Puan is the name for the traditional Mizo skirt. It's just about 2 yards of woven fabric, worn wrapped around the waist with the end discreetly tucked in. Several times I have been asked if I want to wear one and I decline. What a disaster if I stand up and the skirt falls down! Some of the women do wear belts around the waist to avert this possibility.
The other day was a national holiday, a secular day not celebrated by the College; nonetheless, many turned out in their finest. The men have a traditional shirt which you can't see in this photo. The plaid looks like this:
The traditional colors for the women look like this:
But you see every style and color in the stores:
As far as I know, they are still hand woven.
Zira (husband) and Rami (wife) spent six years in Berkeley while Zira was getting his PhD. They speak as good an English as is to be heard in these parts; their two young daughters are quite fluent. Rami's parents live in the city but bought a plot of land in the country and the family is developing a farm so as to be more self-sufficient. The two of them spend a lot of time out there, working the land and caring for the crops.
We went out to visit and Rami parked the car on the main road. We had to walk down some very narrow paths on the edge of the hill. One man coming up the hill gave me his bamboo walking stick, for which I was quite grateful. Several times I had to hold Rami's hand taking steep downward steps. I joked with her saying that I believe that the people are part mountain goat.
On the property, her parents have built one medium size hut, with a small kitchen and bedroom. However, there is also a back room with three full-size puan looms.
The young lady who was working had a graph for the design, just as we would use for cross-stitch embroidery, or as I have seen used by Persian rug makers. She told us it takes about one day to weave one skirt.
Down the hill was another building and I could hear more looms at work. Rami's father, who introduced himself to me by saying, "I am 76 years old", was a high school teacher and speaks some English. He told me there were 17 workers in the other building. He started the business when he retired from teaching.
Rami asked me if I wanted to go back up the hill in the car with her parents' driver. She told me he was an excellent driver, which they all seem to be, by necessity. I told her that it is much easier for me to walk up than down, but she insisted. So I got in the car and I found out the reason that she doesn't drive down to the property. The road is still being built. As we came around one curve, here was a big pile of rocks and the men hammering them into smaller pieces with which to pave the road. Yes, breaking rocks in the hot sun is a reality here.
So the men began to throw the largest rocks to one side and eventually we drove past, two wheels on the dirt, and two wheels bouncing around on the pile of rocks. I know we bottomed out 2 or 3 times. I don't know what they make the cars out of here. And when I finally got out at the market in Durtlang, I saw that the back tires were close to bald.
Yes, said Rami, I wanted you to have the experience. And quite an experience it was.
The other day was a national holiday, a secular day not celebrated by the College; nonetheless, many turned out in their finest. The men have a traditional shirt which you can't see in this photo. The plaid looks like this:
The traditional colors for the women look like this:
As far as I know, they are still hand woven.
Zira (husband) and Rami (wife) spent six years in Berkeley while Zira was getting his PhD. They speak as good an English as is to be heard in these parts; their two young daughters are quite fluent. Rami's parents live in the city but bought a plot of land in the country and the family is developing a farm so as to be more self-sufficient. The two of them spend a lot of time out there, working the land and caring for the crops.
We went out to visit and Rami parked the car on the main road. We had to walk down some very narrow paths on the edge of the hill. One man coming up the hill gave me his bamboo walking stick, for which I was quite grateful. Several times I had to hold Rami's hand taking steep downward steps. I joked with her saying that I believe that the people are part mountain goat.
On the property, her parents have built one medium size hut, with a small kitchen and bedroom. However, there is also a back room with three full-size puan looms.
Down the hill was another building and I could hear more looms at work. Rami's father, who introduced himself to me by saying, "I am 76 years old", was a high school teacher and speaks some English. He told me there were 17 workers in the other building. He started the business when he retired from teaching.
Rami asked me if I wanted to go back up the hill in the car with her parents' driver. She told me he was an excellent driver, which they all seem to be, by necessity. I told her that it is much easier for me to walk up than down, but she insisted. So I got in the car and I found out the reason that she doesn't drive down to the property. The road is still being built. As we came around one curve, here was a big pile of rocks and the men hammering them into smaller pieces with which to pave the road. Yes, breaking rocks in the hot sun is a reality here.
Yes, said Rami, I wanted you to have the experience. And quite an experience it was.
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