experimenting with all kinds of leaves, flowers, roots and fruits in and around the forests. Amongst many other plants, they are now experimenting with hibiscus (china rose), ananto fruit, marigold flowers, guava leaves and teak leaves. The colours they create depend on the season, the availability of these wild natural resources and even how old the plant is.

Eri silk worms

Eri silk from Meghalaya is a tangible reflection of the rural communities it is produced in. The quality of the silk depends on the quality of the leaves the worm feeds on, the texture of the thread is dictated by the hand of the spinner, the natural dyes come from the wild produce of the land, and finally the weaver working with a floor loom made of local bamboo brings her own creativity to the design and construction of the cloth.

Preparing the warp for the traditional Khasi check shawl

My current work in Meghalaya is research for my doctoral studies, through the Centre for Sustainable Fashion, University of the Arts London. I have been undertaking an ethnographic documentation of the socio-cultural context of Eri silk production in the Ri Bhoi District, and a technical analysis of the weaving process, recording their skills as new technology is introduced to their current practices. I have spent much time staying with the weavers, observing their rhythm of working, delving into their tribal history, and studying the textiles in their family collections.

Eri silk woven on the floor loom. Turmeric dyed warp and twisted turmeric and lac red weft

I am happy to say that there is a deep and meaningful history of Eri silk textiles in Meghalaya, closely linked to the social history of the communities. I have found sophisticated supplementary weft designs that were woven on simple floor looms. These textiles were once used by traditional dancers as a waistband with long sashes. With the widespread conversion to Christianity many of the traditional celebrations died out, and with it the need for dancers, or indeed their stunning waistbands! These skills are not lost however, and I have found contemporary versions in acrylic or cotton being woven in some villages. On the trail of the supplementary weft technique I have come across interesting indications of tribal assimilation reflected in the textiles. The Assamese and the Karbi textiles are woven with highly figurative motifs of flowers or mythical animals, which are also found in the Ri Bhoi district.  The Khasi Bhoi people have very clear geometric patterns, yet use the same technique of supplementary weft. Khasis elsewhere in Meghalaya do not use this technique, nor do they have the intricate ‘dancers waistband’ in their traditional dress, indicating that the close interaction between the Karbi and the Khasi people of the Ri Bhoi District may have led to exchange of ideas and techniques in textiles. When one delves into the tribal history of the area it becomes clear that this is really a rich land of many layers.

Natural dyes

Mist and rain in Mustoh

In some villages there is a noticeable shift in the approach to weaving. In Umden, the ‘model village’ of eri silk production, weaving has become a thriving commercial business. Weavers work full time and some do not work in the field at all. Many are structuring their workshops to be able to accommodate larger orders. The frame loom, and fly shuttle loom is now widely used, millspun yarn is available which they use in the warp, and you can see far more experimentation in design moving away from the traditional textiles. 

Traditional dress of the Khad Ar Lyngdoh communities,
Khasi Bhoi ethnic group

None of this research is possible without building relationships with the weavers over several cups of tea, followed by endless chewing of kwai  (a large chunk of beetlenut, beetle leaf and lime) to give you that special village high! On occasions going into certain villages, my Khasi assistant and I have been warned not to drink any tea or eat food, if offered, due to the practice of black magic in the village. It is said the excrement of the silkworm, when crushed and sprinkled on food as black magic would bring bad luck, ill health and possibly lead to the death of the person who consumed it. Today they do not use the powder, though black magic powers are still respected or feared. One family we visited in Umkon, (the Ri Bhoi District) did not offer us any tea at all, which is very unusual in Meghalaya. Knowing that they have a reputation of practicing black magic, they do not offer guests tea to avoid an awkward situation. This was followed by a visit to another family in the same village, who told us tales of their grandfather transforming into a tiger, while we drank tea and ate pomelo fruit mixed with salt and black sesame and carambola from their garden. Our hosts’ grandfather was one of the few villagers who did not convert to Christianity in colonial times, a fierce defender of the indigenous Khasi religion. The tiger often appears in Khasi folklore and such stories are common even today. Though I cannot understand Khasi, watching her narrate the stories of her grandfather with such animation I could almost sense the tiger in her. Kong Kumari who had accompanied us to the village insisted we consume a tangy tasting powder as soon as we left, as a precautionary antidote to black magic. We took it on her insistence but as Vianney, my assistant, rightly said: “the food was given with such love, straight from the heart, it can only be received with warmth and gratitude.”



Floor loom weaving

My own interest in textiles has led me into deep discussions on tribal culture, the matrilineal system of the Khasis and role of women in Meghalaya, community systems of authority, the relationship with colonial settlers, the mass conversions to Christianity, the list goes on. What began as a search for indigenous textiles has opened-up doors to explore a rich cultural tapestry, building lasting friendships with people from such different backgrounds.

120 year old dancers waistband from the Khasi Bhoi communities,
Eri silk, exquisite supplementary weft designs

Anna-Louise Meynell is a designer of woven textiles from Scotland who has been living and working in Asia for 12 years. Her consultancy work in handwoven textiles takes her to inspiring communities in India, Laos, Cambodia and Myanmar. With so much travel and textiles in her life she describes herself as a ‘nomadic weaver’!

Anna-Louise has been working in Meghalaya since 2014, and is currently based in Shillong, doing research on the traditional Eri silk textiles of Meghalaya. The North East of India has captured Anna-Louise’s heart, mind and textile imagination and she may well be there some time longer!

www.annaloom.com

https://www.instagram.com/annaloom/

Weeding Them Out, Again and Again

 

 

 

Walking barefoot on the grass, even after the meagre monsoon we've had thus far, is so much fun. I've got to be careful of the geckos that jump out of nowhere but, other than that the grass is moist, it's lush and cushiony and adding to this are weeds aplenty. They're quite decorative even though they do detract from the evenness of the lawn.

 I've seen Anup, the Maali, spend a whole morning uprooting a portion of them in the garden. In the middle of hot summer days, he crouches, moving patch by patch, uprooting the weeds one by one - in an endeavour to remove them all. And he does it too. For a day or so there are no weeds to be seen, but then suddenly, like an underground army that's strategized to reclaim lost ground, it emerges as if by sleuth. They're all over the garden again and he gets down to removing them all over again - it's a never ending process. I once asked if it irks him to have to do this day in and day out, for it seemed like a thankless task. He said it did, but with the gravity of one rooted in the wisdom of the soil, he added "ab kissi ko toh karna hai, toh kar leta hu!"

Each day as I enjoy the grass underfoot and see the weeds sprawling across the lawn, or don't see them, I remember this conversation. It's so profound that I think it would be foolish to forget. We each have our chores in this world. Some we've chosen consciously and some we've inherited karmically. As Anup the Maali would advise it's got to be done, it's fallen in your lot, so may as well do it with grace. Easier said than done, isn't it?

For me, the most tedious of chores is not that different to what Anup the Maali does. I'm referring to weeding out the mind with its needless thoughts. Unlike his process where he tugs at a clump and uproots the offending weed, dealing with the mind is quite a bit different. But not unlike the weeds that stubbornly return, so do these thoughts, that doubt, that chide, that worry and more in the same vein. What I find most annoying is, having to deal with them, in some situation or other, or even with the same person, again and again. It never seems to end. But,as always, nature has her ways of reassuring. For today, I despair less of the relentless thoughts in this mind, knowing that weeds are persistent things and there's no point cursing them or one-self. I just need to do what's needed - weed them out, again and again.

Thinking about this, I passed by the Champa trees and took a long-long breath, with my nostrils deeply immersed, reaching towards the aromatic yellow centre of her sensual, creamy-white petals. It's such a sweet fragrance that one whiff just isn't enough. I've created a sort of ritual where I stop by, any, one group of flowers and take three long breaths. After each, sweet and aromatic breath, an almost involuntary thank you is voiced out loud.  It’s just automatic, as if my soul is utterly grateful for this divine fragrance. And it is unquestionably divine, filling me so totally, in that moment with a sublime sense of being y- where regardless of how the day has unfolded, I feel so totally in love with life.

I want to hold onto this beautiful moment. I sit down on the bench a few yards away, facing the Champa trees and begin to write my thoughts on my iphone. I know that I'm trying to prolong a moment that's passed and can't be reclaimed. But writing has this way of indulging the senses in reliving the moment in memory. Recreating the scene or essence of, through words is akin to meditation, where my mind is totally focussed upon what I've seen, felt and experienced. It's not the same moment, but it's equally sublime.

I've countless things to tend to upstairs. The evening is passing, I don't really want to leave but soon a couple of flies come and sit on my arm, shoulder, legs, nose - just about everywhere - irritating me. I try swatting them away, and continue enjoying the summer evening pregnant with the promise of rain, but it's no good. Ants begin crawling up my legs and more flies flit around and sit all over me. I'm swamped with these creatures, as if nudging me to get up and get down to working again. I'd like to linger, but head upstairs instead, to tackle my share of thankless chores.

I Walk The Path of Water and Skies [Guest Post by Seema Kohli]

I was introduced to the Shakti as Goddess, or better still, she introduced me to herself when I was very young. As a family we were believers of Advaita Vedic order (monistic order of one Supreme Consciousness, with no idol worship) with secular leanings - extremely progressive in our approach imbibing, the best of all faiths.  But, at the same time there was no idol worship. 

Somewhere in early 1970’s I visited Haridwar along with my parents and bought the idols of all the three gods Brahma (creator), Vishnu (purveyor) and Mahesh (destroyer) with the Goddesses Durga, Lakshmi and a small Deepam. I felt a strange affinity with these images. So much so, that on my own, I started a small ritual of lighting the lamp; on some days I also bathed these Gods and Goddesses.  I had even borrowed a small book of basic chants and aarti of the Goddess Durga.  Thus, I developed a relationship without any communication or understanding. I was very young, maybe 10 or 11 years old.

While growing up, the more I started to hear about her, I wanted to read about her. And the more I read about her, the mystery deepened and I wanted to understand her better. It was as if someone was holding my hand compulsively and I did not want to leave that. I just wanted to wander away with her to somewhere mysterious. There was no fear; I felt protected all along.

So here started my journey to decode this basic flow of energy, the energy that makes this whole world go around. Everything is moving and is synchronized even if we think it is not, everything rejuvenating, positively recycled; in spite of the apparent death or stoppage everything comes around anew, afresh. 

Chaunsath Yogini at Mitauli, nr Gwalior, Madhya Pradesh

I wanted to understand her (the goddess) more closely and started reading, exploring and experimenting by visiting various sites of this energy, connecting to its vortex. Is it not apparent everywhere? Is it not the main source of life, breath and continuation? So then why these special sites….. I was and am still intrigued. Did I want to be comforted by the domesticated feeling of going Home? A physical place maybe, which we created to perform rituals to feel her physical presence - Temples. I visited various Shakti peeth in Himachal, Punjab Uttar Pradesh, Uttar Kashi and Bengal, in order to understand this ethereal power which they say, makes this universe spin.

Beraghat, Jabalpur, Chattisgarh

I began visiting various Yogini sites - where no rituals were taking place and also some, where rituals were still being conducted. The concept of ritual is extremely important to me as this repetitive exercise or habit helps discipline the mind. It also helps us on the path to self realisation. But, to me, these various rituals should be understood and self-created according to our perception of energy. Along with this, a study of scriptures can be used as tools.

The first Yogini site I visited was in Beraghat, Jabalpur, in 2005. I knew I had to come back here again to understand my relationship, the overwhelming power of theses circular spaces, where by just going around the circumference my own vortex seemed to align with the energy forces prevalent there. These sites are extremely calming and balance your inner space. The sense of rhythm and movement along with the deep set faces of the Yoginis is intriguing. It is one of the largest Yogini sites which has 81 Yoginis instead of the usual 64. Though there is fencing around the idols we can still get a clear view of the Yoginis. What I understand about the Shiva Temple at Bheraghat is that it was installed to “remove the flow of the negative power” of the Yoginis. The inscriptions speak about a queen mother that patronized the construction of this ‘traditional temple’ after her sons recovered from an illness.   Probably, she believed that those female creatures had negative powers. Among the many stories I have heard, some legends depict the Yoginis as malevolent creatures that could take away children, transform men into animals, etc. Some other legends talk about the benevolent qualities of the Yoginis such as teaching their followers to realize the divine enshrined within the body. 

Behraghat, Jabalpur, Chattishgarh

In most of these sites the sculptures are defaced - as is the case in Beraghat. Maybe as humans we want to check out our power by defacing and demolishing these sites of faith and reverence. Mind you, this kind of showing of power is not there only in one community but as humans on the whole.

Though I had been working on the idea of feminine energies such as Hiranyagarbha, Saptamatrikas, Dusmahavidyas and Ashtanayikas for a while, a more full-fledged plunge into the visual representation of Yogini came only after I visited these spaces in 2012 and aligned my mind, body and soul to them. For me now, the Yoginis not only exist in a mere mystical, visual form but also in a physical form. 

 All these sites have a sense of peace and calm about them. They were all built in secluded places,  hidden from public gaze. It is believed practitioners used to go to these secluded sites to perform various rituals and conduct experiments on themselves - their bodies in order to achieve self-realization. In the process they acquired certain “siddhis” where they were depicted as a certain form of a bird, reptile animal, human or endogenous form having a human body.  A power to construct, reconstruct; destroy and reconstruct the material world around them.  They could perhaps walk on water or wonder off into the skies with or without their bodies!

Chausanth Yogini at Ranipur, Jharial, Odisha

The Chausath Yogini at Ranipur Jharial is on the top of a hill isolated from the village settlements nearby. The main Yogini temple shares remarkable topographical similarities with other Yogini sites like the ones at Mitauli and Bhedaghat in Madhya Pradesh. The rocky landscape, reminds me of intergalactic space and the presence of a water body nearby seems to present an ideal setting for female mendicants to meditate and practice austerities. The circular hypaethral form of the Yogini temples is said to allow the circulation of divine cosmic energy that inhabits these sites. This idea of the “circulation of divine energy” also exists in Sufism (with the circular dance of whirling dervishes) as well as in shamanic practices. 

Bhairava at Chausanth Yogini, Ranipur

Yogini, Ranipur, Odisha

I must mention an incident that took place here while we were attuning ourselves to the space. A Brahmin priest from the nearby temple came and touched the feet of Bhairava but left without acknowledging the presence of Yoginis. Some moments later, a family from the village came - mother, son and daughter-in-law, along with a new born. With the mother leading the way, they went around the Yoginis . And they did not acknowledge the Bhairava. I asked the mother  about it and she replied saying it was each one to their own  - “For me she does everything, Pandit ki Pandit jaane”. 

At the site, I also saw the ancient remains of a once existing “maze” – a series of concentric circles - a concept that is shared by numerous belief systems such as Sufism, Christianity and Buddhism. This “maze” allows entry of two people which is not just a physical encounter but also a spiritual union with the Higher Form. 

Chaunsath Yogini at Ranipur, Jharial, Odisha

This Tantric experimentation at these sites was not restricted only to the personal realisation of the eternal self, but also to gain spiritual power that would then enable these practitioners to help others on the path. Many Kings would install idols of these female goddess, especially Saptamatrikas, to attain fierce powers to win over enemies, which, however, is not a prescribed use of this divine energy. (Ellora Temples, Maharastra)

Today, there is a move to reinstate the mysterious science of the Yogini cult. In a pedagogical sense, Yoginis were a very important thought system and practiced forms of Tantric worship that centred on the perfection of the body to achieve perfection of the soul. Even in the fiercest form, we can see the serenity and rejoicing in their posture. The presence of Bhairava is indicative of a balance of the male and female energy within them.

Lingam at Mitauli nr Gwalior

Yoni, Naresar, Madhya Pradesh

The site of Naresar, near Gwalior, Madhya Pradesh, is interesting for a unique yoni sculpture which houses 15 smaller yonis within itself; this fascinated me. The Archaeological Survey of India is trying to restore the ancient temple complex at Naresar to its former glory as a secluded spot of meditative worship. There are several carved temple blocks, which they are trying to put together but sadly without much thought. The identity of a certain God or Goddess is confused by reconstructing their temples, by installing different vahanas for different deities.

During one of these visits I went to Chaunsath Yogini at Mitauli, near Gwalior, Madhya Pradesh, the original sixty-four Yoginis have now been replaced by sixty-four cement lingams without any pedestals or yonis from which the lingam traditionally arises. The yogini idols that were once placed within the temple niches have been stolen, damaged or transferred to the Gwalior Museum nearby. Under the given circumstances, filling the empty niches with cement lingams is not only a historical error and a false representation of the cultural practices of the past but also points to a deep neglect of the feminine form. It is clearly indicative of the state of woman in today’s time. In spite of the up- gradation of woman in social order through education, reservations and apparent political equality, replacing the lost idols with smaller replicas of Yogini sculptures, would have been a more thoughtful gesture. For me, this is a “rape of the sacred site.” (Stella DuPuis 'The Yogini Temples of India' Pilgrims Publishing, Varanasi, 2008, pg 67.) 

Chaunsath Yogini,Mitauli, nr Gwalior, Madhya Pradesh

Here too while walking through the village, I asked a little girl where the Yogini is?  She replied unabashedly “Neeche, rasoi main” (Downstairs, (at home) in the kitchen).  For me too, a Yogini symbolizes the nurturing aspect of woman, creating not only spiritual bliss but also material contentment.

Chaunsath Yogini at Mitauli, MP

Panchvarahi is located about 180km from Bhubneshwar. Varahi as Yogini, is one of the Saptmatrika’s and the consort and power of Varaha, which is one of the incarnations of Vishnu, the purveyor.  We drove from Bhubneshwar and then walked, took a boat then walked again and were lucky enough to hitch a ride till the site of the temple through remote villages, paddy fields and sea drenched barren lands. The site is absolutely magnificent with an old small temple on the virgin beaches of Bay of Bengal. The sea is extremely wild here with violent, roaring and high waves that snatch the earth beneath your feet, urging you to join the sea. According to hearsay about eight centuries ago there was a violent storm which plunged the entire kingdom under water, except this small piece of land where the present day community of Savana tribes stays. So, the king installed the idols of Varahis and requested the women of this tribe to conduct all the rituals of the temple. It was felt that since she is a female deity, women would take best care of her. Even till date, one of the twenty surviving families of this Savana tribe moves into the premises to conduct the rituals and look after their beloved Varahais, in rotation, every month. A woman priest conducts all the rituals and only she is allowed in sanctum sanctorum. It’s a rare site to see this female tradition upheld today, at the fringe of the male Brahamanical order.

Panchvarahi

What really excites me about these places is the parallel in these Tantric practices and other extinct faiths such as Sufism, Buddhism or Hinduism. At a time, maybe, when the concept of codified religion did not exist or was not as compartmentalized as today, personal identities and practices were much more fluid; where a constant borrowing and exchange of ideas took place. I feel that, today, when the urge to answer “Who am I’ or “Who are we?” and “Where do we come from?” is so strongly rooted in our religious identity, we tend to compartmentalize practices and beliefs into regimented and narrow frameworks which, according to me, is a practice much in vain.

My journey does not end there, it continues in the quest of trying to find the end of that cycle. Somewhere deep inside me I do know it does not exist but the journey continues without despair.

Seema Kohli is a painter. She lives and works in New Delhi.

Of Kaavads and Kanvarias

Each year during the month of Saawan, which usually falls in August, the long drive from Gurgaon to Delhi and back, is peppered with ‘Kanvariyas[i] bringing the ‘Kaavad’ or holy water carried on poles, from the Ganges, on the way back to their village temples in Gurgaon. Bhupinder, who drives my car, takes great pleasure in pointing them out to me; some barefoot, some in trucks with blaring music and others resting in the make-shift tents on the route. He delights in giving me details of their customs and the peculiarities of the ritual, where some I believe, do not put the pot of water on the ground through the entire journey on foot from Haridwar until they get home. Even when they take a nap, someone from their party of travellers is entrusted with the task of holding it on his shoulders. And Bhupinder insists that custom dictates that no one ever does this yatra[ii] only once; it has to be made at least twice in your life-time. The vagaries of sacrifice to challenge oneself, as presented through such religious rituals, never fails to amaze and fascinate me. 
 

In October 2011, I walked through the glass doors of the newly furbished gallery at Lalit Kala Academy in New Delhi, into another experience with the Kaavad. This time it referred to a portable shrine, containing painted narratives which travelling performers, like the Kaavadiya Bhats of Rajasthan used as a prop for their storytelling, where the narrator would open each door of the Kaavad to reveal a new layer, building anticipation with each new painted one to finally enter the inner core. Using this concept, artist Gulammohammed Sheikh[iii] created a monument called ‘Home’. This life-sized, box-like structure with panelled doors opened out to enable one delve deeper into the central core of the shrine, ponder on various images on the way, as each panel or door was opened. It was constructed in part by paintings with acrylic and melamine on wood, and a digital and electrically lit roof of the central hall, depicting the Baroda sky-line with various buildings that crowd the city, inhabited and abandoned, surrounding the sky like a constructed wall. Floating in the middle of this pale greyish-blue expanse, were all manner of mythical characters drawn from various texts and traditions, across the globe.

 

 I felt like a novice, a first time Kanvaria; intimidated by the swirl of images and words of the artist’s painterly universe of cross-referenced imagery that I was not well acquainted with. Rama and the deer Maricha, an angel from the Renaissance art of Italy, figures from a South-east Asian version of the Ramayana, profound words from Kabir with painted images of this weaver saint, a Chinar tree presented as the tree of life where a burning car and refugees carrying their baggage on their head, were a part of this journey through life. In addition, images from the artist’s earlier works were also presented. Visuals of the nuclear cloudburst of Hiroshima, Gandhi, Hitler and much more were also presented in various forms; some in smaller shrines or Kaavad-like boxes, others in digitally printed accordion-style books and as large 3-D sculptural installations. At first, I did not relate to this exhaustive outpouring for I could not find an immediate, succinct message in its vast intellectual exploration, such as I needed, to feel reassured in its midst. But I was enchanted by the marvel of technology in the making of the digital books and the eighteen-minute, three-channel video, where the artist and his collaborator had played enchantingly with all these images, juxtaposing them in historically unprecedented ways,  where the imagined and the real, all came together in a kind of surreal fantasy. 
 

 

Viewing this exhibition of works by artist Gulammohammed Sheikh was akin to a pilgrimage; necessitating humility, reverence and silence to view, question, listen and understand. I was humbled by my ignorance of myths, lore, history and even some contemporary events, which Sheikh presented that I felt I should have been able to recall, but could not. I read Kavita Singh’s simple yet elegant essay, watched the videos of work-in-progress and sat through the three-channel video, alone. Watching clouds and Sheikh’s version of ‘Mappae mundi[iv] merge, as people from the past converged with the present, I saw through aerial maps from Google, what this, our corner of the earth looked like from the sky; where perhaps some unseen eye of God observed and judged, and then maybe not.

Sheikh explored notions of a world gone by through figures of the past. He also called into question, by juxtaposing them with the contemporary world, the way we live today. He brought into play the demolition of Babri Masjid, Godhra riots and the issue of ‘whose Kashmir’: to whom does this coveted land belong? Were the sweepers of Baroda, who sweep away the city’s dirt, also the very people instrumental in creating the violence that Gujarat has seen?  All this and more was referenced in a quest to find meaning or solace or some perspective. Searching for clarity, Sheikh sieved through years of human history, asking us to question the premise of our existence today and where we draw our ideas from.

He questioned not just parameters of contemporary life and historical ways of living, such as a possible parallel, in the traditional churning of the seas or samundra manthan and the bombing of Hiroshima; Sheikh also enquired into the all-encompassing notion of life itself. Is there a right way or a wrong way to live? Was Ravana’s deception, his disguise as the deer Maricha legitimate? Sheikh drew me into an internal dialogue with myself, compelling me to question my own exploration of these ideas, making me aware of deeper reaches of my cultural and philosophical past. Like the Kanvarias I had observed on NH8, I too did not put the quest to rest, but kept up this solitary conversation with the artworks, even after I had left the gallery space. And when I returned home, late in the evening, I went through my library of books, looking up all those characters and notions I lacked in knowing.  

In this vast, exhaustive and intellectually rich presentation, I felt over-awed by the legendary characters and events which Sheikh had chosen to speak through, but where the self-effacing artist had seemingly retreated into the background, leaving me to decide for myself.  I cannot claim mastery over this vast repertoire of intellectual icons. I have not really explored these specific facets of life, or read the books he has, nor pondered the profundity of these words. When humbled by my inept and limited knowing, how could I possibly decide what the truth was, what was right or wrong, if at all? But Sheikh did not tell us. He presented a gamut of ideas, lending direction, but implying that each one had to decipher the truth for themselves.  

        

This pilgrimage, my very own experience as a novice Kanvaria, of carrying the burden of my ignorance through Sheikh’s universe, reminded me with each step, of all the world’s literature, myths and lore I had yet to explore; of countless intellectual journeys I had yet to take, or as Bhupinder had told me that a Kanvaria must do, at least twice in my life-time. As I sipped a cup of tea the next morning, I wondered: if and when I have performed this gargantuan intellectual exercise, will I find some answers to the all-encompassing, paradoxical nature of life? Does anyone?

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[i] The Kānvar Yatrā or Kavad Yatra  is the annual pilgrimage of devotees of Shiva, known as Kānvarias, to Hindu pilgrimage places of Haridwar, Gaumukh and Gangotri in Uttarakhand to fetch holy waters of Ganges River, Ganga jal, which is later offered at their local Shiva temples. It is named after the kānvar (काँवर), a single pole (usually made of bamboo) with two roughly equal loads fastened or dangling from opposite ends. The kānvar is carried by balancing the middle of the pole on one or both shoulders. This practice of carrying Kavad as a part of religious pilgrimage, especially by devotees of Lord Shiva, is widely followed throughout India

[ii] Pilgrimage to holy places such as confluences of sacred rivers and/or places associated with Hindu epics such as the Mahabharata and Ramayana, and other sacred pilgrimage sites

[iii] (b. 1937) is an artist, educationist and writer whose work has spanned more than five decades. He is a founder-member of Group 1890, which was founded in 1963 by a group of artists.

[iv] Mappae mundi were schematic and meant to illustrate different principles These diagrams were primarily meant to preserve and illustrate classical learning. The zonal maps were a kind of teaching aid—easily reproduced and designed to reinforce the idea of the Earth's sphericity and climate zones.