Changeri: a basket of dreams

Asmina, 48, shares a laugh with co-worker Zubeida as they recall the time they crafted miniature baskets from leftover sticks of wheat straw their mothers threw away. Like most girls in the Mewat region, they learned to weave because their mothers insisted, never imagining this could one day become a source of livelihood.

“We used to make them and just give them away to our relatives. Ab jab bikan lagen to hum na deven free mein [Now that they sell, we don’t give them away for free],” Asmina chuckles.

Seated on a cement bench in the courtyard of her house at Ghasera village in Haryana’s Nuh district, she pulls out an arm-length stick of desi gehun (indigenous wheat straw) and splits it into five strands using a fine needle. Selecting one strand, she deftly weaves it into the growing curve of the changeri (shallow basket) she is making.

“Agar ghar mein mehman aago aur changeri mein roti dhar ke na di, to yu kenge ki Asmina ne plate mein roti dhar ke di, changeri mein na di [If guests come home and I don’t serve the rotis in a changeri, they’ll complain that the rotis were served in a plate],” Asmina says.

Changeri are multipurpose baskets that women in the Mewat region of Haryana and Rajasthan have traditionally woven. There was a time when these were a part of the gifting ritual at weddings, on Eid and other festive occasions.

The skill of making changeri was an essential one for girls, often discussed during marriage negotiations. “People on the girl’s side would boast that their daughter is so chitra [skilled] she can make any type of changeri, gudri [blanket made from cloth scraps], or chulha [earthen stove],” Asmina says.

Women would gather together in the afternoons in the courtyard of one or another home, weaving and chatting. “One woman would sit at the centre with a changeri she was working on, and the others would sit around her, copying the patterns they saw on her piece,” she recalls.

Their young daughters would be around, picking up the craft as they played.

That is a thing of the past. Women do not gather at each other’s homes every afternoon like before, and girls don’t want to weave. Neither Asmina’s nor Zubeida’s daughters have learnt the craft. “They say we don’t need changeri – there are dishes to store rotis. They ask, ‘Why did we get educated if we still have to learn changeri?’” Asmina says. “They tell me, ‘Hamari azaad umar hai [We are young and independent].’”

Asmina now makes these baskets as part of a 12-woman self-help group called Barkat, under the Haryana State Rural Livelihood Mission, where she serves as the group’s president. Nuh district has 2,000 self-help groups.

Despite being part of the National Capital Region, Nuh ranks as the most backward district in the country (Niti Aayog 2018).

Along with distant relative Zubeida, 52, and her sister-in-law, Asmina began selling changeri in 2014. The women also make gudri and jhallar (tassels) for curtains.

A single changeri sells for anywhere between Rs. 1,000-1,500 and takes 10–12 days to complete, working four hours a day. The orders come mainly from Delhi and Mumbai, through the Mission.

Since Asmina’s husband Abdul stopped working a few years ago following an accident, she has been the family’s sole breadwinner, earning Rs. 7,000 to 10,000 a month.

The baskets aren’t made from just any wheat straw. “We use a specific variety – Number 306 or desi gehun – that is grown with little irrigation and without strong fertiliser,” says Asmina. The right straws are becoming hard to find, because most farmers now tend to use fertilisers and pesticides, and this makes the sticks brittle and therefore unusable.

During Jeth and Baisakh (March and April), wheat straws are procured and stored at home. Once monsoon arrives, the straws are dyed in bright colours — red, yellow, green, and pink are the most popular — and are left to dry in mild sunlight.

Number 306 is a high-quality local grain and straw from about half an acre costs around Rs. 15,000, and can be used to make almost 1,000 changeri.

“Chomasey ke dinan mein banayenge to hamare haath na chirenge [If we make them during the monsoon days, our hands won’t get cut],” Asmina says. In the monsoon, the straws soften and become easier to mould and weave. In other seasons, the sticks can become dry and sharp.

When PARI visited, the group had received an order for 200 changeri from Australia but did not have the wheat straws needed to fulfil it. “The ones we need are in short supply because it rained heavily and the crop was destroyed,” Asmina says.

In the weaving of changeri, there are two main types of stitches — chiruwa and aatan. In chiruwa, a wheat straw is split into multiple strands, creating an intricate and tightly bound pattern for the sides. In aatan, the straw is flattened, giving a wider, more pronounced look, often used for the base.

“Bohot nahno kaam hai [It is fine work],” Zubeida says.

Designs come from the surroundings, rooted in everyday objects, local plants and flowers, and even the gold choker that Mewati women wear. Patterns of date palms, leher (waves), and paan (betel leaf) are common on the sides of the basket. The base often features motifs such as phirki (pinwheel), rayi ka phool (flowers), and hearts. For special occasions, the names of owners might also be woven in.

Asmina once made a basket with this writing on its sides, “Ek roti khaaye, dusri pe haath na lagaye, aur dhaap ke khaaye [Eat only one roti, and do not touch the other, yet be full]” – a common saying in these parts.

“We do all kinds of kalakari [artistry],” she laughs.

“On every coil, we count how many stitches a particular colour has — for example, a green flower might have five stitches in one coil and four in the next — and we must keep that in mind, or the pattern will be ruined,” Asmina adds.

Zubeida holds up a basket she has been saving for her daughter’s wedding – made with seven different flower patterns.

But elaborate designs are becoming rarer now. “Ab seekh hi na rahi to changeri to khatam hongi [When the straws are not available, it is only natural for changeri to die out],” she laments.

Growing up at Tapookra in Rajasthan’s Alwar district, Asmina would not want to make changeri. She would tell her mother Mariyam that she would simply take to her in-laws’ the baskets Mariyam made! But once she was married, she realised this was a tradition she could not escape — her mother-in-law, Kapoori, practised the art with equal passion.

“When I came here [Nuh], everyone at home and in the neighbourhood made changeri, and I gave in,” Asmina recalls.

The craft was practised by both Hindu and Muslim women. Over time, however, it came to be carried forward mainly by Muslim women. “Only the older Hindu women would still know the craft,” says Asmina. “Hindu families became educated and moved away from it.”

The majority of Nuh’s residents are Meo Muslims who have historically blended Hindu cultural customs with Islamic faith.

Asmina has seven children — three daughters and four sons. A decade ago, her eldest daughter was married at the age of 18. “But now I understand the importance of education,” she says. Her second daughter has completed her graduation, while the youngest is in Class 11 and plays football.

“She’s in Rohtak right now for a tournament,” Asmina beams with pride, noting that her daughter dreams of becoming a police officer or a football coach. “The mindset of people here is changing — now they want their children to study,” she says.

Asmina played a role in changing this mindset, when she started working, ignoring criticism from neighbours and relatives. Then she petitioned the authorities to upgrade the village’s only girls’ school to include classes up to the Class 12 — today, nearly 100 girls study there.

“Children here used to roam around aimlessly. Zubeida, I, and some other women went door to door and persuaded families to enrol them in the government school. That year, nearly 70 children began attending, and many of them have jobs today,” she recalls.

Asmina never went to school herself, but lights up when officials she meets through the self-help group assume she is educated. The recognition and respect she has earned, including meeting the Prime Minister and the chief minister at different exhibitions and fairs that Barkat participates in, is a big thrill.

“Vehicles with laal batti [red beacon] stop at my house and the whole village feels proud,” she says. “Even educated people in the village want to be a part of our work now. Earlier, they would say it’s gunah [sin] for women to step out.”

None of this would be possible had it not been for the art of making changeri that Asmina learnt from her mother. Both she and Zubeida wonder if the craft will survive. “The young girls want to keep changeri only as a souvenir from their mothers,” they echo in unison. “And one day, that’s all it will be.”

This story is supported by a fellowship from Mrinalini Mukherjee Foundation (MMF).