The gusts of wind blew. The trees swayed. The howl of the wind from the distant empty land soared. Sand dusted the air. The fabric I left out to dry swayed and blew with the might of the wind. Monsoon was approaching.
I sat there, taking it all in. Memories of home, my village, parents and siblings soon filled my thoughts. I was born in a village in Kutch. Rampur Vekra they called it. I don’t remember the day or year I was born. My parents worked as laborers.I went to school for two days. I had to take care of younger siblings at home while my parents were at work. As they grew, I too joined my parents with work. At the age of 22 I was married off to an old man who had recently become a widower. There were children from the earlier marriage to take care of.
My husband was weaver, but never wove. Working on small jobs here and there we were under a lot of pressure financially. An opportunity with Khamir arose. He let that too slip away. I was determined to make it work. Holding on to the reigns I took the lead and worked towards convincing him and working together.
I was not weaver; neither did I come from such a background. Working with dying and fabric today I have picked up a lot. I even accompanied my husband to Hyderabad to expand our knowledge of natural dyes. I employed a few more women to help me out as well. With a steady income and fruitful work, I am determined to take steps forward. Increase work and its quality, and expand to a new level.