By Vishwa Patel, First published September 19, 2022.
This indigenous craft is said to have originated in China around 4,500 years ago and was brought to India under the Mughal regime, with Jaipur as its heart of operation. It was only after it came to India that hand block printing reached its highest visual expression.
Hawa Mahal, Jaipur. Image by Vishwa Patel
Jaipur is known as a textile hub, and block printing is one of its most celebrated art forms. It is still practised by the Chhipa community. The word Chhipa means "to dye" or "to stamp", and as the name suggests, the community is made up mainly of people who dye and print cloth. Some of its members also live in Gujarat and even parts of Pakistan.
The process of block printing begins with hand-carving wooden blocks, preferably from rosewood because of its durability. The blocks are chiselled into intricate patterns and designs, then dipped in dye and stamped onto long lengths of cotton fabric.
Indian printers had unparalleled expertise in natural plant dyes, particularly mordants, the metallic salts that both create colour and help it adhere to fabric. A kind of mud-resist printing called dabu, which keeps areas of a design free from dye, also flourished here. Combinations of mordant and resist stamping and dyeing let Indian printers create uniquely complex designs, coveted from Southeast Asia and the palaces of Mughal emperors to the far-flung capitals of Western Europe. Between outside influences and the diversity of the subcontinent's own communities and tribes, India has produced one of the most magnificent pattern vocabularies ever. And yet for the past 200 years the industry has been on the edge of extinction, doomed in part by the very popularity that helped create it.
We at Gingerblu aim to let the craft thrive again. Many block printers have moved to faster, easier ways of production to keep up with demand and maximise profit, and in the process the practice is losing its authenticity. So when I began my month-long search in and around Jaipur for true artisans to work with, I stayed away from the popular block printing communities in Sanganer and Bagru. I wanted workshops that work slowly, take on only the demand they can comfortably meet, and respect the art of block printing in its essence.
I met several people of the Chhipa community in Sanganer to understand their practices and what led them away from traditional block printing. On my way back from one of these meetings, I came across a small shop selling block prints from Kaladhera, a village 42 km from Jaipur. The designs were unique, and I knew from the creativity and intricacy of the prints that I had found what I was looking for. I went to their workshop in Kaladhera the next morning, and it was everything I had hoped for.
The small workshop sits on the terrace of their home, right next to a neem tree in the centre of the village. The lanes were narrow and quaint, the houses painted in greens, pinks and blues. The whole village seemed to notice this new woman in a kurta and denim, me, entering Babulalji's house. Babulalji, his wife and I spent the morning getting to know each other and our work while going through his endless collection of beautifully carved teak blocks. His workshop had four printing tables, two of them free at the time, which gave me the perfect chance to try creating new prints of my own with the blocks at hand.
Babulalji's wife kept me entertained with questions about life in a big city like Bombay and introduced me to their Rajasthani customs. She insisted on cooking lunch for me while I worked, and every day brought a different Rajasthani speciality, home-cooked with love. For the next five days I woke up eager to reach Kaladhera by 9 am, working closely with Babulalji to create block prints for today's customers. Together, we took a leap of faith and designed thirty new prints in five days.
