The tiny mirrors adorning the walls did a little dance as the gentle breeze blew past. I rushed in and out of home and work. I was busy. That morning in particular had my hands full. Stopping a while for a glass of water, I remembered my days as a young boy. Running in and out of home and my father’s shop. It was different now. Work had a way of keeping me on the go. Work, is the craft I picked up from my father, and he from his father.
We learnt as we watched him work and we played around with the loom. I have six brothers; we all shuttled between school and work. My father often had visitors from abroad. Deeply interested in our weaving they even wanted to take me back to their country with them. I did not understand English. But I was told then, that I was a very smart boy. I continued with life here in Bhujodi.
We were brought up with the notion of the strength of the loom. We were let to study all the way up to college, but had to come back to our roots to weave. Continuing this today, we all weave together. As fashion and times change we make new things. Rooted in tradition and technique, I feel and as my father often said, tradition is what lasts, and as generations go by, fashion evolves, but the change remains on the surface. I travel for exhibitions and demonstrations. I began with India and made way to Europe, and America.
As I sit back and reflect, I remember my parents visiting villages to sell wares. Even though I go overseas, I can’t see myself letting the community dwindle. What I get is not for myself, rather, a lift for the entire community.
