From Curiosity to Connection: My First Encounter with Handlooms

The first time I came across a handloom was purely by chance. I had always been fascinated by fabrics, but in a way that was more intuitive than conscious. While studying economics at Delhi University, I never gave much thought to what I was wearing beyond whether certain fabrics were comfortable or not. Then one day, while skipping one class to attend another, I heard Benson, social interventions course instructor at Azim Premji University, talking about artisans who create textiles on handlooms, and I couldn’t stop wondering—what must that be like?

That curiosity stuck with me. Later that semester, when it was time to decide on a summer internship, I sent emails to nearly 20 organizations, hoping at least one would respond. Surprisingly, only one did—and that was all I needed. The Handloom School, Maheshwar, which had just been integrated that same year in 2015, was looking for someone to teach English to weavers from across different states.

"Weavers." It was a word I had barely encountered, and I had no real understanding of what they did. But on my first day, when I finally saw a weaver working at the loom, I got goosebumps. It was like magic, watching them create such beautiful textiles. How had I never known about this? So many questions flooded my mind that day—questions I would spend years uncovering answers to.

While it took me just a few days to remember the names of all the artisans, it took me years to truly understand the incredible diversity of handwoven textiles in our country. These textiles are like a signature of communities—each one so unique, so different. They’re a true reflection of the diversity that exists across our country, with every weave telling its own story.

It was truly my good fortune that my journey into handloom textiles began in Maheshwar. Maheshwar’s story is like a beautiful tale of a handloom cluster that has flourished and blossomed into something deeply inspiring. As I walked through the narrow lanes of Ahilya Fort, I couldn’t help but wonder—how did it all start?

That’s when Dadda, or Prahlad dadda as everyone called him, shared with me the fascinating history of the weavers in Maheshwar. He told me about Ahilya Bai, also known as Rajmata, who ruled Indore under the Maratha kingdom. It was she who brought weavers from Surat and nearby regions to settle in Maheshwar, planting the roots of this incredible weaving tradition.

But it wasn’t all smooth sailing. Handloom weaving in Maheshwar was on the verge of extinction before Mrs. Sally Holkar, along with Mr. Richard Holkar, a descendant of the Holkar dynasty, decided to step in and do something about it. Together, they set up the Rehwa Society, which helped revive and build traction for Maheshwar's weaves.

Inspired by the rich tradition and the incredible artisanship of the local weavers, they worked tirelessly to bring attention to this art form, ensuring it didn’t fade into history.

With each handloom textile I encountered, I was struck by something deeper than just their aesthetic value. What intrigued me the most was the relationship people had with these textiles. From Maheshwar to Sircilla, Kutch, Ilkal, Maniabandha, and many more along the way, the one constant was this deep-rooted cultural connection with woven fabrics.

It wasn’t all rosy. In some places, I saw struggles—old weaving techniques being pushed aside for power looms, or cheaper, synthetic materials like art silk replacing natural fibres. But what really stood out was how, even in these changing times, there was a sense of reverence for handwoven fabrics. Even in places where it's no longer the present reality, there was a time when the community itself valued and bought these handmade textiles, their connection was emotional!

What brings me hope is that in many parts of India, that connection is still alive today.

What keeps me wanting to continue working in this space? Honestly, I’ve had different reasons at different times. In the beginning, it was purely driven by emotion. I was in awe of the artisans' efforts and the sheer beauty of the fabrics they created. The whole process felt like an artist pouring their emotions onto a blank canvas, and I was mesmerized.

In those early months, I’d get such a rush just looking at museum pieces and the brilliant artistry of the textiles on display. It was almost like being in the presence of living history, woven by hand. That feeling alone kept me going.

Over the years, that initial feeling has never left me. I still see artisans as artists, expressing their emotions through their weaving, but my reasons for working in this space have evolved. Today, I’m driven by something much bigger—seeing handloom weaving became a resilient form of livelihood.

The world is heading towards a time when the climate crisis will no longer just be a topic for conferences but a living reality. On top of that, the explosion of AI is set to automate millions of jobs, making massive unemployment another looming issue. The way we’re living now, it feels like we’re weaving a future that’s a little too rough.

I don’t think we need to prepare for doomsday, but I do believe we need to prepare for a future with fewer resources. And in that future, handloom weaving could be a lifeline—something perennial, something human.

As I’ve grown older, my rational side has kicked in, and I now see the role of weavers as vital to the future of human civilization. Their work holds a deeper purpose, especially as we brace for the challenges ahead. But there’s still a part of me that gets excited by the sheer creativity of it all and be drawn by the aesthetic value the handwoven fabrics add in the world.

I can’t help but be swept away by the vibrant colors and intricate craftsmanship. Even now, when I look at handwoven fabrics, I’m struck by how beautiful they are and the artistry that flows from these looms. I think, it is that perfect blend of practicality and wonder that keeps me hooked.

~

Pallavi,

Founder

Intrique