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Pride Without Recognition

1. A quiet evening that says everything

The sun slips behind the red hills of Telangana, painting the sky in orange and gold. Dust rises gently from the village road as cows return home with tinkling bells. Women sit outside their houses shelling groundnuts, children chase fireflies, and somewhere in the distance a folk drum beats softly.

Inside a small tiled house, an old loom creaks. A weaver sits bent forward, his eyes fixed on shimmering threads that catch the fading light. His hands move slowly, carefully, almost lovingly.

No one outside knows his name. No one is clapping for him. No camera is here to record his work.

Yet he weaves with the same pride as if he were creating for a king.

That is the story of many artisans in Telangana — deep pride, but little recognition.

2. How this craft shaped Telangana’s identity

Handloom in Telangana was never born in grand halls. It was born in small homes, under thatched roofs, amid struggle and survival.

Centuries ago, when rain failed and crops withered, families turned to weaving to keep their children fed. What began as necessity slowly became art. Villages like Pochampally, Gadwal, and Narayanpet grew famous for their bold colours, fine patterns, and soul-filled textiles.

Every design carried meaning — zigzags like flowing rivers, diamonds like village wells, deep reds like temple kumkum, bright yellows like harvested fields.

Over time, these fabrics entered weddings, Bathukamma celebrations, temple rituals, and everyday life. They became part of Telangana’s identity, like the soil, the songs, and the festivals.

This craft did not just dress people — it shaped who they were.

3. The making — beauty born from patience

The journey begins with simple threads, washed gently under open skies.

In small rooms, artisans boil colours in large metal pots. Indigo swirls like midnight rain, crimson glows like temple flags, mustard shines like ripe fields. The air smells of earth, dye, and patience.

Then comes the tying of thousands of tiny knots. Each knot is placed with care. One mistake can ruin days of work. Silence fills the room as fingers move like prayer beads.

On the loom, threads stretch tight like neat farm bunds. The shuttle moves back and forth — thak… thak… thak. Sweat falls. Eyes strain. Backs ache.

Inches grow slowly. Hours pass quietly.

What looks simple to the eye carries heavy effort in the heart.

4. The artisans — quiet pride, unseen lives

In Pochampally lives Mallesh, a third-generation weaver. His hands are rough, but his work is smooth like flowing water. He rarely speaks about his skill.

When asked why he still weaves, he smiles softly, “This is my family’s legacy.”

In Gadwal lives Padma, who polishes zari borders late into the night after finishing all her household work. Her eyes look tired, but her spirit is steady.

She says gently, “People admire the saree, not the person who made it. That is okay. Our pride is inside.”

Their homes are small. Their meals are simple. But their dignity is huge. They do not demand applause — they carry their pride silently.

5. Today’s struggles — skill without security

Machine-made fabrics now flood the market. They are fast, cheap, and shiny. Many buyers cannot tell the difference between real handloom and factory copies.

Middlemen take large profits, leaving artisans with little. Raw material costs keep rising. Many families struggle to pay school fees or medical bills.

Young people leave weaving villages for city jobs, afraid of uncertain income. Old looms sit silent in dusty corners.

The craft survives — but recognition and respect often do not.

6. Government support — help with gaps

The government has introduced handloom schemes, cooperatives, training programs, and exhibitions. Some artisans have received subsidies, tools, or better market access.

But on the ground, reality is uneven. Paperwork is complex. Many artisans are unaware of benefits. Help reaches some villages but misses others.

Still, there is hope. Young designers are collaborating with weavers. Digital platforms are slowly bringing visibility to their work. Some fairs and exhibitions are helping artisans meet buyers directly.

Support exists — but true recognition is still growing slowly.

7. Why this craft matters today

In a fast world of plastic and instant fashion, handloom carries soul. It is sustainable, natural, and deeply human.

Each piece holds history, memory, and community. It keeps villages alive. It keeps traditions breathing.

To lose this craft would mean losing a piece of Telangana’s heart — not just fabric, but identity itself.

8. What customers feel when they wear it

When someone drapes a real handwoven saree, they feel warmth like sunlight on red soil.

They sense the hours of work, the silent nights, the careful hands behind the shine. They feel connected to weddings, temple bells, folk songs, and rainy village evenings.

The cloth becomes more than clothing. It becomes memory wrapped in grace.

9. A gentle reminder

Next time you see handwoven fabric, pause. Look closely. Feel deeply.

Remember the skilled hands behind it — hands that worked without applause, without fame, but with immense pride.

Honour the artisans. Recognize their effort. Value their craft beyond price.

Because in Telangana, true pride does not need recognition to shine — but it truly deserves it.

To know more about this living heritage, visit:

https://zarizardosihyderabad.com

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