My familiarity with Ilkal saris was limited to the rare visits to sari shops with my mother. A chance visit to Ilkal however gave me an opportunity to see the making of these beautiful threads in person and from a very different perspective. The dusty streets of Ilkal reverberated with the rhythmic clanking of the power looms. But the primary interest was to find those few who were still married to traditional hand loom weaving. A few streets later an extremely modest and old house, that could easily be dated back to about 60 years or more, came into view.
The small and traditional entrance
Supported with wooden columns and multiple rafters, possibly more sturdy than its appearance, this tiny house was the birthplace of many intricately woven saris. The small door with heavy wooden frames and peeling paint on the adjoining walls led to a room from an entirely different era altogether.
I felt I had stepped into a maze of ropes and frames running crisscross all over the floor and on the ceiling as well. Stepping gingerly across the stone flooring I prayed that I would not inadvertently trip over or knock over anything, that might cause a domino effect. I finally reached a safe spot. As I stood rooted there, the absolute marvel of the room hit me for the first time.
The room was a maze of frames and ropes.
The seemingly messy room was in fact wonderfully planned. Two senior gentlemen were working the pedals, to a different beat from the power-looms, with effortless ease and least bit distracted by our presence. They were used to having admiring visitors. I felt I was standing in the middle of a puzzle, clueless about how many parts moved in which part of the room as they were weaving. The percussion of these moving parts was hypnotic.
Since it was December, the room was comfortably cool making me wonder how they managed working the looms during the scorching heat of Ilkal summer. Natural sunshine poured into the room from strategically placed windows. Each weaver was also benefited with light from a small opening right above him in the thatched ceiling that functioned as a skylight. The weaver sat on the floor and the area just in front of him was dug up deep enough to hang his feet. Inside this dug up area were the pedals, which were again connected to the rest of the loom by more ropes. The wall behind each weaver was caved into a square shape to serve as storage space.
Siddaramappa talking about his work
Siddaramappa Tonape and Vasant Sheela, both in their 70s were the only ones there when we visited. They told us they managed to weave one sari every 2-3 days compared to the 2-3 saris woven by a power-loom each day. The youngsters in the family had already shifted to the modern technology. Lack of funds forced the older generation to keep the remaining tradition of their fathers and forefathers alive. Siddaramappa fondly reminisced both his grandparents weaving the saris. This profession had been in his family for generations. Their frail bodies were still capable of pushing the pedals and working the handles of the loom tirelessly for many hours a day. The result - each sari fetched them anywhere between 1500 to 1800 INR. The same would be fetching a lot more once they reached stores in bigger towns and cities.
Siddaramappa displaying the final outcome of his weaving
Siddaramappa had just finished weaving a beautiful black and gold checkered sari that he folded up neatly and presented with a twinkle in his eye. Vasant was still weaving his magic, sitting amidst blue and orange threads. In the courtyard, red threads were getting bundled up in a spindle for the next sari.
Gayatri border in Ilkal Sari
Neatly stacked Ilkal Saris in a shop
The sun was getting ready to set in Ilkal as we bid adieu to this quaint place. We left with the hope of the hand woven saris having many more sunrises to see.
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