Sudhamahi Regunathan on the little stitches that tell stories
AS ONE enters the exhibition on kantha embroidery, titled, ‘Kantha as Stitch Art’, one is spellbound. Here are works of art done in the brilliant colours so typical of the Indian folk tradition. The exhibits are exquisite in their detailing, their colour combinations and their finish.
Traditionally, such embroidery was used to adorn the nappies of newborn babies, but it has come a long way from its humble origins. Embroidery on layered tussar silk or cotton, the wall panels on display were of various sizes and on varied subjects. Some dwelt with the theme of Hindu mythology, others recalled timeless village scenes and still others were portraits of great personalities, a Tagore or a Vivekananda.
The exhibition, which has travelled extensively both within the country and outside, is hosted by an organisation with the enigmatic acronym of SHE. The woman behind it is a septuagenarian, Shamlu Dudeja. Says the lady with a smile: “It has been an exciting journey for me personally from the mid-1980s onward. I began with two saris and two girls. I met them quite by chance – while waiting for my daughter to finish playing her game of tennis! The girls were selling small handkerchiefs with a line of colour running across them in the form of a running stitch.”
The stitches took Dudeja back to her school days, when she had been taught this very same stitch although her teacher had not referred to it as ‘kantha’, as these girls did. “Maybe it was my childhood fascination for the craft that made me call the girls home. I gave them two of my saris and some money for thread. I also suggested that they use the traditional paisley motif where two paisleys, which we call ‘aamra’, or mangoes, that adjoin each other but face opposite directions,” she recalls. Three months later the girls came back. The embroidery on the saris, worked in blacks, reds and off-whites, was breathtaking.
Women in Bengal and some adjoining states, like Tripura, wore mainly cotton saris. As they became worn out through daily wear, the homemakers or their domestic help would fold them into three layers and fuse the layers together with a running stitch that would be done in different colours. It would run across the cloth, along its borders or in a zigzag pattern across its breadth. They would then be used as refurbished material for domestic purposes – baby wraps, pillow covers, shawls or even dusters.
Nearly every woman in Bengal knows the craft of ‘kantha’, using the simplest of stitches, the running stitch. Their beauty lies in making them even and of equal length. It is a craft that does not require any investment because the basic material is soft muslin saris, old and comforting to the touch. Sometimes the women would even tear away the borders of the saris, extract the coloured thread from them to use for embroidery.
It is said that Pratima Devi, the daughter-in-law of Rabindranath Tagore, was the first to bring this domestic craft into polite society when she trained girls in Santiniketan to make small decorative items such as handkerchiefs, napkins or table cloths. Sreelata Sirkar, another notable pioneer in the ‘kantha’ movement, took the initiative forward. Dudeja had occasion to work with Sirkar. “It was from Sreelata Sirkar that I got idea for these panels. She taught me a whole lot,” says Dudeja.
Dudeja carries on, “When my attempt with the two saris was successful, I gave the girls four saris to work on. Gradually, progress was made. Because of poor health I had to give up my job as a teacher of mathematics. My daughter, in order to keep my spirits alive, suggested I focus on ‘kantha’ embroidery. We began to do them on salwar suits and that was how I entered the second stage of my evolution.”
She went on to set up Self Help Enterprise, or SHE, which grew from a handful of women working from their homes to 1,000 women spread across villages near Kolkata today. Designated team leaders of the organisation, of which Dudeja is the chairperson, compile a list of the names of those working with them. These women are registered with SHE and are entitled to some amenities – basic healthcare and support in times of need. An average worker earns about Rs 500-2,000 a month, depending on the number of hours they can spare to embroider.
Since they are saved the commute that would have been inevitable if they had opted to work in local factory units, which in any case don’t pay well, doing ‘kantha’ embroidery from home proved popular. Moreover, as they create objects of beauty, it is also pleasurable. According to Dudeja, it has become a way of socialising as well, with groups of village women sometimes sitting together, chatting and sewing as they go along.
A typical wall hanging in the exhibition is a riot of colour and small figures with heavy detailing fill the landscape. “Generally, I suggest the main characters to the craftswomen. I am no artist myself. I borrow designs from here and there and give them a new lease of life. The embroiderers add to them and fill in the backdrop by using their imagination,” reveals Dudeja.
One of the panels is titled ‘A Jungle Scene’. Dudeja explains how it was based on an image she had found in a book and gave to the craftswomen. They brought it alive on cloth with their magical needlework. Another piece depicts a Bengali wedding – a large panel, it includes small scenes of every event included in the wedding ceremony. The craftswomen came up with this idea themselves.
The process of making a ‘kantha’ pattern begins with the design, which is then traced on to cloth. At first, the designs the organisation used were more traditional, and there was no need to look beyond the rich store of well-honed patterns. But then as the market expanded, the demand for more contemporary work grew. Says Dudeja: “At times the craftswomen would use a local village artist. We have team leaders who come to me with patterns. Each team leader has some assistants and they are the ones in direct contact with the embroiderers in the villages who do the actual work. Once they take on a design, we pay them when they bring the finished product to us. We also support them with cloth and embroidery skeins.”
The running stitch is used ingenuously. Sometimes it appears as a satin stitch, a buttonhole stitch or a blanket stitch. The cross stitch is also used in these wall hangings that capture the resonance of the faraway and the long ago. There is innocence about them – many are evocative depictions of rural life in Bengal, with an occasional circus or mela scene thrown in. The mythological depictions express the enduring lure of faith and the viewer’s heart cannot but be touched by these portrayals in thread. Of these, ‘The Tree of Life’, was particularly breathtaking. The portraits are less evocative for they are not naturally endowed with the element of ‘rasa’, or emotional hues. Yet, in terms of skill, each and every piece is remarkable.
Dudeja finds a dimension of emancipation in this activity. The craftswomen, who are anyway skilled, get more confident of their craft and, in the process, are also able to negotiate gendered family politics more effectively. Relates Dudeja with a twinkle in her eye, “Once we were holding a discussion in a team leader’s home and I noticed how her husband was quietly cooking fish for us.” (WFS)
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