As you leave the highway behind and turn toward Vastadi village in Gujarat’s Gujarat Surendranagar district, the buildings slowly dissolve into open land. The road narrows. Dust rises gently behind the car. Buffaloes amble past. Women with ghoonghat on their heads walk past with steady grace. And then, before you see it, you hear it, the soft, steady rhythm of a loom. This is the sound of Tangaliya.
In a modest home in Vastadi, 40-year veteran weaver Jaha bhai sits at his pit loom. His hands move with quiet certainty. There are no sketches, no printed designs, no markings on the threads…only memory. “I did not go to any school to learn this. I learnt by watching my father. Since I was a child, I have seen these threads. They are like family,” he says.
Now, for some history: Tangaliya, also known as daana weaving, is not just a craft. It is a story that began nearly seven centuries ago in the villages of Saurashtra. Folklore speaks of a shepherd boy from the Bharwad community who fell in love with a weaver girl from the Wankar tribe. Their families opposed the marriage, but the couple persisted. To survive together, they brought their skills into one shared livelihood, wool from the shepherd’s flock and weaving from the bride’s inheritance. From this union came the Dangasia community, and from their hands emerged Tangaliya.
It is said that even today, the craft is practiced primarily in a few villages of Surendranagar like Vastadi, Dedadra, Godavari and Wadhwan. Barely a hundred weavers continue the tradition. What makes Tangaliya so special is not just its rarity. It is the technique. The base fabric, often woven from gheta wool, cotton, or silk, is created in a simple plain weave. But as the weaving progresses, tiny raised dots called danas are formed by twisting contrasting yarn tightly around selected warp threads. Each dot is counted and tied by hand. Every single one.
“There is no shortcut,” Jaha bhai explains. “If your count goes wrong, the whole design shifts. Your mind must stay with the thread.” The process begins with warping. Yarn is reeled into bobbins on a charkha. Then the loom is set. The warp threads are stretched carefully. Only then does the weaving begin.
For six months, the fabric grows slowly on the loom. Thirty to forty additional days are spent tailoring it into garments. In total, one collection can take nine months from start to finish, almost like bringing a new life into the world. The motifs are drawn from the weavers’ surroundings. Peacocks (mor), trees (jhaad) and naughara, symbolising a new house, appear as geometric clusters of dots. Traditional patterns continue to hold pride of place. As mentioned earlier, there are no design sheets. The patterns live in the weaver’s memory. “Our elders carried these designs in their heads,” says Jaha bhai.
Historically, Tangaliya shawls were part of wedding trousseaus in the Bharwad community, say the locals. They were worn during rituals and celebrations. The raised bead-like surface gave the textile both texture and quiet strength. It was never loud, never flashy, but deeply dignified. In 2009, Tangaliya received the Geographical Indication (GI) tag, formally recognising its origin in this region of Gujarat. Yet recognition does not always mean monetary security. By the early 2000s, only three families continued weaving.
Revival came slowly. Design institutes, grassroots organisations and conscious brands began working with the community. Training programmes were introduced. Markets opened up beyond the village. One such collaboration has been with Jaypore, which has worked closely with artisans like Jaha bhai to reinterpret Tangaliya for contemporary wardrobes.
Recognising the quiet strength and cultural depth of Tangaliya, Jaypore stepped in not as an outsider, but as a collaborator. Its association with the Tangaliya community of Vastadi began in 2024, rooted in something simple yet powerful — mutual respect. The idea was never to alter the weave, but to honour it as it is, while helping it find continued relevance in a changing world. For artisans like Jaha Bhai, this means being able to carry their legacy forward without compromise.
As Manu Gupta, Vice President and Brand Head at Jaypore, puts it, “Tangaliya is a craft that invites you to slow down, to notice the smallest details, the quiet patience, and the human touch behind every raised dot. Working with artisans like Jaha Bhai has reinforced our belief that Indian textiles are living legacies, shaped by generations of skill and care. At Jaypore, our role is to honour this journey, ensuring that such crafts are not only preserved, but allowed to grow, breathe, and find resonance in today’s world, while remaining true to the hands that create them.”
And perhaps that is the real takeaway: that preservation does not mean freezing a craft in time. It means giving it room to evolve, while staying deeply rooted in the hands and histories that shaped it. The process, Jaha bhai also admits, is collaborative. “They come and sit with us. We discuss the fabric, the design, and what customers are liking. They tell us feedback about price also. It is not only our tradition, it must also work for today’s people,” he says.
For Jaypore, Tangaliya is not just a textile; it is a living heritage. They believe in listening…to the weavers, to the market, and to the craft itself and help create a balance where tradition can thrive in today’s context. The designs now include traditional motifs alongside patterns shaped by urban tastes. The pricing is carefully considered so that the craft remains sustainable for the weaver and accessible to the buyer. It is a delicate balance.
Still, in Vastadi, the essence remains unchanged. Inside Jaha bhai’s home, the loom continues its rhythm. When asked what keeps him going after four decades, he reflects, “This is slow work. But it teaches patience. When you finish one piece and see all the danas sitting perfectly, you feel peace.” Tangaliya is often described as slow fashion today. But here, it has never been a trend. It is simply the way things are done…carefully, honestly, without rush.
As you step back onto the dusty road, the sound of the loom follows you for a few seconds before fading into the hum of village life. You realise that what makes Tangaliya extraordinary is not only the intricate dots or the months of labour. It is the quiet resilience of the people who continue to weave against the odds. In every tiny dana lies a counted thread, a remembered pattern, and a story that refuses to disappear.
Disclaimer : This story is auto aggregated by a computer programme and has not been created or edited by DOWNTHENEWS. Publisher: deccanchronicle.com
