<p>A few years ago, while exploring the weaving clusters of North Karnataka, I came across a faded piece of cloth with an unfamiliar design — neat, rhythmic forms that looked like tiny grains of jowar. The weaver who showed it to me called it Gomi Teni.</p><p>That moment began a journey into a forgotten textile that once carried deep meaning for the people of the Deccan, a weave that symbolised prosperity, fertility and continuity.</p><p><strong>A weave from the past</strong></p><p>The story of Gomi Teni reaches back to the 12th century when handlooms were part of daily life in the Deccan region. In the villages of Bagalkot, Gadag, Ron and the surrounding taluks, women wove cotton fabrics not only for utility but also to mark the milestones of life.</p><p>Among their creations, Gomi Teni held special significance. Its recurring jowar motif — stylised in simple, geometric form — represented fertility and abundance. In this semi-arid land, jowar was more than a crop; it was sustenance and survival.</p><p>Traditionally, the cloth was gifted to expectant mothers. Draping a woman in Gomi Teni was both a gesture of care and a blessing, a wish that the new life she carried would grow as strong and enduring as the sorghum that fed the region.</p><p><strong>Tracing the clues</strong></p><p>When I first saw the fabric during my ethnographic study, there was little written about it. So, I began asking older weavers in Ron and Guledgudda what they remembered. Some recalled presenting the saree during baby showers; others mentioned motifs resembling stalks of grain.</p><p>Those oral memories helped me understand its name. In the rural context, Gomi Teni meant the cloth of abundance or cloth of blessing.</p><p>The surviving piece was woven in natural-dyed cotton, in the earthy palette of the Deccan — indigo blues, turmeric yellows and madder reds. Every shade came from local plants and minerals, connecting the textile to the very soil of the land.</p><p><strong>Reviving the weave</strong></p><p>As a textile revivalist, I felt Gomi Teni deserved a return to the loom. Working with artisans from Guledgudda and Bagalkot, we began reconstructing the pattern based on the old sample and oral descriptions.</p><p>The process was painstaking. Weavers had to modify their pit looms, relearn older methods and rediscover the rhythm of motifs long forgotten. After several trials, the first revived Gomi Teni emerged — a soft, textured cotton with the jowar motif glinting gently in natural dye. It felt as if the past had spoken again, through the hands of today’s artisans.</p><p>Now, several weavers in Gajendragad and Gadag are producing these revived versions. Each piece is slightly different — as all handmade things are — yet everyone carries the same blessings once woven centuries ago.</p><p>What continues to delight me is how this story resonates even today. When customers hear about the symbolism of Gomi Teni, there is often a spark of joy and surprise. Many expectant mothers or those buying a saree for someone pregnant, instinctively choose this weave.</p><p>They see it not just as a garment but as a gesture, a continuation of an old tradition of sharing blessings through fabric. Watching their faces light up as they hear the story feels like witnessing the old ritual come alive again, this time across counters and conversations in urban settings rather than in village courtyards.</p><p><strong>Threads that endure</strong></p><p>For me, Gomi Teni is more than a textile, it is a record of women’s creativity and their bond with the rhythms of life. These weaves were made not for markets or kings but for community — for family, fertility and faith.</p><p>When I stand in a weaving workshop today, listening to the soft clatter of looms, I often think of the weaver who first wove Gomi Teni eight centuries ago — drawing inspiration from the jowar fields outside their homes, weaving blessings for those they loved.</p><p>The Gomi Teni reminds us that textiles are not just cloth — they are memory, story and prayer. In each thread lies a piece of our shared past and in every revival, a promise to carry it forward.</p>
<p>A few years ago, while exploring the weaving clusters of North Karnataka, I came across a faded piece of cloth with an unfamiliar design — neat, rhythmic forms that looked like tiny grains of jowar. The weaver who showed it to me called it Gomi Teni.</p><p>That moment began a journey into a forgotten textile that once carried deep meaning for the people of the Deccan, a weave that symbolised prosperity, fertility and continuity.</p><p><strong>A weave from the past</strong></p><p>The story of Gomi Teni reaches back to the 12th century when handlooms were part of daily life in the Deccan region. In the villages of Bagalkot, Gadag, Ron and the surrounding taluks, women wove cotton fabrics not only for utility but also to mark the milestones of life.</p><p>Among their creations, Gomi Teni held special significance. Its recurring jowar motif — stylised in simple, geometric form — represented fertility and abundance. In this semi-arid land, jowar was more than a crop; it was sustenance and survival.</p><p>Traditionally, the cloth was gifted to expectant mothers. Draping a woman in Gomi Teni was both a gesture of care and a blessing, a wish that the new life she carried would grow as strong and enduring as the sorghum that fed the region.</p><p><strong>Tracing the clues</strong></p><p>When I first saw the fabric during my ethnographic study, there was little written about it. So, I began asking older weavers in Ron and Guledgudda what they remembered. Some recalled presenting the saree during baby showers; others mentioned motifs resembling stalks of grain.</p><p>Those oral memories helped me understand its name. In the rural context, Gomi Teni meant the cloth of abundance or cloth of blessing.</p><p>The surviving piece was woven in natural-dyed cotton, in the earthy palette of the Deccan — indigo blues, turmeric yellows and madder reds. Every shade came from local plants and minerals, connecting the textile to the very soil of the land.</p><p><strong>Reviving the weave</strong></p><p>As a textile revivalist, I felt Gomi Teni deserved a return to the loom. Working with artisans from Guledgudda and Bagalkot, we began reconstructing the pattern based on the old sample and oral descriptions.</p><p>The process was painstaking. Weavers had to modify their pit looms, relearn older methods and rediscover the rhythm of motifs long forgotten. After several trials, the first revived Gomi Teni emerged — a soft, textured cotton with the jowar motif glinting gently in natural dye. It felt as if the past had spoken again, through the hands of today’s artisans.</p><p>Now, several weavers in Gajendragad and Gadag are producing these revived versions. Each piece is slightly different — as all handmade things are — yet everyone carries the same blessings once woven centuries ago.</p><p>What continues to delight me is how this story resonates even today. When customers hear about the symbolism of Gomi Teni, there is often a spark of joy and surprise. Many expectant mothers or those buying a saree for someone pregnant, instinctively choose this weave.</p><p>They see it not just as a garment but as a gesture, a continuation of an old tradition of sharing blessings through fabric. Watching their faces light up as they hear the story feels like witnessing the old ritual come alive again, this time across counters and conversations in urban settings rather than in village courtyards.</p><p><strong>Threads that endure</strong></p><p>For me, Gomi Teni is more than a textile, it is a record of women’s creativity and their bond with the rhythms of life. These weaves were made not for markets or kings but for community — for family, fertility and faith.</p><p>When I stand in a weaving workshop today, listening to the soft clatter of looms, I often think of the weaver who first wove Gomi Teni eight centuries ago — drawing inspiration from the jowar fields outside their homes, weaving blessings for those they loved.</p><p>The Gomi Teni reminds us that textiles are not just cloth — they are memory, story and prayer. In each thread lies a piece of our shared past and in every revival, a promise to carry it forward.</p>
