Specially written for Vikalp Sangam

A hundred elderly women and their granddaughters revive traditional cotton spinning.

In the early hours of October 3rd, 2025, a white mini-bus travels along National Highway 41. The shrubbery on either side of the road in this semi-arid region of Kachchh is lush from the unseasonal rain.  

At 9:45 am, it enters the gates of a rented venue, an ashram set amid fields on the outskirts of Naliya, the headquarters of Abdasa taluka, near the westernmost point of Gujarat. The venue has sprawling grounds at the centre of which a low building with a series of rooms flanks a covered courtyard. 

Textile designers, hand-spinning revival coordinators, and office and kitchen staff of a not-for-profit organisation called Khamir climb stiffly out of the bus. They have travelled for three and a half hours from the Khamir campus in Kukma village, near Bhuj. The team members immediately begin preparing the large, covered shed at the ashram for the guests, who are expected to arrive at any time.  

Ghatit Laheru, who leads Kantai, a dedicated hand-spinning initiative of Khamir, explains, “We have been working with women spinners of West Kachchh for over eight years now. In 2023, for the first time, we marked Mahatma Gandhi’s birthday through Retia Baras, or ‘an occasion to spin’. This time, we have invited about a hundred elderly spinners from 14 surrounding villages to spin using organic cotton.”  

Hand-spinning, weaving, and wearing of organic cotton, or Khadi, among Indians, alongside the boycott of British industrial textiles, were central to M.K. Gandhi’s vision of Swadeshi, or self-reliance, in India’s freedom struggle. Now, a traditional Gandhi Charkha is raised on one side of the high podium flanking the seating area. Gandhi’s portrait, decorated with a simple garland of Kala Cotton buds, is placed on an easel beside it.  Kala Cotton, or Gossypium Herbaceum, is a cotton plant species closely related to the 5000 year old fibre found in cotton samples retrieved from Indus Valley Civilisation sites. In Kachchh, it is grown sustainably by around 4,000 marginal farmers across 30 villages in the Rapar and Bhachau blocks, without the use of chemical fertilisers or pesticides. Its ecological footprint is very low, and it feels comfortable against the skin.

Darbar women and their interrupted tryst with spinning

Over the next 45 minutes, buses arrive. The women, wearing brightly coloured Bandhni-print sarees and some in plain deep blue, walk in. Cheerful greetings and banter are exchanged between the women and Bimal Bhati, Senior Project Manager at Khamir, who has been travelling from village to village to meet them and commission work.

The spinners belong to the Darbar community, which was the ruling class during Kachchh’s princely state. They are called Jadeja in Kachchh and Sodha Darbar in the Sindh area. When India was partitioned and Sindh went to Pakistan, the Sodhas migrated to India and were allotted land in various parts of West Kachchh, predominantly in the Abdasa block. The men own and cultivate small landholdings and breed sheep and goats. The holdings grow smaller with each generation as the land is parcelled out between the sons.  

“The women of the community are not allowed to leave their homes for farm or other casual labour,” Ghatit Laheru says as Bimal Bhati and his team distribute puni, rolls of hand-cleaned and hand-carded cotton fibre, to spin yarn from. Some women open the box spinning wheel or peti charkhas they have brought along, while others set up the ones being handed out.  

The box charkha, or peti charkha, is a briefcase-sized, portable spinning wheel developed by M.K. Gandhi and his associates at Yerawada Jail in 1930–’31. The name ‘peti’ or box is derived from its design–a wooden box that holds a simplified spinning mechanism with two wheels of different sizes, a crank, and a spindle. It also has a storage box for a second spindle and some fibre.  

In the 1940’s and 50’s, women took on the hand-spinning work assigned by Khadi organisations, as they could spin at home easily and conveniently. They received both money and Khadi cloth in exchange. After the peti charkha, which was the first spinning wheel introduced in Kachchh, the Darbar community shifted to the Ambar Charkha when it was introduced in the 1960s by the local Khadi organisations registered with the government-run Khadi Village Industries Commission (KVIC). “They returned to the peti charkha when Khamir reintroduced it in 2016-’17. Elderly women find it more convenient to spin on these smaller charkhas,” Ghatit Laheru explains. 

So, between the time the Darbar women of West Kachchh first spun yarn on the charkha as little girls and their recent return to spinning, about fifty years have passed—for some women, even seventy! To know more, I think about interviewing the spinners, but even as we exchange nods and smiles, I realise that my lack of speaking skills in Gujarati and Kachchi will be a barrier. 

Girls from the Darbar community take an unusual interest in spinning

Three young women spinning alongside the elderly in one of the middle rows throw curious glances my way. Bimal bhai, familiar with all the spinners present, encourages us to speak with each other.  

“You all go to school, don’t you?” Their moving hands pause, and they nod shyly. “I’m sure you know some Hindi. Speak to this ben!” he urges energetically.  

Enunciating her syllables carefully, doe-eyed Niraliba Jayvantsinh Jadeja, begins. “I started learning spinning from my Daadee, my father’s mother, about a month ago. I did not know how to spin; I did not grow up playing with the charkha or with yarn because spinning came to our village only a year ago. But my grandmother did not have to be trained in it. She has known how to spin for a long time.” 

Niraliba and her two friends, Gopiba Karubha Jadeja and Nishaba Bhikubha Jadeja, are from Kukadau village, about 11 km away from Naliya.  

The girls study at Model School, Naliya, commuting daily by local bus. Gopiba and Niraliba are best friends, both 15 years old and studying in Class 9. Nishaba is 16 years old and in Class 10.  

“My grandmother, Vijyaba, started spinning after many years when Bimal bhai gave her a charkha and commissioned work,” Nishaba, more reserved than the other two, says.  “When I was 14, I asked her to teach me. At first, she refused, saying that it would spoil my eyes. I would watch her and would try to spin when she was not around. One  day, she came upon me spinning and, seeing my interest, began to teach me.” Nishaba’s eyes fill with tears as she murmurs, “My grandmother has passed on now. I miss her when I spin.”  

Gopiba’s grandmother, Jikorba, is at the Retia Baras, spinning alongside her friends in the adjoining row. “I have been learning to spin from my grandmother for the past three months,” Gopiba says, her eyes warm. “At first, I would try on my own whenever she was not around. Then, when she started teaching me, I would often feel like giving up.  But then, I would think, karna hai toh karna hai [If it has to be done, then it has to be], and push on, until I finally learnt how. I love spinning yarn. Everything is made from it.  Torans, for example! And the fabric used at home to cover things and to make curtains!” 

“We love spinning also because Gandhiji loved spinning,” Niraliba adds, her breath catching with emotion and excitement. “We can spin in his name. We learnt this from our Sir in school.” 

At my puzzled look, Gopiba explains, “When we were in Class 5 and 6, our teacher  Devidas Sir explained how Gandhiji’s whole life philosophy revolved around hand-spinning. We saw a proper spinning wheel for the first time when Devidas Sir took us to the Science Centre in Ahmedabad. It was not in our textbooks, perhaps that is why our teacher taught us about it. Then there was a day-long spinning challenge in school.  We all got a chance to try spinning, which sparked our curiosity. Now that my  grandmother has her own spinning wheel, I practise at home once I’ve finished my homework.” 

“I once won a Khadi handkerchief at a 600m running race at the taluka level in which I  came first,” Niraliba says, to help me see her particular connection to hand-spinning. “It is special to me, so I have kept it carefully in my cupboard at home.” 

“The mind stays immersed [while spinning]. I enjoy the feeling,” Gopiba smiles.

Hansaba spins Khadi to meet her basic expenses

Hansaba Sajuba Sodha is a sombre woman of about 75, spinning in solitude in the row ahead of us. When asked her age, she says she could be anything over 60. Gopiba and Niraliba, who are less shy with me now, offer to translate what Hansaba has to share. 

“I am from Kankavati village. I can’t say anything about my grandmother, because she passed away when I was very young, but my mother used to spin. My two little sisters and I would accompany her and others in the village mahila mandal [women’s group]. We used to spin on small peti charkhas, whereas my mother would spin, in those days, on a charkha that had many, even up to ten spindles!”

In 1929, M.K. Gandhi issued a nationwide call for innovations on earlier versions of the traditional charkha to modernise hand-spinning while keeping it accessible. In 1949, an innovator from Tamil Nadu,  Ekambarnathan, designed a new model—an efficient, multi-spindle version intended to boost productivity in cottage industries. It came to be named the Ambar Charkha. 

“I left spinning when I got married because no one spun yarn at my husband’s home.  About 50 or 60 years passed by. I began spinning again just two years ago,” Hansaba explains.  

Spinning gives Hansaba a much-needed opportunity to earn money. “My eldest son lives in another village with his wife and children. My second son is mentally challenged. My youngest son is a drunkard,” she says bleakly. 

Do you have daughters? Gopiba and Niraliba translate my question, and lean forward, as eager for hope as I am. Hansaba holds up five fingers. “All married,” she says, with a tinge of relief that can be explained by the prevalence of the community practise of having to give dowry at the marriage of a daughter. “One of my daughters, who lives in another village, helps her two brothers and me with food grain so we can survive,” she adds. 

Hansaba recalls that her mother used to receive ten rupees for a kilo of yarn that she spun. She herself earns about 220 rupees for a kilo. 

“I spin two kilos every month, earning enough to meet basic household expenses. This peti charkha is easy enough to handle,” she says, patting the one by her side. “It does not make my arm hurt.” 

Hansaba makes three aanti every day, an aanti being a hank or a coiled unit of yarn. It comprises about  500 threads, each a metre long. Three hanks of yarn equals a length of 1,500 metres. Hansaba would be spinning for about 4 to 5 hours daily to make this much yarn, according to Ghatit Laheru. The rate she receives would depend on the thread’s count or thickness. 

“The payment is low, and this is a problem area,” admits Ghatit Laheru. “We have addressed it so far by introducing an annual bonus and other measures. Still, it is a major issue for the elderly spinners. Khamir hopes to revise the rates soon.”

Khadi spinning for rural women’s livelihoods, then and now

While Gopiba, Niraliba and I form interview circles with individual spinners on the godadis [thin cotton-stuffed mattresses] laid out at the rear of the shed, speeches and songs are being delivered near the podium. We stop to listen to and record a plaintive melody by a singer, Kailasba, from  Nandhra Nana, one of the first villages to participate in the spinning revival.

I have a son and a daughter; I love my daughter.  
My daughter wants to study, but who will do the household work? (2) 
I have a son and a daughter; I love my daughter.  
My daughter wishes to read, but who will take care of her elder brother? (2) 
My son wishes to study; he will become a big engineer.  
My daughter wishes to study, but she will be married off as she belongs to another family.

Listening, a few of the middle-aged spinners break down.  

“She sings about what the birth of a daughter means to a family. The words of this song are most relevant to the generation of women present here, who had to fight the circumstances of being born a girl to acquire even a bit of an education. Look, some of the women are still weeping. I, too, got emotional, being the father of a girl,” Bimal bhai admits. 

This song is one of many, including bhajans, that are sung in spinning circles. “While spinning is politically associated with the Swadeshi movement and self-reliance,” Bimal bhai explains, “it is done in gatherings of five or six women who sing while they spin.  The feeling of togetherness is intrinsic to these sessions.” 

Adding to the element of solidarity in this gathering are a few women from a local women’s empowerment group called the Kutch Mahila Vikas  Sangathan (KMVS).  

“When we go from village to village, many women say, I need paying work,” explains  Vimalaben Momaya, a social worker from Varadiya village. “We tell them about this Kantai initiative through which spinning training is conducted: you will be provided with charkhas and cotton, and will be commissioned work that you can do from your own home! The women I am talking about are not from the Darbar samaj, but are Mohammedan. They are very interested in learning to spin. In fact, women from every community, especially the elders who can spare time from housework, are eager for the opportunity to earn from home!” she reiterates. 

Recognising this need in the early years of Indian Independence, the Government of India formally established the Khadi and Village Industries Commission (KVIC) in 1957. KVIC promoted the Ambar Charkha as part of India’s growing Khadi and Gramodyog movement, primarily among both women and men from farming and herding communities. A Films Division documentary from that time shows that the State advocated hand-spinning on the Ambar Charkha as an antidote to (male) farmers being forced to leave their families and migrate to the cities to perform mind-numbing tasks in textile factories. Khadi spinning was meant to foster individuality, creativity, and gender equality, while helping rural economies sustain themselves. 

However, over the decades, Indian policy shifted to promote industrial growth through standardisation and mass production. Globalisation in the 1990s was antithetical to the ideals of Swadeshi. 

As for practical difficulties, while spinning on the Ambar Charkha produced a lot of yarn, market demand for Khadi was inconsistent. KVIC failed to create diverse designs and products to maintain and expand the market for Khadi. So the sourcing of yarn by government-owned organisations from hand spinners in these modest, far-flung villages gradually tapered off. The charkhas of the  1940s and 50s, like M.K. Gandhi’s vision for their use, gathered dust and mould in the corners of spinners’ homes and the offices of Khadi organisations. Spinning revivalists’ first tasks have been to identify hand spinners and to repair and upgrade their charkhas.

A Nonagenarian recalls her part in India’s Khadi movement

Jadeja Ramba Kanji, who is over 90, is perhaps the oldest spinner at the gathering. When asked which year she was born in and when she learnt to spin, she waved a hand nonchalantly.  

“I don’t know the year I was born in, nor any such dates, but I remember that I might have begun spinning when I was 10 or 12 years old. I recall moving to Kachchh from  Pakistan when I got married at the age of 13. I remember when Gandhiji was promoting spinning. We went from our village, Sudadhro Nani, to the town of Kothara to a gathering of spinners. I don’t recall if India had attained freedom by then, but I recall that we were commissioned to spin on peti charkhas.”   

“In Kothara Khadi Sanstha, there was a Khadi karykarta [functionary] named Chunilal  Pomal. He took our information and gave us the charkhas. Later, he would come to our homes on a bullock cart to deliver the puni and pick up the finished yarn. I only remember Chunilal’s name. He would give us Khadi cloth during Diwali, which was useful. We would stitch clothes from it for our children who were small at the time,” says Ramba, recalling her part in the Indian nation’s historic venture into hand-spinning.  

“I have resumed spinning for the past four years. I like spinning again. I won’t spend my  time on any other craft, certainly not on bandhana!” She scoffs at tying–a bit job in the process of making Bandhni, or tie-dye, fabric–that many women accept commissions for, to earn money working from home. 

Ramba emphatically shakes a gnarled hand in the air, a hand that can still draw fine yarn. “I advise my granddaughters,  too, to learn to spin. It will be useful to them in the future!”  

What the spinners earn may not go far in this day and age. Yet, Gopiba and Niraliba say, “Because our grandmothers earn some money, they can contribute to the household expenses, and they have pride in earning. We feel proud of our  grandmothers!” 

When asked what she does with the money she earns, Ramba points to a spinner seated close-by in her 70s, also dressed in a deep blue saree. “She is my daughter. I give the money I earn to her. And to my married daughters when they visit me. I also give money to my granddaughters and grandsons… but not to my daughters-in-law!” This makes the other spinners, who know her wit, laugh.

“If you were my daughter, I would give you some too!” Ramba adds merrily to me. 

In the pause that follows, I touch her deep blue saree and ask naively, “Why do you wear  this colour?” 

“Her husband is no more,” Gopiba and Niraliba tell me in hushed tones. 

“I am a widow. I have nobody,” Ramba says bleakly.  

As the afternoon matures, Gopiba, Nishaba, and Niraliba wander off to the nearby children’s play area. There, more girls, even a  bespectacled 8-year-old wearing jeans, are playing in the shade of hardy, drought-resistant trees. The girls decide to play on a rusty, tilting merry-go-round. Gopiba climbs onto the bench that flanks the wrought-iron wheel. The others push to turn it. They hop on one at a time and whoop with excitement when it picks up speed.  

Acknowledgements: The author extends gratitude to Ghatit Laheru who offered inputs and to Gopiba Karubha Jadeja, Niraliba Jayvantsinh Jadeja, and Bimal Bhati, who helped facilitate interviews. Song translated from Gujarati by Ghatit Laheru.

About the author

Chatura Rao is a journalist, teacher, and a children’s book writer. Her journalistic work has won regional and national awards for gender-sensitive reporting. Her current research and stories centre around the knowledge and experience of indigenous people, artisan, and pastoralist communities, in India. Contact her here.