How Woven Threads is preserving the weaving heritage of Nagaland, one thread at a time

From a matchbox-sized studio with a single weaver in Pune to diving deep into the most inaccessible hamlets in Nagaland, the journey of this design studio  is many worlds into one

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My first interaction with the 43-year-old Kevisedenuo Margaret Zinyü from Nagaland began on a brutally honest note. The National Institute of Design, Ahmedabad, graduate warned me that I’d rather look for other worlds if I was fishing for a design studio heavy on glamour and awash with funds. Hers was a story full of uncertainty, weaving against all odds and carving out an identity in a space populated with diluted crafts. 

However, the difficult road that Zinyü chose for herself didn’t reveal itself to her overnight. From growing up in Kohima to finishing her higher studies in Bachalors of Arts and a year-long diploma course in interior design (while pursuing her BA) from Bengaluru to finishing another intensive graduation course in textile design from NID, the turns along the way were many.

“After finishing my graduation, I entered the commercial space,” she tells The Established. “I wanted to get into a new space because I didn’t love the world of typical textile industry. I detested its toxicity because the team at large was filled with merchandisers screaming at each other.”

She started work with automobile behemoths in Pune—Ford, Tata Motors, the works—in the capacity of CMF (colour material and finish) designer. The idea was to work in a space that had better prospects, that operated at the intersection of design, breaking down trends and keeping one eye on forecasting consumer preferences. Until home called her back. 

The first weaver 

In Pune, working with automobiles was endlessly fascinating for Zinyü. But taking a break from the industry to step into the world of textiles once again seemed like the most challenging decision she would make. Since going back to Nagaland on a whim from Pune was out of the picture, she brought Nagaland to her.

“A lone weaver from the Phek district of Nagaland agreed to work with me in Pune,” she says. “I had nothing close to a studio or any set-up for weaving, it was just me and her. So we suspended the backstrap loom on the railing of my living room in Pune and she started work.” Such were the constraints of Zinyü’s rental room in Pune, that the weaver’s body was partially inside the house and partially outside with the loom–it was as makeshift as it could get. But the seeds of Zinyü’s dreams were slowly taking shape. It was only a matter of scattering them in the whole wild world.

“We went with a backstrap loom because the weft of the fabric is never seen; it adds structure to whatever it is that you are creating,” she explains. “Because there is structure, you cannot use the final piece for draping but only for soft furnishings.” From table- and bed-runners to rugs and throws, Zinyü wanted to show the world that Naga weaving was not limited to clichés and that it could take the form and shape of quite literally everything fabric on you and around you. 

However, Naga weaving has as many facets to it as the diverse number of tribes in the state. Each tribe has its own signature style that makes their weaving, craftsmanship and colours stand apart from the other. Zinyü realised that if Woven Threads ever had to stay true to its Naga heritage, her approach couldn’t be superficial. She needed to travel into the heart of her country. Moreover, many surprises awaited her in its culturally rich corners. 

Safeguarding heritage 

The way Zinyü sees it, ‘design’ as a word is often used and misused. When it comes to understanding and taking one’s heritage forward, the responsibility naturally falls on the shoulders of the young. As far as Nagaland is concerned, the picture is dismal. “The young generation don’t value weaving as a profession,” she says. “So a girl who has graduated will never take up weaving–it’s seen as something that only school dropouts partake in.”

Even within the Naga community, Zinyü says there exists a sense of competition and a certain possessiveness about one’s heritage. There is hardly any sharing of techniques and fabrics between any two tribes. This stifles creativity and the possibility of two ideas coming together to form something more beautiful. 

“In such a context, it becomes incredibly difficult to work with traditional textiles,” she says. “So the technique needs to be special and must be customised with every creation. In Naga society, every piece was associated with a certain social status, and that needs to be understood, too.”

In her own community, the Angami Naga, women have all but stopped weaving. Their traditional textile, lorha mhoshü, has been diluted in its use of motifs—moving away from its purer cotton to artificial, to very cheap-looking synthetic fabrics that are mass-produced on machines such as frame loom other than the loin loom. 

It is for this reason that Zinyü’s Woven Threads works with around 50 weavers with a special emphasis on refraining from wasting fabric, making the best use of existing techniques without diluting the source material. From traditional mekhlas (the wrap-around skirts), Woven Threads only uses natural fibers to create the finest products. 

“Even the government programmes promoting weaving in Nagaland have no real benefits on ground,” Zinyü reveals. “There is no gainful employment or skill training for weavers. For photo-ops, they will pick up random people and get them to weave. If there are no genuine weavers in our workshops and skill centres, how will the crafts grow and be incentivised?”

But hope exists. While travelling across the length and breadth of Nagaland, Zinyü would discover the sheer scale of what needs to be preserved and celebrated. The weaving heritage of Nagaland had deeper roots than what she’d learned so far. 

“I realised that the deeper I went into the Naga villages, the crafts became purer because those communities were untouched by commercial interests,” she says. “For instance, when I visited the Khaimungan Nagas in Noklak District, yarn stores selling artificial fibres were not much to be seen accept for one or two without much option.” She saw that the villagers were making their own fibres from scratch and while the women of the community were good at stitching yarn, the men, too, shone with their intricate bamboo and cane work—a traditional and renowned Naga skill. Zinyü adds that “despite abject poverty, they are rich in their craftsmanship and a rich natural bio-diversity,” and take great pride in it.

“Whatever we create at Woven Threads is not for mass consumption because once we start mass-producing something, the craftsmanship cannot be retained. It’s certainly a niche and we want to keep it that way,” she concludes. 

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