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ORIENTAL RUG ZINE
RUG ADDICTION,
FRIENDSHIP, LIFE and DEATH
Chris Walter
What makes the rug trade so addictive? There are many theories about this. Some may say it is the beauty and variety of
the textiles themselves, the unending variations of design, color, texture and handle. One can never say, “I have seen it all” in the world of rugs. Minor variations on a theme, subtle eccentricities in color or design,
bold departures from convention within a known type, unplanned accidents of a fortuitous nature, gross miscalculations that bewilder the eye, jarring incongruities of color or form, expressions of humor both subtle and bizarre,
all of the above occur in the world of rugs on a regular if unpredictable basis.
Is it this which fixates oure interest and traps us, this never knowing what the
next bale or next flip of a rug will reveal? Or is it perhaps the entrapping allure of the game, the rug business world, fraught as it is with inconsistency,
negotiation, hype or misrepresentation and disguised imperfection? When amongst and between all this greed and deception beauty or truth shine
through are they all the more alluring? Is it that the rug dealer feels as if he or she must be ever vigilant in order to snatch beauty and truth out of the centuries old mire that is the rug business itself?
Or is it the opposite? Is it the fraternity of rug dealers, who having struggled together and against one another share a common background, a common pursuit, a common world which is huge in scope, containing all the infinite
variations, eccentricities and perversions of the human world within their own fraternity, all providing endless fruit for comparison, contrast and bemusement? The rug world is indeed huge, spanning countries, continents
and cultures, yet it is at the same time an artificial and self contained world. This is what makes it so engrossing. The real world, the real universe is too
large, too vast and incomprehensible. We require something somewhat more limited to trap and focus our attention, yet with enough scale and variation to keep us occupied and interested for a lifetime.
No doubt the addictive nature of the rug business owes something to all of the factors I have proposed. Of course, the degree one or another is activated
will depend on each individual. I know myself, it was the human world, the peole, within this rug culture that first drew me in and keeps me there still. Here is an example.
As part of my life in the rug world I must travel to various places on a regular basis. One of those places is India. I have spent a good part of my life in
India. Much of my time in India I spend in the weaving belt of eastern Uttar Pradesh near Varanasi. The plains are flat and green. Villages of thick mud
walled simple houses and huge old trees are scattered throughout. The land is rich and the people are poor.
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Muslim outside of his village in 1977.
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I had a good friend in this area. He worked in the company with whom I have made rugs for many years. His real name was Akhtar, but everyone called him Muslim. He was a poor man.
His duties included vegetable dyeing of yarn, lifting carpets, making bales and finishing carpets. He was poor because he was born poor, in a village, of low caste and without land, and because he had six children.
Despite his hardships he was always very good humored and hard working. He was well liked by everyone and never complained. He liked me very
much and used to do everything he could for me. For many years he invited me to come to his village and finally I did go.
It is a typical village on the flat plains of eastern U.P., accessible only on
foot or bicycle. There is a harijan bastee (untouchable settlement) separate from the rest of the village on the outskirts. Muslim’s family lived with the
other Muslim families in one part of the village. Higher caste Hindus lived in a different section. Almost all the land in the village was owned by Pandit, the Brahmin landowning family who had owned the land for countless
generations.
Muslim (when he was at home), his wife and six children slept in a single room earth floor hut about six feet by nine feet in size. The kitchen was in one
corner. His parents and one brothers’ family lived in a slightly larger house next door. All of his brothers and their families were in the same compound.
Muslim only came home once a month, as his village was too distant from the town where we work to go more often. Aside from Muslim’s work with carpets, his wife and older daughters earn money by rolling beedies, or leaf
wrapped Indian cigarettes. In a full day’s work one person can roll about five hundred beedies and for that she will earn 10 rupees or about 25 cents.
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Muslim’s wife and daughter cooking.
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When I visited they received me in the most lavish style they could summon. We talked for hours. There had never been a non-Indian in the village as far as anyone could remember. They killed a
chicken and cooked it, not something I wished for, but neither could I stop it. I enjoyed the day very much and for Muslim it had great meaning. He had previously asked me if I would like to marry his eldest
daughter, something which for various reasons I thought would not be well advised. In India having many daughters is a tremendous liability for a poor man (Muslim had four, the first four of his children), and I think it was a
matter which gave him great concern. 
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