Mobor , Goa

We were just getting to know each other - early 2010. I was frustrated with work and the path often picked by me in such situations was simply getting off the path. Dropping off the radar so to speak. Nimesh echoed a similar desire, albeit not coming from similar reasons. By the end of our discussion we seemed to be planning a trip together much to my amusement. A week passed and the only suggestion that was consistently rearing its head was Goa. Having been there twice and having an inkling of how diverse our agenda’s for Goa would have been I remember wondering…is this a good idea? That trip didn’t take off and a few years since we finally made it there. Surprisingly, or not so much (thankfully), we found ourselves on common footing for planning out the agenda (do nothing). We narrowed in on Bamboo House in Mobor, and it has been one of the most blessed decisions we could have made. 

The location has some crazy advantages and I’m unable to decide which of these tops the list. It is right where the river Sal meets the sea. The nearest shacks were far enough to be just  a clutter of lights and lanterns and the only part of the music that reached us were some muted beats. This meant that we had beautiful evenings and peaceful sleep broken occasionally with a huge wave crashing on the beach.

One of the days saw us going to Anjuna. We had headed there in the hope of taking a dekho at the flea market. It was worth it. Massive as it was, it housed 100s of little stalls with all kind of stuff. Woollens, tea , masala, bags , jewellery and your regular typical Goan fare of sarongs . What really got our attention were middle aged Gujarati women at the masala stalls and of course the exchange of thick wads of money every 20 steps or so. Handling that kind of money with such almost dismissive ease…..! ?!

The drive to and from Anjuna had us pass through many villages and being the pillion rider I had the opportunity to gawk at the homes. This being my favourite activity in a new place, I made the most of it.   For now I seem to be able to see the drive without the ability of putting it to words, Maybe sometime later.

While returning from a lazy lunch we found the beach dotted with kites- facing the sea… their sight fixed on the horizon. Proud and very textbook General-like.  Sand plovers (?) bobbed around just about touching the water, as we walked. Some mornings, we’d go where the river meets the sea. We watched boats come and go, the kites, crows, egrets and dogs competing for the left overs. I suspect the competition was just for fun, there seemed to enough for everyone.

Back at Bamboo House we had delightful conversations with the owners. Amandeep and his father. From Tito’s to Ankleshwar (Gujarat) and from Russian mafia to the crafts persons from Tripura who built the cottages, the conversation was warm , enthusiastic and easy flowing. The stay at bamboo house was lovely. They have comfortable uncluttered cottages/huts without the frills of room service (the restaurant is next door). I watched each morning as Aman’s father switched off the lights in the verandas and on looking around one can feel the simple warmth with which the place is run.  We hope to return to it next year.

Port Blair and Havelock - Soaked to the bones and loving it

Work keeps me rooted in Hyderabad (with an occasional exception) and it has taken the better part of a year to get used to it. It has its pluses but I do miss venturing out and being refreshed by interactions with people outside of work.

A team meet at port blair, was a welcome idea but one that I didn’t have much time to dwell on. Before  I could think of preparing for the trip I found myself on Chennai bound flight!  However, finally Andamans it was and I went sans expectations, aware that it would pour through the days and prepared to break loose, despite it.

I didn’t know what to make of Port Blair. I asked our cab driver what language is used and pat came the response “Hindi”! That was my first googly, being so far of south I seemed to have sub consciously expected something different. Then I heard snatches of what sounded like Oriya and Bengali and also met a boy called Puia - I assumed he was Mizo by his name and looks but was surprisingly told that he was from Port Blair. Another baffling moment  was finding more spotted deer than people on Ross Island (!?), stumped for a bit and I then recalled some discussions with Nimesh on this.

Havelock was beautiful, and it reminded me a lot of Kerela. On reaching the beach, I found myself stuffing my camera and wallet into the bag. Leaving it on the shore and heading off to the water. My usual paranoid self was nowhere on the scene and nether was my resolve to try and re connect with the camera on this trip. One sighting of the waves and all other thoughts were washed away!  Watched colleagues dive into the waves joyously, in an absolute celebratory mode and wondered about what dotted lines connected our lot. I didn't find any answers. But the questions, the waves and the company kept me in an upward spiralling high.

Scuba diving, snorkelling, was all talked about prior to the trip but again in all the happy chaos in my mind it failed to register. It is not something I thought about much. One eve, a team meet was interrupted by our trip coordinator – he wanted a show of hands for scuba – both arms shot up before I could straighten out the thoughts in my head. My  query was whether they had suits in all sizes and if we could go under twice?

Next afternoon 7 of us split from the rest of the group and headed to Ocean Tribe for some scuba . We were given some forms to fill up and sign; handed over suits and eventually led to the boat.  Once in the water, our instructors took us through hand gestures and some solutions to minor problems we may face . Our first practice dip had me signalling to him wildly - wanting to rush up for air – he responded in a nano second and won me over for the rest of the hour. Didn't need to come up again till it was time to do so.

As we moved deeper and watched the fish, the occasional coral ,I realised that I could barely see the instructor.  He was behind me all the time and  his hand signals every couple of minutes were very reassuring. At one point of time I fancied that water got into my glasses and  tried to get it out while messing up something in the process – some idiotic suicidal impulse had me yank the mouth piece off. I saw terror in the instructor's goggle encased eyes as I tried to chew on the mouth piece! Few seconds of  panic and all was well - we moved along smoothly.

The sea - just 10 metres below the surface seems like a fictional space. Something life as I know it seems to have no similarity with. There are fish the colour of peacocks. Watching over a hundred of them swim past my head felt surreal. Right in front of me but so distant.
What unlearning that one hour called for is crazy.  Your nostrils are closed and you breathe through the mouth, drawing air from a pipe. Can't talk - can't move of your own accord. Its probably like the first hour of vipassana - only more other worldly.  Was so powerless. Yet ……tranquil and glad. 

In all of this my mind kept wandering to the instructor whose name I had no idea of, he probably accompanies many first time divers (something about his demeanour inspires faith) , but for each first time diver it must be such a unique and intimate relationship they share with him for that hour…..

Back on the surface something like asking him for his name felt superfluous and I resisted.

Early next morn at the ungodly hour of 4 and amidst a downpour I was up for a last dip in the beach. A colleague texted his worry because of the rains but not going didn’t seem like an option for me. A handful of fishermen were the only ones around as we walked across the beach to the rocks. Spent a while watching them throw their nets and bring in what I thought were sardines. We moved on to sit in a waist deep pool of water between the rocks.  Soon the waves had us clinging onto the rocks for our dear lives, and we hurriedly tried to come up with an exit strategy. The struggle to get away from the rocks as the tide rose has printed itself on my memory. One of the local’s gave us some directions, a helping hand and a watchful eye and we were soon ashore, but not without our share of cuts and bruises. While walking back we realised that the beach we had walked on while getting to the  rocks had \ disappeared. We had to take the road with the waves crashing against it.

 The nights and days were full of torrential rain which carried on through the morning. Between team meetings we’d snatch a dip and I felt like I was forever getting into or out of some clothes. But the luxury of getting soaked to the bones in the unrelenting rain, walking around having happy conversations with myself,   listening to the frogs as we all sat around talking - spelt a great time to me. 

I seem to have reconnected with the impulsive and sprightly part of me which was slowly moving into a coma behind a desk. It has been a revival and I'm thankful for the unending rains. Another monsoon trip to the island is more than welcome. Is Nimesh listening?!! :) 

Thanks Govind for the panoramic shots of the the jail and the beach and for being braver with your camera than I was with mine!  

A brief stop at Umreth July 2010 - some images

The tussle of the two Asian Open Bills

and the retreat

We were drawn to a halt at a roadside village pond in Umreth  by its generous peppering of the blacks and whites of cormorants , openbills and herons. There were about 150-200 of them around and we could watch them and a group of children enjoying the cool waters. The landscape was making the most of the stingy monsoons it received and goading on the shy sprouting greens into its varied hues. Lapwings and Egrets (Cattle, Intermediate and Great) were plentiful in  most fields along the road. But this gathering was nothing like the other sights. 

  

We also caught a glimpse of some beautiful fishing attempts of two Pied Kingfishers who settled at distance just long enough to get this image.

Visit to Upasana- June 2010

I've been looking forward to developing an understanding of the work of some groups on crafts and textiles. In between some work engagements, travel and of course stealing time from being simply lulled by the tranquility that Saiha offers I contacted Upasana and discussed spending some time there.

I had visited Upasana in my last visit to Auroville in Dec 09 and was charmed by the initial impressions of the place. I finally made it in June again and I was to spend 15 days with them in understanding the functioning of some of their projects , supporting some documentation needs and brainstorming with the team some possible avenues for further engagement with communities that they partner with.

Was pleasantly surprised by an offer from Divya to pick me up at the Pondicherry bus station, almost as surprised as meeting success in communicating with shopkeepers in my eng-mal- tamil mix. After about a 10 km ride landed in Upasana to the soft and surprisingly soothing and languorous tinkle of gigantic wind chimes.

We were in time for Upasana’s Friday sharing with volunteers, a practice through which the team shares with each other what their week has been like. Apart from the Upasana team,  student interns from the various design schools were present and they were to spend between one to three months with Upasana.

Upasana Design Studio

It was a good start to the visit and the next morning began with some Auroville bakery bread , the taste of which I’d not really forgotten from last time. This was topped up by a feathered greeting at Upasana’s entrance - a magnificent peacock, and this one was pretty cat like in the knowledge of his goodlooks. Was cheered at the sight and puzzled too at its almost domesticated behavior, he didn’t seem unnecessarily agitated by our presence and was pecking at the grain Rama had laid out. We were humoured in almost all possible manners save a display of its feathers in a dance! Sigh….

Spent a couple of days reading and trying to make sense of counts, staple lengths and hand processes vis a vis mechanized and power driven processes. A lot of technical terminology  was decoded for me by the eager student interns and they had of course their volley of questions ready on what exactly was I doing here, my work etc. Through interactions with the interns and other members in the team learnt more  Upasanas works.

Upasana's skirts - for Fab India

Kapas

Upasana has been working on linking various organic processes in producing organic cotton fabric through a project called Kapas. It partners with other organizations for the production of organic cotton and weaving. Currently they are trying to work on streamlining a process of producing the  fabric with primacy given to organic and handloom techniques . Partnerships are underway with various organizations for hand spinning, weaving and organic dyeing. The team from Kapas and I headed to Madurai and spent time with the various organizations and communities in order to explore avenues for furthering Kapas’s engagement.

From Auroville we headed for a place called Natham just outside Madurai. I slept through the highways,  (much to my companions amusement) but was wide awake once we lost our way. The car spent hours around various villages and bypasses and I was plastered to the window taking in the green and often rocky hills that cut short my horizon. The cables on the roadside were dotted with kingfishers in plenty and what I think are rollers. We were lost many times during our trip and my usual hyperactive self was calmed by the light drizzles and sparkling dewy greens .

We stayed at CESCI .The rooms and the campus were beautiful understated and very peaceful despite being on a roadside. The ideal place to be back to after a day on the road.

 Our first visit was to the RTU  weaving unit located in a town close to Bathlagundu. The weavers present were largely women and I was able to spend some time with Mohanraj the manager of the unit in understanding a bit about the background of the project and discussions on the current capacity of the weavers etc.  By the end of the day my head was all wound up in knots trying to place what I was seeing with what I have been reading- counts, hanks , ply , winding ….the works.

In the following days we spent time with CCD. CCD has been working for over two decades with various communities by promoting enterprise based on the local resources and traditional skills. It supports the formation of federations and producer companies and provides them with business development services such as technical advice, market information, capacity building, quality control, marketing, branding, credit linkages etc.

CCD partners with Upasana in the production of organic cotton. Over two hundred households are currently engaged in organic cotton farming and CCD itself is experimenting with the cotton production from the cotton tree, to gauge its suitability for adoption by farmers. Tachinamurthy, from CCD who was with us through a major part of the visit shared experiences of his search for a particular variety of perennial cotton tree. I understand he finally found it in someone's backyard! 

Seed Cotton

We met with some organic cotton farmers in Valayankulam and Arsapattai.  There were discussions on the cropping patterns, the experience of organic growing, Kaps's work etc. It was interesting to note that most farmers shared that pesticides and fertilizers had not yet gained ground in the villages of the region and that mixed cropping was still prevalent. The transition to an out and out organic cultivation might not have been too difficult I understand.

The groups shared information with us animatedly but as the day wound up I was left with image of an elderly ayya sharing that 20 years earlier they were confident and proud of their work and produce. Currently the interest in working on farms is dwindling as there is not much surety of gaining monetarily and quality of the soil and seed is not what it used to be. Apparently many farmers have sold their fields and moved out of agriculture.

During most of our journey we could see various road repair activities underway and presumably a lot of it was under NREGS. Interestingly when some other options for engagement were discussed at Valayankulam and Arsapattai  most people were clear that they would be able to spare time only if there was no major NREGS activities underway. NREGS gets priority over their farms and other sources of income.   

In the spinning unit of CCD in Sevayur, the process of making yarn from cotton pods was underway. Ginning, carding , winding and some very noisy spinning! Fluffy balls to white yarn in hanks and cones. Tachina shared the roadblocks in processing the relatively short staple organic cotton that was being produced.

Before our return to Auroville , we met with some handloom weavers in a village close to Coimbatore. En route we touched the T Shirt Capital Tirpur and slowly moved onto T.M Pallayam and Puliyampatti. Almost every other household in the localities that we visited had a loom. Some were being worked on and others catching dust. The youngsters in some of these households found it easier to work in the textile mills and factories around the village as opposed to the uncertain returns of the tedious handweaving at home. Most members however did contribute to the weaving at different stages of the process.

The looms in these homes  stretched across about 15-20 feet and creamy off white yarn was being woven into cloth. Our contact person was referring to the weavers as Khadi weavers. However, I get fuzzy in my understanding of what exactly Khadi weaving means and different people seem to have different answers to this.

In about 5 days we completed these visits and returned to Auroville where we had further discussions on the project . In Auroville I also met with The Colours of Nature, an organization focusing its efforts on natural dyeing and attempting to revive traditional organic processes of dyeing. Jesus , the founder of TCoN , has been working on natural dyeing processes for over 15 years now. He shared of his initial experiences and surprise in finding that the  knowledge of  non polluting processes traditionally practiced are not a part of the memory of the current generation engaged in dyeing. By examining some historical records and discussions with communities , Jesus shares that he has been able to develop natural and non polluting dyes which he hopes industries catering to a larger scale can use. 

I had a lot to chew on from this trip. I could finally see (as opposed to reading) the process of developing a fabric from cotton.  From growing it, to the ginning, carding, winding, spinning dyeing and finally weaving processes and  the many variations within them. The impact of industries that has overtime has taken away the craft from communities, leaving households with a relatively alienated experience in the weaving of a fabric. Not to forget the more than significant economic and social impacts this must have had on the communities. 

The space provided by Upasana for these brief explorations and the warmth extended by the team has added to my list of experiences that I'm grateful for.    

Thanks - Dhanalaksmi , Prabhakaran , Vivek, Divya , Tachinamurthy ,Katherine and Inge!  Its been a valuable fortnight!

Skipping as I've never known

Its summer and not at at its worst yet. The children are all out of their woollen clothes, looking leaner but happier and definitely looking more their age. They keep paying fleeting visits in the midst of their hectic school and tution schedules. This week they turned up in a large group, wanted to sing songs , dance and have an impromptu fashion show . We had a bit of a pinneapple squash and someone yanked out a long string of rubber bands tied to each other. Before I had time to wonder what that was all about , some frenzied discussion took place and soon two of them were holding it knee high and a third did some pretty impressive skips around it. A skipping rope!!

Well they'd say I was easily impressed as for the 15 minuted that they kept at it , i witnessed a variety of stages and steps in skipping which I as a kid had never imagined! The job of the ones holding the rope was just to keep raising it in height according to the stage the players were at. Complicated manouvers involving , leaping, stepping on the rope , entangling it with the ankle/knee , jumping backwards and releasing it, almost diving over it etc. Maybe I'll get to shoot a video of this someday and share, I'm hoping that the skipping rope and the game as we knew it  never makes its way this side, we'd be laughing stock!

Ngengpui and a storm

I was fortunate to be a part of a very educative experience, which got cut short midway but nonetheless proved to be more beautiful than any planned exercise.I’d been busy with some work of my own when planning for Ngengpui began and though I knew I would be travelling with the group I was not able to spend time in understanding what they were planning to do. Well turns out that the group would be part of a census excercise and would be making observations and recording signs related to some carnivores and animals they prey on along with documenting various details of vegetation.

Bungtlang village was the Beat within the sanctuary that we were headed for. Huge tall trees dotted the landscape way before the sanctuary began. Increasing in number with every bend in the road. Clusters of these loomed above us as we passed.Our first stop was the Ngengpui village and the Range Office of the sanctuary.  An open space with the standard sofa’s that we’ve found in most homes and offices- including our own (I love it). Unlike many a rest house or office spaces, this one seemed very at home with its surroundings. There were trees around the campus, which did not follow any human landscaping or design dictate. Children were running about freely and friendly smiles of the people working there added to the feeling of the overall un-starched comfort.

But we had to get going as Bungtlang was our destination. About a two hour drive from Ngengpui which was equally if not more beautiful.  We were in a soft top gypsy and open to the breeze and minty wisps in it. Just before we reached the sanctuary viewing point I saw a movement on a tall tree in front of our car, I thought I’d recognized it but couldn’t believe my luck so strained out of the window and over the top and watched it again as we rolled to a stop- yup sure enough it was a hornbill! Excited but embarrassed as I’m sure for our companions this was not a new sight or cause for such jubilation. We looked through the bird guide and figured out it was the Brown Hornbill.

From the sanctuary view point

Next stop was the sanctuary view point, it offered what its name seemed to promise a magnificent view of the sanctuary. A flight of stairs lead to the platform and the breeze coupled with the brilliant view ahead had us all quiet for a while. We reached Bungtlang in the evening, had a sumptuous dinner in the market and proceeded to the LADC guest house. I watched Nimesh run through with his colleague the census process made some notes on what I would find exciting and then crashed for the day.

Waylaid

By six the next morning we were ready and on our way to the site of the camp. We reached it in what ideally would have been a half an hour’s drive, had it not been for a tree fallen across the road. I hopped out and squatted around watching the clearing process. As there was no way that one could even nudge the tree for a millimeter , the driver of our companions dug up the path under it, repeated attempts later after increasing decreasing the depth under the fallen tree and scraping of a part of it bark we were able to move on and reach our destination. The pick up was to come back in about three days to take us all back.

Home for a night

A hut built last year was used by the department to camp at when they stayed in the forest and the same was where the six of us were housed. Beside a stream (the portion closest to the hut was now dry, awaiting the monsoons) it would be a perfect place to return to after a day of walking around. A flat piece of land with the hills slopes beginning very close at hand.

First things first- we got our meal ready and then post some discussions decided what was to be done. Walking the search line was on the agenda- which was along the stream, or rather in/on it in some cases. We walked through the stream bed looking for signs of carnivores. Squishing along the puddles and soon wading through a steadyish stream, climbing over some fallen trees we made our way.

A little ahead of us I saw jack wildly gesturing and not making a sound. He kept pointing to the ground and there by the stream was a swarm (do you use this to describe butterflies?) of butterflies, blue tones dominating. I understand it’s called mudpuddling. I could get relatively close to get some images , but yours truly was so nervous of the whole bunch taking off if alarmed much that I’m afraid nothing very impressive could be achieved.

Soon enough the sky became heavily overcast and we could hear the rumble above, we treaded on for a while but the Forester with us , considered it best that we return as it was definitely to be a storm. A tad reluctantly we made a retreat but not without the sighting of another Hornbill, which definitely helped in washing away a bit of the dismay.

It was it was one in the afternoon and in the cloud cover everything around looked like ash smeared. Getting back seemed to have been wise as the pretty soon rains and thunder lashed down.  Heaven drums one of us said and mimicked what must have been the percussionist god! A side of the hut had been wall-less, and as much as it seemed practical on dry day (you could throw out kitchen trash, brush wash and spit etc) it would definitely prove to our disadvantage considering the raging showers. Soon a half wall was constructed by weaving strips of bamboo through each other. Speaking of bamboo, we had ladles, a chutney mixer and glasses all made of the same.  

Dinner was done by 5 and we laid out our sleeping bags and soon the hut was transformed into a dormitory, six of us under three mosquito nets.  Post midnight I woke up to the sound of grunts of disturbed sleep and thunder claps. The storm it seems was not done with. Lightning made us all look like characters straight out of a Ramsay film. Soon the rain was lashing in and we all huddled away from the open edges and doors of the hut. There was nothing much to be done other than watching the glowing embers of cigarettes smoked, the fire in the hearth was lit again as one of us was terribly cold. He huddled close to it after putting 3-4 shirts on, while we talked and there was an occasional nervous half giggle. Strangely in a similar stormy night in Saiha, I remember being scared, this time I just felt curious and found myself thinking of all that must be happening inside the forest so close at hand. Trees were falling around and in the morning we realized that the stream was in full throttle. Where a day earlier we were walking the streams bed, today we had to be conscious of our balance while crossing the energetic flow. Gushing muddy waters and drongos were our companions the next morning and we couldn’t have asked for more.

Storm casualty 

Unfortunately for the actual purpose of the visit the storm was not showing signs of being over done with. No signs would be found in these rains so we decided to pack up and leave. We started off on the road by which we had arrived and realized that the trees had fallen all around the place. Such gigantic ones too at that. Infact just above our hut there was a victim and I was just glad it didn’t come crashing down on the unsuspecting half dozen of us below.

Soon the rains began and it coincided with the first  of the may short cuts(read torturously steep climb) we had to take and lasted all the way till we reached home. The comfort of the road was lost and I often found myself on fours trying to scramble up the descent, or sitting and semi sliding down a slope. An uncle accompanying us eventually took over the tri pod that I had dangling from my arm. I felt guilty but it was for the better as the tripod anyway seemed to disagree with all my strategies of maintaining a balance.

 Slippery -rock n mud paths and my constant focus on the ground I was stepping on didn’t let me take a good look around. But I enjoyed the rain as I always have -+- was a little perturbed by the thunder -+- thanked god for the cheerfulness I felt despite what would have been in a usual day pretty patience testing-+- and was ready to do a dramatic falling on my knees SRK style when we finally spotted the school ground and our companions under its shed.

Our companions on the trip will possibly never get around to reading this post, but the sensitivity extended by them to us has had us in awe. On the walk back to the village, heavier bags they selected for themselves, leaving the relatively lighter ones for us who were new to the terrain. I realized later, that the uncle who grabbed the tripod off me was actually carrying in his bag bed sheets and blankets, in the rains it must have become quite a heavy bundle. He insisted on being the last in the group, so that he could be of assistance if anyone of us met with some trouble. I felt embarrassed that he had to give a helping hand to me on top of all the adjustments he was already making on this walk and hope that someday I will able to possess at least a small measure of such ready generosity towards strangers.

Meeting Weavers- Chakhang

While loitering around in the streets and bazaars of Saiha and Aizwal and (of course on the many mini stops the Sumos took on the way ) we'd seen many a bag , skirts / wrap around, sling pouches on sale both on the street and in handicraft shops. My fascination with them has been seamless and after many trips and queries made by us , we were now also able to distinguish between the Mara and Mizo weaves. Well, at least some of it!

 We have been asking most of these shops, especially in the smaller towns and villages, questions about where all these goods were coming from.  We unfailingly met with the same response – Aizwal or in some cases, Burma. The girls selling their wares in Saiha, shops in Phura and Thenzawl, Handicraft shops in Aizwal all had either of these two as responses. So if what we know as Mara weaves are all being made by the Maras across the border is there no Mara weaving industry on this side? From folktales to short stories and other writings, all seem to speak of weaving being common place. So what has happened to mara weaving on this side of the border? Or if the weaves are supplied from Aizwal then what is happening to the various tribe specific weaving designs techniques etc? I had plenty of such queries, but didn’t consciously move around seeking answers. Each village that we visited I’d hoped that there would be someone we could talk to about this. Or better still if we could witness the weaving process itself.

The first interaction in that direction is what this post is about. Sharing the joy I felt in the interaction with an enthusiastic  group of women weavers in Chakhang.  

We were on our way back from Mawma Tlang after a steep and arduous (enjoyable nonetheless) trail uphill and having managed not to tumble down the steep descent I was finally walking through the village to get to a tea stall, along with youth from the local MTP.

Self Help Group- Handloom - a board jumped out at me and I stopped dead in my tracks only to recover and get to the window of the home bearing that tag – weaving finally! The woman at the loom was surprised by our curiosity and told us she’d be happy to meet us and talk the following day. So there I was the next morning, leaving our hosts home half an hour late from the scheduled time- and I met a neighbor telling me that the women of the SHG were ready and waiting! Guilt ridden I reached there to find six women busy at their looms. All around on clotheslines were spread different pieces made by them.

Pleasantries over, the chairperson pointedly told me (a tad disappointedly too) that the Mara sling pouch I was using was a duplicate (i think she meant machine woven). Dismissing it she took us around the workshop and showed us what the real goods were. A while later, Nimesh and his colleague left for their work with the schools and I was left without any translation help and sea of questions bottled up inside me. 
Over cups of tea, Kua and Cigarettes, in broken English, Hindi Mara and Mizo, dotted with ample laughter, we had animated exchanges on  what I’m doing in Saiha, who buys these fabrics, designs  etc. Gesturing wildly and playing a kind of charades we tried to get our questions and answers across.   

I inquired about a particular piece that had held my eye from the time I walked in. They not only told me what the design was called but sat me through the names and bits of history of each of the designs. On seeing me jot down some names, they peered at the sheet / scrap of paper and corrected spellings. Noticing that I only had a scrap to scribble on they offered a hymn sheet which I initially refused and subsequently accepted as the alternative seemed to be a young woman running off to the market to buy me a note pad.

While walking me through the available fabrics and their origins, one woman told me how a particular design was her original creation, she also I think was trying to explain how the weaving on these looms is different as all the designs exist in the weavers memory or imagination unlike the mechanized looms. Seeing my jaw drop at the cost of one wrap around (Rs 10,000) she laughed and explained that it was a traditional Mara design and it took her over a year to weave it. Looking at it closely I could well understand why. Patterns were woven into every inch of this colorful piece making it heavier too than most others.  
There were bags, pouches, neck ties and blouses slung on clothes lines all around the place , I was itching to know more yet strangely content as whatever was taking place was a good beginning.

For long while after the initial excitement had died down I planted myself at a window and watched the colorful patterns emerge from the loom, standing in stark contrast to the dry dusty and scorched land outside(monsoons would be such a respite). The tools used were made of wood , bamboo, deerskin, porcupine thorns etc.

The periodic thuds marking the end of one line, looping threads through each other to generate intricate motifs, , frequent combing through the yards of threads with grooved wooden sticks and bristles  ensuring a tangle free flow was all mesmerizing to watch but possibly back breaking to undertake. The loom on one end was pegged to the wall and on the other end a belt held it to the weavers waist. A couple of hours hunched over the details of the weave must take some effort. 

  Earlier in the day I had also seen a loom spread out in the sun, being prepared, it seemed for some action. It belonged to a woman of over 50 years of age. In this group too the majority seemed over 40 in the least and a discussion with a young woman in the MTP too had revealed that not many youngsters are keen on weaving. From what I have been seeing around its possibly because these skirts/wrap arounds are not as popular with the younger generation it seems to be  worn only on  special occasions, cultural events or to church etc. Also cheaper and trendy designs are easily available in the market. 

There however  were two young girls in the workshop though. They repeatedly came upto the older women when they got stuck with a patch on their loom.  The younger girl was adamant on learning a particular design and older one explained in a laughing and halting English that they were both still learning and were excited about learning more and faster. I could relate to their impatience, I was also overwhelmed by the urge to understand better, what everyone seemed to be telling, to ask all questions i've been holding in, to get answers there and then. 

Within a few days of our return from Chakhang, we were in Aizwal. We made the long pending trip to the state museum. The loin loom and the other implements displayed there were similar to the ones used in Chakhang. Nimesh and I went through each in detail and tried to understand what we could. 

Sometime soon I tell myself, I’ll get down to reading and understanding more. I realize now that as much as my queries are still largely unanswered I have found the first step in understanding more- what has been the best part of the deal is that- no book or research reading could have boosted my desire to learn and understand more about handlooms and the changes that have taken place with regard to weaving . A heartfelt thanks to the group I met in Chakhang.

In the meanwhile, if anyone reading any of this can point me to some person , organization , group etc. I’d be thrilled to explore.