Salvi's is among the last two families dedicated to reviving the craft of Patola weaving Warp in the weft A Patola weaver in Vadodara tells Rajashree Balaram that he fears for the survival of his art Some years ago, Kanhaiyal Salvi was so depressed with the thought of continuing as a weaver that he contemplated quitting his craft and taking up a regular job. “But then my father persuaded me to continue our family legacy,” recalls Salvi, 60. Salvi’s legacy hangs by a precarious silk thread, not very different from the one he uses to weave Patan Patola saris on his loom in Vadodara. His family is among the last two Patola weavers in Vadodara. Patola is an ancient weaving tradition that originated in Jalna in Maharashtra. In the 13th century, Queen Minaldevi of Patan in Gujarat, who performed her daily puja clad in Patola silk, decided to shift the weavers to Patan. Though the art flourished in Gujarat, with growing urbanisation and literacy young weavers moved away from villages to cities in pursuit of more lucrative and less tedious job opportunities. There are 25 processes involved in the making of a Patola sari, starting from sorting the silk threads, ‘de-gumming’ and weaving. Weaving a Patola is a family affair. Salvi’s team includes his uncles and cousins, sisters-in-law, daughter Neepa and wife Varsha. Patola is characterised by its motifs — birds, animals, flowers and leaves — on pure raw silk. It takes 12 to 18 months to weave a Patola and each costs anywhere between Rs 50,000 and Rs 300,000. The prohibitive price makes it an exclusive buy — most of his customers are the affluent set and non-resident Indians. “I don’t supply to sari showrooms as they are only concerned about commerce and not the art behind the weaving,” says Salvi. He has taught weaving techniques to students at the National Institute of Design in Ahmedabad, Surajkund Mela in Haryana, Crafts Museum in Delhi, Honolulu Academy of Arts in the US and to former US president Jimmy Carter and his wife on their visit to India some years ago. His works have been on display at the Festivals of India held in Japan and the USSR. “Foreigners express more interest in learning and understanding our art than our own countrymen,” says Salvi, disturbed by the irony. “I don’t think this art will last for more than 20 years.” His words seem prophetic. Or maybe not — his daughter, Neepa, a fashion designer, is planning to drape models in Patola for her upcoming fashion show in January. Featured in Harmony Magazine January 2010