Vasumathi, Meena Devi, Shyama and Usha Maheshwari engage in a gentle banter as their fingers move rhythmically tying tiny pinches of cloth with white thread. They are among a group, which consists of bank and postal employees, school teachers and housewives, who are trying to save Madurai’s iconic Sungudi sari. The four Saurashtrian women work amidst a heap of saris — some are tied, some dyed and some ready to go for sales.
The organic dyeing process of Sungudi Sari | Photo Credit: R_ASHOK
“Tying the knots requires calculation,” says Vasumathi. “We leave a three-inch gap between the body and the zari border and likewise with the pallu, to give a neat and symmetrical look to the imperfect dots.” She marks the designs with a pencil on the fabric. “Sungudi has seven basic and unique designs which can be modified into new patterns depending on the space available on the sari, she adds. “The smaller the dot the better and it comes only with practice,” says Usha. Meena speaks of how her grandmother used pepper corn and mustard seeds to tie the knots.
The hand dyed and tied Sungudi patterns | Photo Credit: Special Arrangement
Most of these women learnt by watching their mothers tie the sungudi knots. It was the Crafts Council of India that encouraged them to take it up a decade ago. By the 80s, the original sungudi had started disappearing as the manufacturers switched over to power looms, chemical dyes and block prints. Factory-produced sungudi left the weavers and the dyers looking for patronage. The new generation of women lacked time and passion to tie the knots.
A K Ramesh’s house on Renganayagi Ammal Street near the Teppakulam is perhaps the only place in the city now where few trained women gather to tie the sungudi knots. Some of them, including his wife Vasumathi, came together for the Crafts Council workshop in 2010, five years after sungudi got the GI tag and yet struggled to keep itself alive.
A.K. Ramesh, Secretary of Federation of Tie and Dye Associations and Madurai Sungudi Manufacturers and Sellers Associations, with his wife Vasumathi. | Photo Credit: R_ASHOK
Ramesh has the support of 20-odd women who, on an average, work four hours a day to complete 20 to 30 saris a month. Last month, they worked longer hours to finish 50 saris of which a dozen went to the US, Singapore, Malaysia and Sri Lanka, few to Chennai and Mumbai and rest sold locally. Ramesh runs his small business from his house. “If I set up shop I have to stock more and give in to the demands of the market,” he says.
The handmade Sungudi sari | Photo Credit: R_ASHOK
Authentic sungudi, he points out, is more than just tying knots. “Every stage, from weaving, dyeing, to tying is labour intensive and time consuming. From a community of more than 30,000 weavers and dyers during Independence, we are now less than 200 struggling to keep the tradition alive,” he says. In the earlier days, a hand woven cotton sari would be naturally-dyed by men in the backyard of their homes and the ladies would make the knots. “It was love for the craft that generated business; but commercialisation of the product killed it,” says Ramesh. He admits when he gets bulk orders, he sends the fabric for chemical dyeing to his friend’s factory with approval of customers.
But in his house, he strictly follows what his forefathers practised. He prepares the natural dyes twice a week. We get lucky to watch him prepare the organic dye using a combination of dried flowers, leaves, tree bark, fruit peels and herbs. He has combinations for 30 different colours and to dye a sari in any one is laborious.
Once the women have tied the knots, he clamps the sari; this involves pleating, twisting, folding and wrapping it tightly before dyeing it for two hours. In the past, organic dyes would be boiled on firewood for hours. Now Ramesh uses a gas burner.
This is followed by two rounds of washing with cold water and an organic fixing agent, drying and ironing. “The result is beautiful, like stars in the sky. We do not pollute the soil, water or spoil our health,” says the 62-year-old. He wants to pass on the skill to the next generation but rues that youngsters lack the passion to pursue this painstaking craft.
The weaving units have dwindled. And given the cost, effort and time it takes to produce authentic sungudi, artisans moved on to other jobs. Ramesh, who is the secretary of the Federation of Tie and Dye Assoications and Madurai Sungudi Manufacturers and Sellers Association, says: “I need people willing to learn the craft.” He gets visitors — from abroad and students pursuing fashion designing who watch the process, but wonders whether that would support the art.