Traffic Nightmares

We were rather amazed when some visiting friends from Bangalore complimented our traffic regulations. I thought at first they were being sarcastic.  “Your traffic at least moves, my dear,” was the observation. I guess we never know when we are better off. “Yes, the Metro Rail has thrown you off gear, but at least you get there”, remarked our friends.” Many a time we decide to turn tail and reach the comfort of our homes if the traffic permits!” If we grumble at our Chennai traffic, it would do each  grumbler good to stay in Bangalore for a week and move around “at leisure”.  With the city ripping its seams, and the growth  uncontrolled it is a commuter’s  nightmare. It puts you in a bind to confront flyovers galore in various stages of completion, and “one ways” reversed at whim.

We were staying at Millers Road, Bangalore, and had invited guests  for dinner. We thought we would make a quick dash to a friend’s place in Trinity Gardens. Mercifully this took us about 20 minutes.  We left her place at 6.15 pm hoping to reach home by 7 pm well in time to receive our guests. Our optimism was alas short lived as we drove into a traffic gridlock. The cars moved bumper to bumper and when we prudently maintained a safe distance, cars and autos would squeeze in, so that we were behind in the queue. Queue? Might was right and I was amazed at the dexterity of the Bangalore drivers as they expertly wove in and out of the lines, with screeching brakes and burning tyres making James Bond films pale by contrast. The motor cycle wallahs, two wheelers and autos were not to be outdone. They zigged and zagged in a game of musical chairs, and we felt totally incompetent at such awesome driving skills in this city.

The traffic inched forward, then came to a dead halt for what seemed eternity. The pattern continued till I lost all consciousness of time and place. The roads were horribly bumpy with potholes, and speed breakers.. I prayed that our vertebrae may not be displaced. It was well past Ulsoor that the traffic congestion cleared. It had taken us exactly two hours and twenty minutes to reach home. Ignoring the guests who were waiting in the lobby we rushed to  the bathroom!!

When we murmured our apologies, sheepishly, they assured us that this was a common occurrence which they faced frequently!  One had to know which areas to avoid at certain times and update ourselves on the routes and non entry points..And we were not to feel guilty, they should have issued warnings. It was a lesson well learnt.

I thought of a whole lot of compensatory measures for the poor Bangaloreans since most of the people I talked to were resigned to their fate.  If you are a computer fiend, take your laptop and use a card to activate your internet, so you could save time answering your emails. The Kindle if you have downloaded some good books. Of course your cell phone is a must, to make those urgent phone calls. All the better if you have a Blackberry.  The newspaper can be read from beginning to end, and with luck you can finish your suduko.. Take some DVDs with you so you can view them on the computer, and you could watch a full English movie comfortably. You have such a wide choice and it is a pity if you don’t use this opportunity. All this is possible only if you are privileged to have a driver. If you drive yourself, I would earnestly urge you to have your blood pressure checked regularly. I’m not sure whether you could consume water in plenty while you commute. You’ll  have to choose between  dehydration and a full bladder.

Car manufacturers could have a field day designing the interiors for emergencies and charge a well deserved premium. The back of the front seats could hold a small cloth holder for novels, magazines and newspapers, to house a mini library. The back seat should have a push up device to reveal a concealed chamber pot in times of emergencies for the ladies and children, the ones with built in chemicals which would just diffuse the contents and keep the pot hygienic. It wouldn’t do to have the contents splashing around while riding over speed breakers and potholes.

And what happens to someone having a heart attack or a stroke, or a pregnant woman who develops labour pains? The city planners thanks to their poor vision have to make one  facility available. A helicopter service which can be summoned at will to the site of the emergency and the person concerned bailed out and taken to the nearest hospital.

We are fast reaching a stage when online shopping and door delivery for all commodities are the only way out, especially for senior citizens.. And we need not visit anyone. There is email and Skype where the webcam gives you pictures of your loved ones and we can continue to live in virtual reality.

Then we can dispense with cars.  So the traffic will ease.. But what happens to the empty flyovers and the planning and vision which has eaten up several crores of rupees? Not to worry, the visionaries will take care of that.

One last fervent prayer I made was that Chennai would not take its cue from its sister city Bengaluru....or will it?

Driving me up the Wall

If you drive, it is mandatory to carry your original driving license with you, even if it is to the post office across the road. My driving license was due to expire and I had to  renew it. It meant going to the RTO’s office. I needed to be examined by  a practising doctor so he/she could attest that I am medically fit to drive. My heart sank. Suppose…suppose? I took  Step One. Passed!

Next. You stand in a long queue, the sun beats down on your head, and you shuffle forward on uneven ground which houses a dilapidated building where licenses are issued. “There is no other go,” my husband says with that twinkle in his eye. “after all we need not come again for probably 5 or even 10 years.” Not trusting me to wander off on my own for such important matters, he drives me to the RTO’s Office. Parking is a nuisance as  usual, so I get off and walk ahead,  round the building, and encounter several gates with intimidating padlocks and chains. Finally I discover a small wicket gate, which is open,  and tread gingerly on carelessly strewn  bits of concrete and stone till I reach a queue. The man at the tail end assures me that this indeed is the queue for getting the papers for renewal of driving licenses. The queue moves slowly. I can tell my husband that I have made sufficient progress.  The moment he appears, he enquires around and tells me I am in the wrong queue. Another very informative man tells us that we need to reposition ourselves at a different counter to receive the forms. We join the tail end of the new queue. Step two, we fill in the forms diligently.  Step three, we join another queue.

My husband  retrieves the old license from his pocket and keeps it handy. I sigh with relief, when he waves me on to a bench which is thoughtfully positioned  for people like me. The big bag I carry is crafty and attracts a great deal of attention,  more so when  I extricate my knitting which is most  handy for such situations.  “My God!” exclaims a young man in a brightly coloured lungi. “Look at those long. thin dangerous looking implements! In these days of terrorism and bombs such things should not be allowed.” My ball of wool rolls off and reaches his foot. He stifles a scream, softly muttering “bomb” and his friend convulses with laughter.

“Enna da madaya (you silly idiot)! All this lady is doing is ‘weaving’ a sweater.”

“In this hot Chennai weather? No chance”, is the glib reply. By now curiosity gets the better of them. I sense them peering over my shoulder, watching as I put needle into stitch, draw out a new one, and go clickety click. 

“Look how fast she is weaving…look look she is gazing somewhere else and weaving.” By now I am getting exasperated and drop stitches. It will take me quite some time to retrieve them. I give them both a withering glare. “ I am not a weaver, I am a knitter.” I mumble, but only to myself. Squinting, I pick up the dropped stitches, and get on to a new row.

“Madam, your man calling!”  I hastily stuff the wool, and knitting paraphernalia and reach my “man”. Not before I trip over someone’s foot and wind an arm round the lungi man’s neck to prevent my falling. He lets off another scream, convinced more than ever that I am a terrorist. His friend assures him that I am harmless, at my age and moreover I’m a mere woman.  I mumble an apology and move red faced to the window.  It takes about ten minutes to reach an irate official with an exasperated expression. He compares my old driving license with the form I have filled in very carefully, peering at me over his glasses at intervals. He is interrupted by another official who moans that one of the applicants are giving him endless trouble. The trouble maker sticks his head before mine in an unceremonious fashion and demands that he should be attended to.  The official stops examining my papers and tells him patiently that his form is not complete and he needs certain other certifications. This goes on for five minutes, and I wish I had sat on the bench for a longer spell and knitted…

“OK Madam I see you got your license in Bamynoor…You tell me if this is correct.”  I didn’t want to sound ignorant. “What state is this city in?  As far as I know I’ve only driven in Madras.”

“You might have driven in Madras, madam, but it is important for me to know where you got your first license from. I have to hear from you.”

I could not help my amnesia. What did it matter? The city was named in the original license so why couldn’t he just copy it? How cussed can these officials be!

“Sorry Madam, we can’t proceed till you clarify this point…”

“Which state is this wretched city in?”

“Wretched, Madam? Did you say wretched?  Not good to say things about any city, Madam. You got your license there.  Well it is in Karnataka.”

Light dawns. Of course Bangalore. We went there on holiday, and I passed my driving test there. I clarify. Both the man and I sigh in unison.

Armed with the stamped form I proceed to the next queue which is hopefully the last one. This is for the photographs. I look around…no one has come in their Sunday best to be photographed. I must have looked so pathetic that the big man in front of me offers to let me go in first. The kind hearted people behind him, give their permission as they are convinced I am sick and will get sicker if I wait in the photo queue. I am helped over a mound of slippers and reach the sanctum sanctorum.

“OK  Madam, sit straight.”    I oblige and clench my teeth, and get ready with a smile.

“Madam look at the little red light. Yah, OK over”, he says before I even smile. My signature is checked on the computer,

Should we join another queue to collect the license? Mercy falls on me like gentle manna from heaven.

“You can send someone to collect it madam, but with an authorization letter.”.

The next day, husband waves the driving license triumphantly. Darling, you ARE photogenic. I grab it, and choke as I gaze at it. There is this  jaundiced version of a frog in place of my photo.  “Who’s this?” “You, my dear”, says my husband stifling a broad smile.. God, is that how I look? Wait a minute, where have I seen the face before? Of course,  the old time villains, Edward G. Robinson, or is it James Cagney? 

The license nestles in my wallet  ready to deflate my ego whenever necessary for the next five years. Five years is a long time. Modern technology will make sufficient strides to knock out queues and horrendous photographs……I hope!

TREADING THE TECH SAVVY PATH

How did we manage without the computer?  Pen and ink of course, later ball point pens, reams of paper, typewriters, erasers, correction pens and we were all set. I’ve carried my writing book to doctors’ waiting rooms, trains, airports and kept a pad and pen in the car!  With the computer, the drudgery is literally off penning several drafts. Now it is a question of cut, paste and delete,  and viola there’s a neatly typed manuscript in the font of your choice.  But what we don’t realise is that the workload is on the rise. Expectations are increasing, you are expected to perform in a relatively short time, shorter deadlines have to be met and communication either through social networking, or email is all instant, where conference calls are the need of the moment, and you don’t have to leave your office or your chair to discuss serious issues with your colleagues.

And there is Facebook, Twitter and Blogging. “c’mon ya, how else will you reach out to friends across the globe?”  And you don’t have to be a computer nerd for that.  Well, the result is that the mind goes on an overdrive.  According to researchers at the University of California, the average computer person consumes  almost three times as much information as what the typical person did in 1960.

The experts tell us that you could have loss of vision due to over excitement of the ocular nerve by screen frequency or due to EMF entertainment.  Your tendons could get inflamed, and you could have skeletal, wrist and elbow disorders. Carpal tunnel syndrome is a common computer disease, and how about DVT (Deep Vein Thrombosis) due to lack of circulation. One has to remember to blink at regular intervals and shift your position in the chair, stand up and walk to avoid just that. What I dislike intensely is the anti social atmosphere it creates. You visit your children and they are so informal with you that they sit with the laptop and attend to matters much more important than you. No need for an office, as they can work in any room in the house, even the bathroom,  and repeatedly send out messages through email or the cell phone. And their children who are computer geeks themselves, presumably “read a lot” through Kindle or I pads. When you talk to them they don’t hear, not intentionally of course but because they have tiny ear phones plugged into their ears where they are listening to pounding music. The way they are multi-tasking is amazing, they can work on the computer at the same time have a cell phone glued to the ear and nod appropriately when you talk in a dreary monotone!

Never mind if you try to tell them that multi-tasking on computers and digital gadgets affect the way information is processed. With the onslaught of information coming in you can digest it anywhere, in your pocket, in the car or even in the bathroom. Even if we sit on ergonomically designed chairs, nature did not intend us to sit in them for a major portion of the day crunching numbers, filling in IT entries, writing accounts using Tally and detailing administrative work without side effects!

When I look at my library of books, among them my dog eared collection of cookbooks, some of them treasured acquisitions over generations, I sigh because there will be no takers. My granddaughters say they can with typing a few words,  get any recipe, and with You Tube to boot with demos so you can’t make a mistake. The Dictionary is getting obsolete, for the computer fills in most effectively. All those heavy Readers Digest books on how to find the Right Word, the Thesaurus and other heavy books which occupied shelf space can now be dispensed with.

Though the computer is among my most priceless possessions as it contains years of research and writing, I swear to myself that I will not become a slave to the machine and thereby lose my social skill and have a congested gridlock brain that is either frazzled or numb!

published July issue of Gym Mag

MADRAS MUSINGS

Vintage thoughts
By Sabita Radhakrishna
– To gift its building new life-->
A Point of View
Chennai is greying faster than Madras ever did... the numbers of old people are on the rise, people are living longer with the help of medical science. It is not a mere long life that we should wish old people but a quality life for as long as they live, blessed with a sound mind, reasonably good health and a cheerful disposition.
Next comes the question, where and how do we live? The beautiful heritage famiuly homes where children were born and raised nurturing joint families which busied themselves with various activities, and where every room used to resound with laughter, are now empty ghost palaces devoid of life with a couple of old people who are walking apparitions themselves, watching their children themselves growing old and developing health setbacks too.
Most of the children are NRIs who have sought greener pastures abroad to better their prospects, encouraged by the parents themselves. They make it a point to make the occasional visits to the parents who in turn pretend they are well and happy. Most of them can afford to be generous and we have visited many old people who are apparently well equipped with lap tops, I-pads, ipods, DVD players, and various other gadgets which lie around evidently proclaiming the status symbols, because the offspring lack the patience to teach them how to use them. Vasanth stifles a yawn. “I can’t stand the cell phone or any other gadget my son brings me with so much love. I just accept them. I don’t even know how to use these things, and get tired of requesting the neighbour’s children to come and demonstrate.” It is so easy to hand out dole of material objects, but what is more precious is to spend time with old parents, understanding their needs and providing some kind of comfort and security.
On the flip side of the coin, some parents like me are excited at living in this era of accelerating technology, accepting with grace some of the new-age gizmos which I cannot afford but which give me immense pleasure while experimenting and discovering how to use, particularly when the nimble fingers of grandchildren unlock the secrets. There are, of course, thoughtful, considerate sons and daughters who agonise over their parents’ problems. Priya and her husband took time off to spend a month in Chennai, made the old home user-friendly by installing a stair-lift, hand-rails and grab-rails in the toilets.
Another family I know, whose son lives in Germany, was happy that he came down with his family and helped his parents downsize their home. Too weary to even attempt exploring old trunks which have been left in the loft, the parents wondered what they would do if they had to shift to a smaller place. The son took charge and, helped by his wife and grown up children who “sacrificed” their mornings and pursuits of small pleasures, separated the innumerable thingies into different piles, packing them into cartons, labelled “Junk, destroy” “Donate” “Imponderables” and, lastly, “Preserve” which of course fitted into the smallest carton.
Yet another family from abroad visited their parents and discussed their future and also the finances they would need, tidied up their investments, placing all their money in banks or fixed deposits in a manner that they would be able to handle with ease as, in this case, the mother hadn’t a clue as to how her husband managed their finances or where their money lay.
In the past, old people were content to live in sprawling homes till the end of their lives, and the “We’ll see later” attitude dominated their thinking. Taking a step which would jolt them from the complacency and despite realising that familial living was unthinkable, and while their friends decided to develop their property and move into apartments, they, however, stayed on stoically coping with perennial plumbing and electrical problems, not to mention leaks and cracks in the old building and trying hard to get reliable domestic help who would not exploit the helplessness of the aged people.
These are the reasons why these days enterprising builders are able to sell the idea of senior citizens’ homes to the growing numbers of old people in the city. They offer the environment of gated communities, villas, with complete management for daily living, food supplies, all for a price. The fact that these properties are far removed from the thrum and throb of the city does not deter some, as they would like to trade this factor for peace, security and not having to worry about running a home or lamenting on the lack of home help. They are further reassured that good hospitals are nearby and that assisted living would also be provided should the need arise. Many of the NRI children, relieved that the parents need not worry about living alone, encourage this concept and buy the homes for their parents. The carrot at the end of the stick is that even this property would be a good investment, as the value would appreciate in the years to come.
There are, however, the other group of NRIs who do not like the idea of the big move. They would like their parents to stay where they are, prepared to pay more for services or assisted living. Ideally, this would be the best option, with their own comfort zone, friends, established hospitals, doctors whom they trust and, more than anything, familiarity with everything around which is a big factor of security in old age whereas shifting at that juncture would pose its own set of problems.
When an old tree which has sunk its roots deep, spreading its branches wide, offering shade to all those who stand beneath it, is uprooted and replanted somewhere else, the question of survival is a moot point. Regardless of whether or not it manages to get a new lease of life with all the care bestowed on it, the fact remains that a part of it is already dead and buried where it grew with abandon.
For the next generation, the possible choices will not be difficult, for they will slip into the scheme of things. With the families totally nuclear, unmarried children will leave the homes earlier, parents will learn to be independent of support from their offspring, insightful property developers will have their heyday selling retirement homes which will be grabbed by senior citizens. Parents will seek the permission of their children to visit them. And probably vice versa. The guilt which eats into some of the children will be removed from them without a scar. Values surrounding family instincts will change drastically. And I hope I won’t be around to see that happen!
Yet, it is not right to sound the voice of doom. What happens is right for a particular period of time, and it is unfair to want to turn the clock back. What we can and we should do is to accept change, have no expectations and thank the Lord for all his small but endless mercies. Not forgetting the duty of our contribution to society, helping the needy when our minds are still active and keen, perpetuating our culture, loving our heritage and values and doing whatever we can to preserve it ... what more do we want?

Namma Pattu

GEETA PADMANABHAN

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Celebrating culture Sabita Radhakrishna Photo: V. Ganesan

“Threads of Tradition”, a presentation by textile activist Sabita Radhakrishna, was the second in the Namma Chennai series, an initiative by The Hindu MetroPlus and Sheraton Park Hotel & Towers

Kancheepuram idlis, delectable athirasam, sundal on leaf cups and brass-filtered coffee; copper venneer thavalai and kolu dolls as corner décor and Sabita Radhakrishna as the chief presenter; the topic could only be pattu pudavai, that symbol of grace and grandeur in Chennai's gatherings. In its second edition of the Namma Chennai meet, a very interested group assembled in their Kancheepuram best to know about the Kanchi heritage and its fabric of international fame.

“Pattu is not made of just threads, these are dreams of the weavers,” said Sabita, in a flawless presentation that traced the history of traditional pattu weaving that journeyed into Kanchi some 400 years ago. With stunning pictures as supporting material, she traced pattu's history, its patronage from the local deities and kings. She gave the audience a glimpse of the magnificent sari collection of Rukmini Devi Arundale whose crafts centre at Kalakshetra makes those beautiful Kalakshetra saris.

“River Palar flowed in Kancheepuram and its pure waters covered the threads with fine sheen. This patina along with the quality of weaving, weight and durability made Kanchi pattu a must-have in Tamil weddings, gave the textile a niche it so richly deserves,” Sabita went on. Woven into the pattu's history are these facts: Kancheepuram allowed space for the spread-out weaving, had close-knit families and water in the form of Vagvathi. It blossomed when the local deities wore the hand-woven silks and cottons, when the royals gave it patronage. In Kanchi, religion and weaving melded, hand-weaving was done with a sense of bhakti. All activities of the household, preparing the dye, loading the bobbin or twisting the thread, went on around the loom that was the centrepiece of the house. All the members were engaged in the creation of the masterpieces. In an oral tradition, the “secrets” of the art were passed on in a father-son lineage. It was in that sense a truly cottage industry.

Low returns

But all is not well with the industry now despite the crowds at the stores, said Sabita. Saris are not worn regularly and those who wear them choose synthetic yards over Kanchi cottons and silk. Even at weddings, the preference has shifted to other “dresses”.

Weavers have started encouraging their children to look for occupations with guaranteed income and job security. Those who still weave have moved on to hybrid threads where wages are higher. Weaving these saris is hard work and the returns are low.

“This beautiful art with its wealth of designs will languish,” said Sabita in a fervent appeal to the audience. “Don't let it die. Buy a few, patronise them.” She had suggestions for making Kanchi cottons and pattu a contemporary high-fashion fibre. “Traditional weaving could be a studio craft, weavers can be trained and paid a salary and the yardage can be used to make what this generation prefers to wear, for modern silhouettes.” It can be used for furnishings and accessories, anything, as long as the craft is kept alive.”

Anaka Narayanan, the young designer/boutique owner of Brasstacks, is keen to make that experiment. “Sari is figure-flattering, I love the silhouette, like the aesthetics of the handlooms,” she said. “But to me, design is about what the market wants.” Having tried hand-woven material in her designs, she promised to introduce Kanchi silks and cottons to the young as everyday wear.

Also present at the venue was Vijay Ganesh, a seventh generation weaver who has been persuaded by Sabita not to give up his craft. He didn't have to say much. The saris from his family looms in Thanjavur were part of the surrounding décor. Stunning in colours and traditional borders, they got the women leaping to have a look at the end of the presentation. “Exhibitions in metros have not been successful. Their only salvation is to hitch their wagon to young designers,” said Sabita, making a final request. “Don't melt your old saris for their silver,” she said. “You can use them to replicate the designs. The craft is irreplaceable.”

Pattu

* Pure zari is red thread wrapped in pure silver and dipped in 24-carat gold.

* “Korvai” is when the border and pallu are woven separately and then into the body. The fine weaving between body and border makes the joinery invisible. Here Pallu and border contrast with the main colour.

* It takes a week to a month to weave a pattu sari.

* The setting up of a loom costs Rs. 80,000 and an extra Rs. 10,000 each time the design changes, so order 3 at a time.

* Heavy saris weigh 700-1000 grams.

Keywords: Threads of Tradition, Namma Chennai, Chennai culture, Kanchi heritage, pattu saris, pattu pudavai, Sabita Radhakrishna

The Hindu : Arts / History & Culture : Namma Pattu

The Hindu : Arts / History & Culture : Namma Pattu

On the verge of extinction

KAUSALYA SANTHANAM
CLASSIC Korvai has become rare, weavers finding the traditional process unviable. Kausalya Santhanam
Woven wonders: Vejai Ganesh displaying a typical korvai sari. With him is his father Rajarethinam.

PHOTOS: R. RAVINDRAN

The Korvai of Kanchipuram is one of the prized textile techniques of the South. It involves a specialised process where the borders and pallu , in contrast colour with the body, are woven separately. They are then skilfully woven into the body of the sari. Owing to various factors, including the fact that two people are generally required to operate the shuttle, this handloom sari is rapidly fading away. Many weavers have now turned to the powerloom to produce silk and cotton saris. Even those which are hand-woven do not follow the ancient process.
Korvai can be distinguished from the much easier type of weaving, i.e., the portion where the border meets the body is slightly rough and if examined closely, the meticulously woven attachment can be discerned; so too the portion where the pallu meets the body of the sari in a process called “ petni.”
Twenty five year old S.R. Vejai Ganesh belongs to a family of hereditary weavers belonging to the Saurashtrian community that settled in Thanjavur more than 400 years ago. Vejai is passionate about making Korvai flourish. He was in the city with his collection of recently revived classic Korvai sarees at an exhibition held by Crafts Council of India.
“It was textile expert Sabita Radhakrishna of CCI who made us start weaving Korvai sarees,” says Vejai. Standing by his side is his brother, Viswananth who is also a master weaver involved in the process. Chettinad checks in bright oranges , reds and yellows, zari checks on blues, greens and oranges either with self or contrast borders, blues with vazhaipoo design, and creations in emeralds with deep red borders were among the saris displayed by Vejai and his brother.
Vejai's forefathers would take their beautifully woven saris to Singapore, Malaya, Indonesia and Burma and return with sugar crystals and textiles made in those countries. Trade flourished. But then the huge extended family went through divisions and its prosperity received a setback. Propitiously, Sabita who was interested in reviving the technique of Korvai came in contact with Vejai. She provided him with designs from her personal collection and encouraged him to start producing traditional type of saris using this method. “We make the saris with pure gold and silver zari.” The thread is dipped in silver and thinly coated with gold. “In this pristine type of weaving, 1 kg of zari when melted will yield 2 grams of gold,” he explains.
“We were weaving saris with only one side border till Sabita maam introduced us to Korvai. Two persons are needed to weave the Korvai; by the drawbox technique however, one person can do it.”
Family art
Vejai's father S. V. Rajarethinam and his uncle S.V. Krishnaraman are experts in handloom silk sari production. “We belong to the Saurashtrian community which came from Gujarat to Tamil Nadu,” says Rajarethinam. “Thanjavur district has various centres of silk weaving such as Thanjavur, Arni and Thirubhuvanam. We call these saris “Kanchipuram saris” because that city earned a reputation for producing saris of thick silk with solidly worked borders. The Korvai skill was taught by weavers who came from Andhra Pradesh.”
“We employ 35 weavers,” says Vejai. “We do not use child labour,” he states. “The heavy weight saris are in demand - 650 gm-1 kg. Our prices begin at Rs. 3,800.The main problem is that powerlooms copy our designs.” The Government should step in to allow master craftsmen to set up handloom clusters, he feels. “The banking sector too does not encourage weavers; the interest rate is very high. It will be good if central sheds are set up for weaving; it will help even physically challenged weavers. Now, since the income is so low, weavers are leaving the sector to take up construction labour.” Vejai can be contacted at 9344133330.
“Design intervention is absolutely necessary”, says Sabita. “And though it is important to provide a weaver such as Vejai with designs, he should ultimately become self-sufficient for that is the key to success,” she adds.