Hands that knit and harvest, Himachal Pradesh.

We arrived in darkness and rain; the only sight of the mountains were specks of light staring at us from across the valley, like the watching eyes of midnight cats. There was talk of apple orchards and snow capped mountains, but all we craved was a hot shower and a bed, to which we hurried quickly. We had taken roughly 30 hours to reach this small village, leaving the arid dryness of Rajasthan while ascending 1800m over the course of two days. The following day we awoke to a crisp morning with views of towering pine-covered mountains and a valley dotted with flowering apple orchards and slate-roofed houses. The traditional kathkuni homes were built from a mix of local timber from the native deodar tree and stone, a construction method relying on joinery alone. The slate roofs appeared as flaky layers of a pastry, almost slipping in their buttery smoothness. Our room looked directly onto the gathering spot of the knitters and weavers, where an open shelter made of tin housed bags spilling with wool dyed in assorted hues of madder, walnut, marigold, pomegranate and onion skins; a true kaleidoscope of colour among synthetic tarpaulin with the fertile lushness of the valley.

We came to Naggar to get to know the women and co-founders of Kullvi Whims. Founded in 2012 by Nisha Subramaniam and Brighu Acharya, the company works with local female artisans making assorted woollen wears, ranging from socks, blankets and gloves as well as partnering with other brands for one-off collections. Kullvi stands for women of Himachal self help group, and the ‘whims’ stands for the individual stamp that each woman adds to the pieces they make.

Brighu, along with his wife Akansha, invites us into their home. We enter into a large living space centred around a tandoori. A stainless steel pot filled with ghee sits atop the fire, awaiting the ghee to melt, perfuming the whole room with its nutty and caramelized aroma. Brighu tells me there has been several weeks of rain, resulting in a bountiful forage of morel’s, which Aakanksha will use to make a velvety soup. Vihan, their young child, stares at we newcomers with pouty lips and curious eyes. As with all truly delicious dishes, we eat silently sitting crossed-legged on the rugs, the silence pierced occasionally by young Vihan demanding more food.

Heartened with a full belly, I head out to explore the sunny orchards. The female weavers of Kullvi Whims are found in their regular haunt: the sun trap in a clearing among the trees. They are dressed in the traditional patto (a woven thick wool shawl that is wrapped around their torso and pinned at the shoulders, often cinched at the waist with a belt fashioned by some fabric) or kurtis worn by the younger women, as well a brightly coloured cloth around their heads called dathu or thipu, worn only by married women. Adorned in their jewellery, the women are as an orchestra, the knitting setting the rhythm to their gossip, their arguments over knitting patterns and laughs from teasing each other. I sit timidly with them wanting to interact and ask questions, only to find out that the best way to understand this work isn't so much through talking, but through simply watching.

On my walks through Naggar, I often came across women engrossed in their handiwork independent of the environment; one knitted a bright purple jumper as she hiked down to the village, another crocheted a sock in the dark enclave of her small shop while she attended customers; many spun wool while they basked in the sunny spots of the orchards and others weaved in step with their little ones' arguments. Knitting, weaving and spinning is as much a part of their routine as eating, washing, caring and sleeping. These women had picked up wool crafts as if through osmosis, integrated in their daily lives from a young age.

For the questions that were left unanswered, Ashna (a Kullvi Whims Anglo-Gujarati intern who had been part of the community for the past 6 months) would answer with her careful observations and interactions. In one of our forest walks, Ashna told me why the women choose to be part of Kullvi Whims. She explains that community and a sense of sisterhood seemed to be what drew women to the group. A lot of work falls on the shoulders of the women, who often balance housework such as caring for the children, cooking for the family and maintaining the house, with arduous work in the orchards, and despite knitting and weaving being another task in their to-do list, it provides a bona fide excuse for the women to gather and to be together. As the business grew and gained recognition, the women were able to participate in workshops outside of their village, such as indigo dying, allowing them a certain level of autonomy, something otherwise frowned upon.

However, one question still nibbled at me. The female artisans were the core of Kullvi Whims, and the woven goods were the result, but what ultimately drove this work? The question was answered on Brighu’s birthday. On the morning of his birthday we were ordered to meet early and hike to the local forest association; Brighu’s birthday wish was for us to plant trees. As we ascended the alpine forests with saplings in tow, Brighu gave us a brief history of tree planting in Naggar. It is a local tradition that every person in the village has the right to three trees, one at birth, one at marriage and one in death. As we plant the saplings in the shady and needle-carpeted floor, my question is answered: nature is what drives the work, an unspoken treaty between the village people and the forest, a symbiotic relationship of giving and taking.

A week or so later Nisha and I are nestled among the raw wool and stock, and she introduces me to the concept of pastoral economy. Prior to the 1960’s and the introduction of apple plantations in the valley, pastoralism was the way of life for the majority. The shepherds would traverse colossal areas of woodlands and mountains to satisfy the endless grazing habits of their animals, aiding the management and spread of fauna and flora. Shepherds were welcome guests in villages and would be invited by the locals to sleep in their fields and allow their animals to graze in their meadows, since the sheep manure was a welcome fertilizer for their crops and common exchanges were made of raw wool for local grains and woven goods. The introduction of apples and acrylic wool were the two main drivers of a near extinction of the indigenous wool. Favouring the less scratchy, machine washable and synthetic colour palette that acrylic wool offered, households began to deviate from the local wool. As the apple industry boomed, shepherds were shunned from villages, as apple saplings were at risk of being eaten by sheep and goats.

Nevertheless, despite this indigenous wool having significant differences in texture to other manufactured wools (be they natural or synthetic), its warmth is paramount. In the freezing and wet conditions of the Himalayan states, ingenious wool provides the hefty warmth needed to withstand such conditions. Shepherds would face the long stretches of cold, sheltering in handmade huts made from rock and thick woven blankets. To this day, men are often found fashioning socks made by their wives, which more often than not comprise a patchwork of patterns and shades. These garments are constantly mended and re-knitted due to wear and tear. Even a trivial item such as a sock contains a whole way of life, where handmade, repurposed, local, mended and worn to its full validity

trumps immediacy and waste.

In a consumer world in which immediate return takes precedence over the climate crisis, work such as this reminds us of the potential and creativity of native knowledge. There is no forward without looking back, and communities such as these, where nature is not only a part of their lives, but integral in their culture and beliefs, remind us of this fact.

For more information on Kullvi Whims and the work they do:

https://kullviwhims.com/

https://www.instagram.com/kullvi_whims/