I watch my grandchildren taking their first steps, not getting very far. The noise of my loom this hot afternoon is probably keeping them awake from their afternoon siesta. It is an hour past noon. My hands and feet with many years of work glide through, swiftly creating the fine cloth. A faint memory of my first steps, dances across my mind. It has been forty years since.
It was a different era back then. Trade flourished, work was done and trade was carried out between different communities. Godhra being close to a port attracted foreign trade as well. Soon enough, exports began. Looking back to 20 years ago, there were a hundred Mashru weavers. Now the numbers have drastically dwindled.
For me it is the art of my forefathers. I remember my father and his father at work on the two looms we had. My holidays from school, spent here with them at the loom. Time between playing, spent helping wind yarn. I went to school till the seventh grade before I began weaving fulltime.
Work had its ups and downs. The demand and lack of it created waves across time. 1994 was especially a hard year for us. The order stopped. I had no choice but to work in the fields.
A year later, and back to weaving I was happy again. The journey since then had been smooth. Looking back at my work I find that although orders took up a lot of time I have woven for friends and family as well. And who knows, if I work for it, I may even get an award.
