A Potter’s Parable

When I was asked to write about my day trip to Bhopal, I was grouchy as always about more work. I suppose my quasi-Bengali genes were acting up with their inherent laziness, although they also impart a creative bent. I was to learn in more than one way that every story has two sides indeed. With the first nip of winter and crust of clay, my whole view of ceramic art, its crafting technicality and the toil it entails  were about to change. It was to change my own way of thinking and working too.

The year began at Art Ichol in Madhya Pradesh, where I have been working as Ambica Beri’s managerial assistant, with our first symposium of 2015 which was an international rendezvous of ceramists and visual artists from various countries. We hosted Sandra Black from Australia, Cynthia Seigel from USA, Isabelle Roux from France, Eugenia Loginova and Anatolii Borodkin from Latvia and Anjani Khanna from Mumbai. Aditi Saraogi from Kolkata curated the residency. 

Shyamla Hills Bhopal

Barely had everyone settled in, than they began to explore the ceramic centre and even get to work immediately. They all threw themselves at the potter’s wheel while discussing the kind of clay it was and a lot of stuff that I was clueless about. During the course of their stay and the symposium, I was to learn a lot. Their hard work was inspiring; in fact, it seemed like fun too! A whole new world of clay opened up for me as I watched them work. The symposium itself took place at Bharat Bhavan in Bhopal and was a big success. Once everyone had made presentations of their work and process, we  had the rest of the day off to ‘potter’ about the antediluvian city. There are many unguarded secrets to Bhopal, a city steeped in ancient cultural legacy, mixed faiths and serene lakes. I hope that, given the opportunity, every reader finds time to discover their own Bhojpal. 

sunset-at-upper-lake-bhopal

Whether it’s the windsurfers, open air-amphitheatre of Bharat Bhavan overlooking an almost Mediterranean vista or the canoeing competitions, Bhopal offers an unusual cityscape. The details are for you to find out. What I’d love to share with you is a beautiful folk tale about Kumbhars or potters. This tale is relevant to my trip to Bhopal, as not only was I accompanying several world-renowned ceramists during their residency in Maihar, I also knew next to little about ceramics, much less about our indigenous history regarding this craft.

Our art co-ordinator (a very able ceramist himself and Deputy Director of Bharat Bhavan) Mr. Devilal Patidar took us to the Museum of Man and the Tribal Museum. I must mention here that I was overwhelmed by both places. They are a great tribute to our country’s innumerable tribes and crafts. It made me proud of my country and its creative dexterity.

The Museum of Man is truly a comprehensive visual and tangible

anthropological catalogue spread over two hundred acres of open land in the Shamla hills. It is solely dedicated to the various ethnicities and tribes of our country and the only museum in the world to have on-site prehistoric caves and paintings in reference to the Bhimbetka belt. Mrs. Shampa Shah (again a proficient ceramist) was our guide in the museum. Without her we would have been clueless. She has spent the last twenty years of her life in the study and formation of the Museum of Man. It was from her that we learnt of the interesting story I’m about to narrate.

Bhimbetka Cave Painting

It was depicted in clay on the walls of an installation. This installation was a display of various clay pots and plates, each intricately designed with tribal motifs. All our resident ceramists present were impressed by the craftsmanship. The designs had names such as ‘hair-pin’ owing to the inherent nature and story related to the patterns. The display installation itself had reliefs narrating the story and was made from a leepi of cowdung, rice husk and maati or mud. This was coated with chuna or lime and decorated with lovely little round mirrors.

relief-stories on the walls

The story goes thus: the eunuchs of India were once being persecuted by the king’s people. While fleeing, they came by a potter’s barn and decided to hide within the clay pots of his fire kiln. The potter warned them that they would burn to ashes if they hid there. The eunuchs however were adamant and felt it would be a better fate to be cremated alive rather than face such insult. Being so tired from his work, the potter then happened to fall asleep while the kiln was on. The eunuchs were inside, well concealed but in danger of being set ablaze. The potter meanwhile, in his dreams, was being told to wake up for his pots had turned to gold. The exhausted potter didn’t wake up. Again he dreamed of being told to awaken for his pots had scorched and turned to silver. But the potter tired from making the big pots that unbeknown to him now concealed refugees simply could not muster strength to rouse from slumber. Finally, the potter dreamed that his pots weren’t being baked well enough and he awoke with a start worried his work would be ruined. But, in fact, some of his pots truly hadn’t been fired. Miraculously, these were the pots that hid the eunuchs; their lives were spared. Had the potter not been so devoted to his work, the eunuchs would surely have been incinerated. Thus the story goes that every potter invariably finds that some of his pots haven’t baked well enough. And the kind of vigil the visiting ceramic artists were to enact upon our return to Maihar made this story come so alive for me, as I sat with them participating in all that they did to propitiate the kiln gods, and the exhausted anticipation when the firing was done.

The fable also relates how humble yet hardworking the potter is. This I can vouch for, as during the residency with these ceramists, I noticed that they were so involved with their art that they’d even forget to eat. I was very inspired by all that I heard and saw at the Museum of Man and by Shampa too. Not to mention Mr. Patidar who apparently has a knack for finding rural and tribal artisans and making artists out of them - a man who discovers raw diamonds and in effect refines them. We also had the opportunity to meet a few of the potters who had worked at the Museum of Man for years. Shampa specifically mentioned how dedicated yet modest they were.

Outdoor tribal reliefs and carvings - Tribal Museum

The Tribal Museum too was a visual delight, impressive beyond any words. The contemporary and minimalist external structure had been ingeniously masked from the inside with traditional and ethnic real-life installations. It carefully documented the sociological events, artefacts, rituals of the indigenous peoples of Madhya Pradesh. No attention to detail had been spared. After our tour, while having the best masala chai at the Tribal Museum, we met yet another Tribal artist. With her splendidly tattooed face , Bhuri Bai was delicate, intricate and beauteous like her work. 

Bhuri Bai Painting an Installation

Once back in Maihar, everyone’s work had been removed from the bisque and glazing began. This was fun and new for all as the potters was working with new clay, new colours and no one knew what to expect. And after the history lesson in Bhopal, I was now going to see contemporary potters at their dedicated best. Glazing all done, the wood kiln was loaded up for the final firing. In keeping with tradition at the ceramics studio in Maihar, we had a little puja in front of the kiln and shared prasad. Anjani had made an exotic and weird owl of clay for a Kiln-God and Milan (studio assistant at Art Ichol) had made a little clay Ganesha to make offerings to. Anatolii did a wonderful drawing of Genia and Aditi sitting by the kiln with all the details like the Gods we made, the puja and the swastika on the kiln. Round the clock we kept watch of the kiln, stoking the fire, working hard, maintaining a log book and poking the wood in. Checking every now and then if all was in order, roasting potatoes in waste coals, buttering them and gobbling them up. We took turns for meals and some even delayed dinner to midnight. Exhausted after an eighteen-hour vigil, everyone was eager for the Kiln-Gods to reveal their secrets. Many artists were soot ridden and some even burnt here and there. But they were dedicated as ever until they collapsed into bed.

Though the whole trip had been a triumph, no victory was greater than the opening of the kiln. It was truly a moment, finding that almost all works had turned out perfectly and there was barely any damage. These potters successfully transformed clay through fire, making art in a small town in Central India and I had been a witness to it as if watching the birthing of clay gods.

I would have never penned this story if Gopika hadn’t pushed me to. It would have remained a whisper soon to be forgotten. Yet how relevant it was, given my scenario, and how wondrous! And as I wrote this story on an overnight train, first thing in the morning before reaching my destination, I discovered for the first time in my lazy 29 years how delightful it was to work early morning with a fresh mind. I’m glad I came, I’m glad I saw and I’m glad I unearthed the parable of clay.

Tanya Dutt is the Communications & Outreach Manager at Art Ichol. She co-ordinates activities at the centre and is currently working on a book she hopes to publish soon. She wrote her first poem about a cat at age 10 and since then discovered her penchant for the pen.

A Proboscis and the Politics of Fear

It looked like a mosquito. Perched on the white ceiling, this small (but quite large for a mosquito) dark, lithe winged creature, hanging upside down beside the fan, caught my eye which had been quite distracted as I did my needlework today. Winding down for the night, doing some thread work, cradling a black stone-ware cup in my hands. Finishing a cup of not-so-hot Genmaicha (Japanese green tea with toasted rice), I was aimlessly looking around the room when I spied it. And I have to confess that I was more than just a little perturbed by its looming presence in my bedroom.

 

It was an unusually wintry March, so I couldn't quite put the fan on and swoosh it away with the power of the three-pronged circulating blades. I wasn't feeling very well in this unpredictable weather and started bargaining with the mosquito. Well I hadn't really done a thorough investigation, but the idea of it being a mosquito that could prick me into some dreaded malaria or dengue, in this rather chaotically busy phase of my life, alarmed me. Therefore, I decided to stick with that possibility as a probable certainty and plead my case. Even so, I first called out for its identity.

It stayed very still. I pleaded with it to spare me. I had enough problems on my hands as it is, I said. My cracked toe-bone hadn't exactly hampered my movements but all that organising of things that were rushing into my life was a bit of a brain-screamer. I felt these buzzing creatures must know a thing or two about such a state of mind. I tried being friendly. You know, just a couple of casual questions and stuff, hoping that it would respond amiably.

Not a flicker I noted. But looking some eight odd feet upwards, towards the ceiling, I didn't find my eyes focussing too well. It could have twitched a leg or its proboscis and I doubt I would have seen it. The mosquito seemed a little fuzzy - the details of its form were not very clear to the naked eye. It felt almost like a picture taken out of focus that I was zooming into, on the computer. It didn't exactly pixelate as on the screen, but the fact is that a fuzzy vision wouldn't see those pixels either, would it?

Anyway, the mosquito wouldn't budge, nor reassure me that no attack was planned for tonight. Or, that I wasn't the target. So I decided to arm myself with some repellent. I felt rather intimidated by this minuscule creature hanging upside down; waiting, until I had turned out the lights and could no longer see it, to buzz into my space and lunge for my blood. Infecting me with whatever dirt it had picked up on its flight path to my bedroom.

I searched high and low. I looked in every conceivable place that I may have kept the packet. And then, I remembered that I must have kept them in the half-unpacked toilet bag, which had recently returned from its journey accompanying me to Sangrur. I hadn't needed them there or in Maihar, before that. And the sudden cold and rain in Gurgaon didn't predict mosquito season anytime soon. So a careless unpacking had left them in the bag which, thankfully, I found soon enough.

In my feverish hunt, I had eyes only for the repellent. The mosquito

had seemed resolute and unmoving so I concentrated on finding the mosquito-repellent patches. I know that not everyone's convinced that they work, but surely the reeking citronella must have some effect? When I found them, I hurriedly opened a foil-cum-plastic pack of two and clumsily fumbled in my anxiety to be forearmed in a moment of imminent and unpredictable attack. I finally tore it open and pulled out the citronella-soaked, round, green patch and waved it at the mosquito in glee. Looking up at that spot, to the left of the fan, where it had stayed an interminably long time, I found that the not-so-small mosquito had slyly abandoned its perch. Now, it was nowhere to be seen, depriving me of my moment of triumph. Typical!

On auto-pilot mode, not wanting to think about the implications of the scene that had just unfolded, I placed the bright, lime-green, inch-long-diameter, that sticky and circular thingamajig onto my white tee shirt. I was more just a bit peeved by the antics of the mosquito and more so by the design of the mosquito-repellent patch. Neither of which did much for my self-esteem.

This protective patch that was my supposed shield against mosquito attacks, if not quite the knight in shining armour, bore a rather disproportionate drawing of a silly looking female bear, with a big face on a tiny little body, snugly fitted into a tight red dress. Her lips smudged, with an overdose of matching red lipstick. And between the ears, drawn strangely above the head, was something that must have been intended to represent a floral clip. It was mostly pungent lime-green with just a thin, curly-whirly, red outline.  It was the outline that made me think it must be something floral. Her head was turned upwards, eyes as if mooning after a gob-smacking kiss that had smeared the red lipstick all over her bearish nostrils. I looked at it, took in the whole picture, crinkling my nose at the now over-powering smell of the repellent and this unlikely figure that had emerged from the pack as my protection.

 

But I didn't have the courage to take it off. Beneath the strains of Rachmaninov that were filing the night, it could be buzzing anywhere. And sure enough, a short while later, I spied it, right there crawling beside the fan, in almost the exact same place I had first seen it. Making me wonder at my eyesight and the way this mosquito had succeeded in playing tricks with my mind. Fear does that to you doesn’t it?

Textile Traditions of Kutch - [Part I]I . Guest Post by Archana Shah, Founder-owner of Bandhej

The art of block-printing on cotton cloth has been practised for over 5,000 years. Excavations at the Indus Valley sites (Kutch has over 26 Harappan sites, Dholavira being one) provide evidence that block-printing on cotton cloth in geometric patterns was practised during that period. 

The Ashmolean Museum, Oxford, has more than a thousand pieces of resist-printed and mordant-dyed fabrics, dyed in madder and indigo from the 11th century. These were found at Al Fustat near Cairo. The designs have a basic geometric pattern similar to the prints from Kutch. 

Kutch is known for the resist printed Ajrakh prints, worn only by men, the Maldhari communities of Banni and Pachcham. The unique feature of Ajrakh is that the fabric piece is block-printed on both sides, with the block impression matching exactly, making it a reversible cloth. This requires exceptional skill. The fabric goes through some 16 stages and it can take three to four weeks to complete the process of creating an Ajrakh. 

Maldhari wearing Ajrakh

This multipurpose cloth, greatly cherished by the pastoral Maldharis of Kutch and Sindh, is wrapped around the head as a safa, worn around the waist as a lungi, or used as a shoulder cloth. When it gets old and worn out, it is commonly used as backing for patchwork quilts. Apart from the Ajrakh, the block-printers of this region printed and dyed fabrics for the women of various communities living in Kutch.

In 1977, I had an opportunity of working with an Ajrakh artisan, Khatri Mohammad Siddik. NID was offered a design project by the Gujarat State Handloom and Handicraft Corporation, which had started a chain of retail stores called Gurjari.

The brief was to design a collection of printed surfaces using the traditional printing techniques from Dhamadka, a village known for its ancient art of Ajrakh printing. I was sent to Dhamadka with Sulekha to learn from this experience. We were to stay for a fortnight with Mohammad Siddik and his family to study their printing technique, work with them and design the collection.    

Sulekha and I were the first outsiders to have ever come to this village to produce a collection of textile products for an urban market. No one from Dhamadka had ever visited an urban centre or interacted much with people from the city. Having two young unescorted city women in their midst was a source of great curiosity. The people of the village were initially apprehensive about our living with a Muslim family. Luckily, Mohammad bhai, a well-respected man, was able to pacify the local people.

At that time, the village had no electricity, so the day started at sunrise and ended at sunset. Mohammad bhai’s workshop was across the road from his home. Early morning, he would go there to start preparing the colours for the day’s production. Through the day we worked at the workshop, gaining practical knowledge about the printing process and after dinner, Mohammad bhai would tell us stories about their history, his work and life in the village. Through these storytelling sessions, we also gathered a wealth of information about the process of block-printing, the preparation of vegetable and natural dyes, and their traditional designs.

Mohemedbhai's-Sons,-Jabbar,-Ismail-and-right-Razak

Living with Mohammad bhai’s family at Dhamadka was a great learning experience and it became the foundation for a lot of my future work, an association that continues even today.

Over the years, Mohammad bhai was invited by many museums to demonstrate his craft and received my honours. His three sons, Abdul Razak, Ismail and Jabbar, continue the tradition. They have mastered the art of natural dyeing and have taken the craft to new heights of excellence.

It is very hearting and a great honour that Mohammad bhai's son Ismail, who is not educated in the conventional sense, was awarded an honorary degree of Doctor of Arts by the De Montfort University, UK, for deep understanding and knowledge of his traditional craft of dyeing and printing.  

Bandhini

Three years later, the same university honoured Amitabh Bachan.

Bandhani, or Bandhej, derived from the Sanskrit word bandh, to tie, is a resist-dyeing process of creating a dot pattern. The tie-dye method is a simple technique, which ensures that the dye is prevented from reaching certain portions of the fabric which is tied, stitched or crumpled. This is one of the most basic of all textile arts and, for centuries, different forms of tie-dyeing have been practised in many parts of the world, including India, Japan, China, Southeast Asia and the various African countries.

The processes involved in tie-dyeing in India are basically the same today as those that have been practised since ancient times, with the exception of chemical dyes and bleaching, introduced in the late 19th century. 

Tying the Fabric - creating the dots

The most widely used element in bandhani fabrics is the simple dot or ring. Complex dot patterns are created by pinching and tying the fabric following a prescribed pattern before dyeing. Bandhanis are considered auspicious and worn by both Muslim and Hindu brides. An intricately patterned saree can take over eight to ten months to tie before dyeing, requiring great patience and skill.

During my trip to Mandavi in 1976, while walking through the old market area, I first discovered the fascinating bandhani technique. It was at a narrow, crowded lane, full of shoppers from various local communities, each wearing a different bandhani odhana, a head covering. As we made our way along the road, we chanced upon an elderly man tying knots on a white fabric as he sat waiting for customers outside his shop. 

  

This seemed rather unusual and we paused to see what he was doing. Khatri Alimamad Hasan Nironawala welcomed us to his small shop and showed us many odhanis and chundadis used by the local communities.   

As we were curious, he explained the process of making bandhani fabric and added that, though the women of all communities wore chundadis in the same combination of red and black, the designs and the colour distribution was unique to each community.

Meghwal

From the odhani worn by a woman, one could identify her community, while the colour and style of her clothing revealed much more, such as her marital status and age. Noticing our keen interest, Alimamad bhai invited us to visit his house where his son, Ismail, demonstrated the process of creating bandhanis. 

We were amazed to see how very basic tools were used to produce the most precious bandhani fabrics. The tying of the knots is done using a pointed thimble and the tip is used to push the fabric, which is pinched and tied. The cotton thread is passed through a fine glass tube, in order to prevent the thread from getting entangled.

In the Khatri community, a young girl contributes to the family income from the time she is nine or ten by tying the bandhani dots. In most cases, the family does not use her earnings, but puts it aside for her wedding expenses. The birth of a girl or boy child is equally celebrated by the Khatri community. It was heartening to hear a Khatri, Haroon bhai, say, ‘Amari chhokri koi divas bhare na pade.’ (Our daughters are never a burden.)

More than 25,000 people in Kutch today earn from bandhani. Seeing the potential for earning a livelihood while working within the comfort of one’s home, women of other communities have also started learning these skills.

With the traders demanding cheaper and cheaper goods, the quality of bandhani production has, unfortunately, deteriorated. There are a few hundred artisans who continue doing very fine work. With an urban patron willing to pay high prices for exceptional quality, there is hope that the craft will survive.

Meghwal-girls,-work-given-by-NGO

I was so inspired by all that I saw in Kutch and particularly the bandhani technique, that in the early 1980s, when I started my company to design and manufacture handcrafted clothing, I named it Bandhej – which celebrates my ties and bonds with this region. I incorporated some of the clothing styles that I had seen in Kutch into my designs, which continue to be popular.

Collaborating with craftspeople has been one of the most fruitful experiences of my life and I have learnt as much about human relationships as about craft processes and techniques. It has become the base for my design vocabulary and has had an immense impact on my visual language and design practice.

Meghwal-woman with godadi

 

 

Over the years I have strove hard to work with artisans towards improving their crafts, building upon their skills and knowledge by suggesting contemporary design directions and providing a market for their produce. In the process, Bandhej has played a modest role in rejuvenating many dying traditional crafts. I personally take it as a challenge to innovate and find new design directions for the same craft, season after season, year after year and we continue to work with artisans we once start interacting with, an association that in many cased has continued for over 30 years. Our efforts have had a rolling effect. Seeing the economic viability, many young artisans are encouraged to continue working with their tradition skills.

Apart from the beauty, craft offers a sustainable livelihood to many, next only to agriculture. A little intervention, support and exposure can revive crafts while offering a meaningful and dignified livelihood to many million. Over the years when great craftsmanship prospered, there was a patronage to support such production. Local communities used the artefacts produced by local artisans. The royalty and wealthy clients commissioned the production of high quality textiles. There was an appreciation and a market to support craftsmanship. With the disappearance of these traditional patrons, for the crafts to flourish today, the artisan needs new consumers.

Bhujodi - weaving

In the past, the artisan was in close contact with the users and understood their needs and requirements. The fashion conscious urban market regularly needs something new, a concept alien to the traditional craftsman. There is an abundance of skill but applications have changed and the artisan is at a loss as what to produce. In this situation, it is heartening to know that a few craftsmen continue their old tradition. Participating in exhibitions at urban centres has given the young artisans an exposure to new urban markets. Many continue to work within the parameter of their traditional skill, developing new products without diluting their inherent technique and identity.

The European Union has a new slogan: The future is handmade. To make this a reality, and for craft skills to survive and blossom, apart from a massive commitment from the  government to support such initiatives, it would require innovative and sustained design and marketing intervention by professionals who understand the needs of this new, ever-changing market while respecting the skills and labour of the artisans. India has a wealth of rich craft skills but it needs a new direction, a new application and a new patron.

Bhujodi - weaving

Archana Shah is a graduate of NID. Inspired by all that she saw in Kutch and particularly the bandhani technique, in the early 1980s, when she started her company to design and manufacture handcrafted clothing, she named it Bandhej – thus celebrating her ties and bonds with the Kutch region. 

She has also written a visually sumptuous book on Kutch titled ‘Shifting Sands’ published by Bandhej. To buy the book at a special discount, contact: archana.bandhej@gmail.com

Textile traditions of Kutch [Part I] - Guest Post by Archana Shah, Founder-owner of Bandhej

Rabaris

The first image of Kutch that I remember seeing was the face of Puphli on the cover of a calendar, shot by Dashrath Patel. As students of design studying at the NID, we had heard many stories about this exotic land, but it was this picture that had captivated my imagination and roused desire to visit Kutch. Encouraged by our teacher, Helena Perhentupa at the NID, in the summer of 1976, I visited Kutch for the first time, with two dear friends, David Abraham and Sue Mace - little knowing that this would be the start of a life-long affair with this mysterious land and amazing people. 

During that trip, we were mesmerised by all we saw and experienced - the landscapes, mud architecture, the vast variety of embroideries and their very fascinating costumes. But what amazed us most was how people had spontaneously opened their hearts and homes to us, to complete strangers from the city, whose ways were totally alien to them. 

Bhungas/mud architecture

The people of Kutch have produced an incredible wealth of knowledge and skills to survive in the midst of sustained scarcities and natural disasters. They evolved a way of living that had great respect and concern for the land and its scarce natural resources, harnessing them with ingenuity and using them wisely.

The word Kutch comes from kachchha, meaning a turtle that has come out of the sea.  It is believed that, in the last 30,000 years, the land of Kutch had twice dipped into the sea and probably stayed under water for a few thousand years before it resurfaced. People continue to believe that Kutch is a temporary landmass and will, one day, return to the sea.

It is difficult to study Kutch in isolation. It needs to be understood in the context of a broader, composite culture of the Thar Desert, including Sindh in Pakistan and the Barmer region in Rajasthan. Despite the political boundaries that divide it, the region's cultural identity prevails because of a shared history, common physical environment and similarities between the various communities in their physical features, their dwellings, clothes, food, embroideries, crafts and music. The Kolis and the Bhils are the oldest inhabitants of Kutch. Over the last 600 years, many migrant communities from Central Asia, Baluchistan, Afghanistan, Sindh and Marwar have settled in Kutch adding cultural richness to this region. 

Bandhini

The Great Rann of Kutch, which includes Sindh, has had a reputation for producing some of the finest embroideries in the world. Embroidery, as a means of ornamentation, has existed for thousands of years. Traditional cultures all over the world have used elaborate embroideries to decorate their own clothing as well as their living spaces    

Kutch has also produced some of the finest resist dyed textiles

Ajrakh

such  as the block printed Ajrakh and tie-dyed bandhanis - and a variety of textile crafts such as woven textiles such as  the mashru-brocade and extra weft blankets, wax printing, rogan painting, camel belt braiding, namda felt rugs and many others.

During that first visit, we had stayed with Gulbeg Miya Hussain, known as the king of Banni. In the few days we stayed with his family, he introduced us to the various communities living in Banni, the traditional grass lands, home to the many pastoral, Maldhari communities.

Maldhari wearing Ajrakh

Unlike the farming communities, women of the pastoral communities such as the Rabaris, Ahirs, Bharwads, Meghwals and the Muslim Maldharis of Banni and Pachcham had a lot of leisure time. After completing their daily chores like collecting water and firewood, cooking, cleaning and feeding the children, the women would sit together and create embroideries for themselves, their men and children and for their homes and cattle.

Meghwal Woman

 

Costumes and embroideries of each community were distinctly different and it was easy to identify communities from the clothes they wore. The women used a lot of embroideries...... often, seeing them in their finery, I would think they were dressed for a special occasion only to discover that this is how they dress in their daily lives. Most of their savings were invested in jewellery, worn by their women at all times. 

The embroidery pattern was sketched by hand or marked with a needle or stick dipped in mud or they counted the warp and weft threads to embroider their designs. The women embroidering the piece would improvise the design as they went along, using a number of small mirrors, to highlight their bright, colourful creations. Their patterns were also reproduced on the walls of their circular bhungas, in mud relief work, in-layed with small mirrors. With no electricity, a single oil lamp would brighten the interior of their homes. 

                                                                                                                                

Cholo - bandahni kapda, zardozi embroidery

The distribution of motifs created different patterns. The person embroidering the piece added her own personal touches and interpretation with the choice of colours, making small variations as she went along. Each piece had a distinct character and no two embroidered pieces ever looked the same.  Depending on the pattern, it could take months to embroider a blouse. The embroidered backless blouse - the kanjari or cholo - is worn only after marriage. Young girls wear a long multi-panel tunic with no embroidery.

For these women, embroidery was not only an expression of creativity but also an occasion for social interaction and emotional bonding, as they sat together and chatted with one another while doing their embroidery. This, in many ways, became an important repository of their traditions. The nuances of the craft were passed on from mother to daughter, and thus an age old tradition continued within families. 

Tying Badhani dots before dyeing

 

Since embroideries were part of the dowry of a girl, she, with the help of her mother would start creating embroideries from the time she was seven or eight years old. By observing their mothers and the other women in the family, the young girls learned about the distribution of colour and creating traditional patterns.

 An Ahir woman once explained to me,  “Our embroidery has 

Ahir Woman

remained unchanged because, through the ages, there were women who guarded the rules, enabling the tradition to be passed on, safe and secure, from one generation to the next.” She continued, “What I like most about tradition is its promise of constancy. There is a sense of order and rhythm that can be depended upon. I like the fact that certain customs that we follow today were practised by my grandmother and great grandmother and will continue to be followed by my granddaughter and great granddaughter. I draw strength and comfort from the timeless nature of tradition.”  

 

The embroidery done by the Ahir women is one of the most striking features of the community. Distinctive embroideries and appliqué embellishments are extensively used on all their clothing especially for the young, and to decorate their homes. As the woman grows older her clothing becomes more subdued with sparser embroidery. The old women wear no embroidery and prefer to use deep tones of red and maroon.

 

Rabaris

The Rabaris are also very fond of embroideries. Their work is very dense and time-consuming, and the motifs and patterns reflect aspects of their culture and environment. They have a repertoire (repetwaar) of motifs that include the camel, peacock, parrot and scorpion, and trees like the baval and amba. Each woman arranges these motifs in a style of her own, creating a unique design that reflects her personality, talent and creativity.Apart from their elaborate embroideries, the young Rabari girls wear a lot of bead decorations.  For their men, they embroider kediyas  and bukanis, and decorate the seams of their woollen blankets. 

Rabari Girl

The Rabari women in Kutch dress in black wool which insulates and helps maintain the body temperature, keeping them cool in summer and warm in winter.

It is believed that, a few hundred years ago, the Rabaris migrated from Jaisalmer in Rajasthan to Kutch. At that time, Jaisalmer had a Muslim ruler. Once, passing along the road, he saw a marriage celebration in full swing. The ruler heard the music and decided to visit the wedding mandap (tent). He was so completely captivated by the young bride that he expressed his desire to marry her. This was not acceptable to the Rabaris, as they never marry outside their own community. But they found it difficult to refuse the king’s request. After much thought, the elders informed the king that he should come the next day to claim the young bride, as that was the auspicious day for the wedding.

The king was pleased but the families of the bride and groom were distressed by the turn of events. It was decided that a few young men along with the couple should escape, while the dancing and music continued. The next day when the king arrived with his wedding procession to take back his beautiful bride, he discovered that the young girl had disappeared. He was so furious that he ordered the entire Rabari clan to be tortured and put to death. Since that day, Rabari women wear black in mourning.

The Rabaris marry on Janmashtami, the birthday of their deity, Lord Krishna. The boy goes to the bride’s house for the marriage to bring back his bride. 

Kediya [Ahir]

The Rabari bridegroom is elaborately dressed in an embroidered kediya and chorani, and is decked with gold, silver and bead-work ornaments.

In 1983, my friend Hiroko and I attended Rabari celebrations at Mindiyara village where 52 weddings took place in a single night. As we stood at the village square, every few minutes a wedding procession passed us on the way to the bride’s house.

Even today though child marriages have been prohibited by law, they do take place in Kutch.  The two fathers carry their children, and walk around the fire to take the wedding vows. At one such wedding, the bridegroom wore a peacock feather with a bulb that flickered on and off as the fathers walked around the fire with the bride and groom fast asleep in their arms.

The embroideries, which were once created for personal use, are today made to earn a living. Far from reflecting their own creative sensibilities, the embroideries feed the demands of the urban traders who provide patterns printed on fabric pieces along with the thread required for the embroidery.

Exquisite embroidered textiles were also commissioned by the royalty, religious institutions and rich patrons. Influenced by Mughal karkhanas, in the early 18th century, Ramsinh Malam, under the patronage of Maharao Lakhpatji, set up many workshops in Bhuj and Mandvi to produce textiles and artefacts.

Highly skilled craftsmen were employed to create intricate embroideries and woven textiles, paintings, lacquer-work, enamel-work, jewellery, silverware and other artefacts. Under the royal patronage, vast quantities of superbly crafted pieces of art, architecture and textiles were created, which provided regular livelihood to a large number of artisans.

Hindu Mochis were employed to create the finest silk embroideries, while the Muslim artisans created grand, embossed gold thread embroideries. Mochis, the cobbler community artisans employed by the royal karkhanas, created intricate chain-stitch embroidery. They used a long awl to embroider on fabric. The embroideries were done mostly on satin silk, with threads of silk floss imported from China, which came in through the port at Mandvi.

A ghaghara piece in yellow satin silk, embroidered in chain stitch by a Mochi artisan was first exhibited at the Great Exhibition, in London, in 1851, and drew international attention to the richness of Kutchi embroidery. This was the first in a series of World Trade Fair exhibitions on culture and industry, the largest trade show the world had ever seen. Several varieties of Indian textile techniques were shown at the fair and Indian artisans were brought to Europe to demonstrate their skills.

From Kutch, embroidery, leather-work, silverware and jewellery were showcased at this exhibition. Owen Jones, one of the collectors for the exhibition, commented: ‘The Indian and Tunisian articles were the most perfect in design compared to any other that appeared in the exhibition. The Indian work, in particular, showed all the principles, all the unity, all the truth, for which we had looked elsewhere in vain.’  In this he echoed a broader admiration for Indian arts, crafts and textiles.

 
Personally, collaborating with craftspeople has been one of the most fruitful experiences of my life and I have learned as much about human relationships as about craft processes and techniques. It has become the base for my design vocabulary and has had an immense impact on my visual language and design practice.

 

Archana Shah is a graduate of NID. Inspired by all that she saw in Kutch and particularly the bandhani technique,  in the early 1980s, when she started her company to design and manufacture handcrafted clothing, she named it BANDHEJ – thus celebrating her ties and bonds with the Kutch region.

 

She has also written a visually sumptuous book on Kutch entitled ‘Shifting Sands’ published by Bandhej.

To buy the book at a special discount

contact: archana.bandhej@gmail.com