A few years ago, a newly-erected statue of Mother Mary at Singpur village in Ranchi district sparked a controversy that echoed across Jharkhand. The reason: Mary was depicted wearing a white saree with a red border. Members of the Sarna Dharm, the faith which many tribes in Jharkhand follow, objected to the saree. Sarna elders threatened to remove the statue from the village unless the attire was changed. Dressing Mother Mary in a red and white saree—worn by Jharkhandi tribal women—was seen as a tactic to convert Sarna tribals to Christianity. The saree, a distinct marker of tribal identity, was weighted with religious and cultural meanings.“Red and white are prominent tribal colours,” says fashion designer Ashish Satyavrat, founder of Ranchi-based Johargram. “In tribal philosophy, red represents blood and sacrifice, and white symbolises peace.”
How Tribal Communities Weave Their Lives Into Clothing
Clothing is inseparably linked to tribal identity. Each tribe has a unique design language. Every embellishment, weave, and motif has a special meaning to the community
Clothing—indigenous textiles, weaves, colours, patterns, and motifs—are all inseparably linked to tribal identity. A weave is not just a weave. Stripes, shapes, and patterns are rooted in a tribe’s lived experience. Embellishments like beads, feathers, stones; motifs such as flowers, animals, mountains, or trees—none of these are random choices. Each tribe has its own special design language, which is a rich form of creative expression. It springs from “their mythology, world view, and daily life.”
There is a specific significance to every colour, fabric, weave and motif that a tribe uses. For instance, Assamese tribal textiles feature motifs drawn from the wildlife of Kaziranga, especially the deer and the rhino; the motif of the ‘‘japi’’, a headgear used for protection from the sun; and ‘‘pohkila’’, the butterfly motif. In Tawang, the “land chosen by a horse” according to legend, the horse is a familiar motif in tribal textiles. And so is the peacock, and the elephant—an animal Buddhists worship.
“Indigenous clothes are associated with the rich knowledge system and inherited sub-culture of the tribes in India, which is an enduring legacy,” says Vishu Arora, Associate Professor, National Institute of Fashion Technology (NIFT), Gandhinagar. “Each tribe weaves, embroiders, prints, and develops its own unique fabric, which establishes the tribe’s identity and helps its economic sustenance.” In the past, when carrying formally issued identity cards were not a common practice, clothes established a person’s identity. If you sported a fabric in a certain colour, tied your pheta (turban) a particular way, or wore your pata (saree-like drape) in a certain fashion, it clearly spelt out which tribe you belonged to and where your allegiances lay.
“In the Northeast, we are proud to flaunt our traditional wear,” says Tenzin Metoh, founder of Oro Bruk, which specialises in the traditional clothing of Arunachal’s Monpa tribe. Tenzin, who lives and works in Itanagar, belongs to the Monpa tribe. “There is a rule here in Itanagar that on Wednesdays, people should dress in tribal attire,” she says. “It’s a rule everyone loves to follow.”
Indigenous textiles that are made using sustainable practices are an indelible part of India’s textile history. They tell the stories of the tribes who weave them and wear them, tracing the trajectory of their journeys over the years.
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Due to rapid modernisation and migration to cities, many youngsters from tribal communities lack awareness about the clothes that belong to their tribes. The current educational system does little to raise awareness or inculcate respect for tribal clothing and culture, which promote the values of community living and coexistence with nature. In fact, many students start to lose their sense of pride in wearing tribal clothes and end up avoiding them in an attempt to fit into the mainstream. “When Johargram held an exhibition in Delhi a couple of years ago, a young man walked into our stall,” remembers Satyavrat. “He was fascinated by a saree we had on display, but he had no idea that it was worn by his tribe in Jharkhand. His parents worked in Delhi. He was educated in the city. He knew nothing about indigenous Jharkhandi textiles.” That young man is no exception of course. One of the reasons that motivated Satyavrat to set up Johargram was to raise awareness among people, both in India and abroad, about the clothes tribal communities in his State wear. Gaining visibility for them in the fashion industry is part of his mission. The Jharkhand government has been very supportive of his efforts.
Lack of awareness is a cause for worry. So is the threat indigenous weaves and patterns face from copycats. A designer in Mumbai or Kolkata can easily copy the patterns and motifs created by tribes in Chhattisgarh, Assam, or Karnataka. The clothes these designers make are then sold at half the price of painstakingly hand-woven traditional clothing. “There are no laws to protect tribal weaves and patterns,” points out Tenzin. “This makes them vulnerable, easy to exploit.” Weavers from tribal communities also need better wages and financial support to buy expensive raw material such as yarn. The future of indigenous textiles rests on their overburdened shoulders. “Schemes like ‘Vocal for Local’ are doing their bit,” adds Tenzin. “But weavers deserve creative dignity. Their creations are exquisite. Let’s not portray them as a helpless bunch of people who are crying out for charity.”
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There are glimmers of hope on the horizon. Forums such as TRIFED, Tribal Design, and Adivasi Academy have come up with efficient strategies to promote and market indigenous textiles and sustainable practices. Many Indian designers—established names and emerging talents—are bringing more visibility to tribal textiles. “Ritu Beri’s ‘Tribal Textiles’ shone the spotlight on the Naga tribes, Ujwal Dubey’s ‘Antar Agni’ on the Gujjars, Shalini Kumar’s ‘Linen Trail’ on the Toda tribe in the Nilgiris,” says Arora.
Some collaborations between design houses and tribal weavers have proved to be successful and sustainable. Vriksh, a design studio headed by Gunjan Jain, has been teaming up with tribal weavers in southern Orissa for the last 15 years. This venture supports families which have been weaving for generations, preserves traditional weaving techniques, and builds an ecosystem where these weaving traditions can carry on.
More and more designers working on indigenous textiles are making it a point to hire models from the tribal community to showcase their creations. Johargram scouted for local talent when it curated tribal fashion shows for the Adivasi Mahotsav held at Jharkhand on World Indigenous Day. The models, who had no prior experience of walking the ramp, did a fine job. “There is no fixed definition of beauty,” says Satyavrat. “If there is one in the fashion industry, we are all for changing it. Tribal clothes are different and difference is fashionable. Let’s make the world understand that.”
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Indigenous weaves and patterns face a threat from copycats. There are no laws to protect tribal weaves and patterns. This makes them vulnerable, easy to exploit.
Innovative design interventions create a market for tribal clothing among the younger generation. Johargram, which sells smart, sustainable street wear made from textiles woven by Jharkhand’s tribal weavers, has a growing customer base. Their clothes are in demand among people from all sections of society, not just celebrities. Tenzin’s Oro Bruk experiments with traditional wear to make it more appealing to a wide range of customers. When Itanagar summers heated up due to climate change, Tenzin offered people her reinterpreted version of Monpa tribal attire made of weather-conscious fabric. Khanjars (men’s jackets) made of wool and tengnakema (apron worn by women) were created with lighter fabrics. Colours such as maroon, used traditionally to ward off the cold, were replaced with blue, too. Purists were appalled, but orders from customers, especially young people, came flooding in.
Some designers also offer alternative (a.k.a. modern) ways of wearing traditional tribal clothes. Their USP: there is no rule which says you have to wear traditional attire the way your great-grandmother did. Whether it is a pekok (cloth draped across the upper body), or a pe-seleng (lower garment for men), there is always a style twist waiting in the wings. This approach keeps traditional clothing in circulation while gifting wearers a touch of the modern.
Innovation is welcome as long as it is a mindful exercise. Misinterpreting the meanings of tribal motifs and patterns, disrespecting the sanctity of tribal weaves, and cultural appropriation—a clueless pursuit that ignores context, can cause untold damage. “I never experiment mindlessly,” says Tenzin. “Every element of tribal clothing has a history. Every motif, whether it is a simple peach flower or a star, has meaning to the community. I’m aware of it. The desire to keep tribal patterns and weaves alive and popularise them keeps me going. I’m not recklessly chasing after modernisation.”
(This appeared in the print as 'Weaves Of Their Lives')
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