The leaves rustled. Somewhere in the background a bird chirped. The rhythmic din of my loom filled the pleasantly peaceful summer afternoon. My mind ambled through time.
I was eight when I first began to weave. My father had recently passed away. It was I who had to support my family- my mother and two younger brothers. My father was a weaver as was his father. My uncles too wove. It was from them that I learnt to weave. It was not an easy start, through many hurdles I learnt. I remember my uncles often scolding me. It was only through all that however, that I as a child picked up the strings.
As my brothers grew, I taught them too. We began weaving Khadi then moved to sheep wool, I know weave Kala cotton while they work in a mill in Mirzapur.
It has been eighteen years now since I have been weaving. I worked as security man for two years. It was a hard time. My son passed away and we moved here to Awadhnagar. Weaving Kala cotton gets me a fair amount of money.
I like working here with the community as leaving home and traveling the distance for work leaves my unsettled. A sense of belonging that comes along with it. For after all, weaving is my life.
