Here Iam on the road again…
Travelling across India to meet the remarkable people preserving its handmade traditions.
Chapter 5: Chizami
Part 2 – Where Traditions Find Their Future
"Craft is the language of the hand, but the heartbeat of a culture." — Unknown
🧭 The Journey Trail
📍 Chizami Weaves Entrance
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🎶 The Heavenly Mountain Choir
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🏡 Loin Loom Weaving with Nienu
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🐝 Ancient Log Hives & The House of Horns
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🍲 A Hearty Naga Feast
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🚂 The Crossroads to NJP
As I stepped through the main gates of Chizami Weaves, I was completely awestruck by the wooden architecture. The hand-carved motifs on the facade set a tone of immediate reverence.
I was warmly greeted by Akhrolhilohe from marketing and Mhetshewe from accounts. They told me that Atshole and the rest of the team were waiting in the back office, which required a steep walk down from the entrance.
We descended the steps, winding past patches of vibrant succulents and soft dandelions. Down in the valley, I noticed colourful hanks of thread hanging on lines, gently drying after being washed and bleached.
"So before every shawl, table runner, or tote is woven," I said, looking at the vibrant yarns, "the threads first get to breathe in the mountain air?"
Akhrolhilohe and Mhetshewe looked at each other, smiled, and said, "Wow... we never really thought of it that way!"
As I walked behind them, the soft chirping of mountain birds began to mix with a faint, harmonious humming. As we drew closer to the office, the sound swelled into what felt like a full heavenly choir. It wasn't in English, but in their native Khezha language.
Inside, just few boys and girls were practicing for an upcoming Church Choir Competition in Kalimpong, but their voices filled the valley as if a 20-piece choir were singing in unison. It was pure bliss.
After meeting the team, Atshole stepped away to take a call while Akhrolhilohe helped me get my Inner Line Permit sorted online. It cost all of fifty bucks, I only wished I’d known that back at the army checkpoint!
Next, Akhrolhilohe took me on a tour of their workshop. Everything was meticulously organized—from shelving filled with finished products to raw yarn awaiting processing.
When Atshole rejoined us, she showed me their collection of traditional Naga Shawls.
The moment I laid eyes on them, I was smitten. The bold contrast of striking reds, blacks, and whites, woven with unique tribal symbols, proudly carries the identity of each Naga tribe. Traditionally woven from pure cotton or wool, these shawls are living tapestries of family heritage and tribal honour.
The real heart of Chizami Weaves lies in how these threads reach the loom.
The raw yarns are distributed to local Naga women, who take them back to their homes. After spending grueling hours working in the paddy fields, these women return home, finish their household chores, and sit at their loin looms for an hour or two each evening.
In a world dominated by high-speed power looms, these women are passionately keeping a dying, ancient art form alive.
"Is there any way I can visit the village and see a weaver in action?" I asked.
Atshole made a few quick calls, but no one seemed available. I held my breath, silently praying while that sweet choir melody still hummed in my head.
A moment later, Atshole turned around with a grin. "You're in luck! A weaver in the village is just setting up her loom."
Mhetshewe offered to walk me down into the village. Observing my struggle with his name, he kindly offered, "You can just call me Awe."
"Let's go, Awe!" I said, dropping my backpack and stepping into the wilderness.
We hiked down muddy mountain steps, passing simple wooden homes tucked into the forest. One house displayed the Indian Tricolour on a bamboo pole, it belonged to a local postman who works in Phek.
Since Chizami has no official post office, he voluntarily acts as the village bridge, carrying mail back and forth every day.
Further down the trail, I spotted what looked like a heavy wooden barrel covered by a metal protective roof sheet.
This wasn't farm equipment, it was a traditional log beehive, hand-carved from a single hollowed tree trunk. The small side door allows for inspection and harvesting without destroying the nest, while the metal roof protects against monsoon rains.
In Chizami, wild honey is still harvested using these sustainable, living hives: recreating the bees' natural habitat just as their ancestors did centuries ago.
We finally arrived at the home of Neiwulou, a master weaver.
As we walked in, a local man sitting nearby with a midday drink quickly hid his glass. Awe chuckled softly. "That's the story here sometimes," he whispered. "The women do the farming, the weaving, and run the households, they are the true breadwinners."
Indeed, across my travels through the Northeast, I’ve continually seen how women form the resilient backbone of these communities: educated, hard-working, and dedicated to supporting their families.
Nienu didn't speak English, and I certainly didn't speak Chakhesang, but with Awe translating, she invited us in and set up her Loin Loom (back-strap loom).
Watching her work was hypnotic.
She strapped the loom around her lower back, controlling the tension of the warp threads simply by leaning backward. With rhythmic precision, she used lease rods to separate the threads, passed the shuttle carrying the weft yarn, and brought the heavy wooden sword beater down with a sharp, satisfying snap to lock each thread in place.
The weaver literally becomes part of the loom. Her body provides the tension, her hands guide the shuttle, and generations of ancestral memory are woven into every single inch.
"It takes up to a month of daily work just to finish a single table runner," Awe explained.
When you hold a Chizami textile, you aren't holding a factory product. You are holding a month of someone's life, patience, and devotion. As we prepared to leave, Neiwulou offered me a traditional blessing, her hands warm and welcoming.
Walking further into the village, we passed an elderly couple building a wooden fence around their home.
The wife was digging while her husband, sitting in a wheelchair, guided her. Both were well over 80 years old. When I offered to help, they kindly declined with a smile, they preferred doing it their own way. Such a contrast a while back. We walked further down, kids were playing I couldn’t help but to but to click them, played with them for a while and moved ahead.
Up near the edge of a cliff, Awahe pointed out a house towering above the village skyline.
Rising from its roof were striking, crossed wooden finials known as Ceka (or Chika-chi) also called "house horns."
Historically, these horns were an honour reserved exclusively for families whose ancestors had served the community, hosted grand feasts for the entire village, or shown great bravery in times of war. These homes aren't just buildings; they are living archives of prestige and pride.
As dusk settled, we walked back up to the Chizami Weaves hall.
Upstairs, Kekhropeu one of the choir singers—was preparing a simple, delicious Naga dinner: steaming dal, local black rice, paneer, baby brinjals, and a fiery fresh chilli chutney.
Sitting around the table with the team and another traveller from Gurgaon, enjoying a home-cooked meal full of rich, natural flavours, felt far superior to any seven-course hotel dinner.
I fell asleep early that night in the guest room, waking up at dawn to the calls of hornbills echoing across the roof.
Outside my room stood traditional conical bamboo baskets used by local women to carry crops and firewood, alongside various Naga Daos.
As my driver arrived to take me back down to Dimapur, the caretaker was out in the yard, using his blade to clear weeds from the path.
I bade a quiet farewell to Chizami, making a promise to myself: Like the Terminator, I will be back.
The drive back to Dimapur carried a quiet, reflective mood. On the way, we pulled over at a small roadside stall so the driver could pick up fresh vegetables.
I treated myself to fresh cucumber slices sprinkled with salt and local spices, hands down the best cucumber I’ve ever tasted.
Back in Dimapur, Joel picked me up and took me to see his upcoming café project before heading over to his restaurant. He got busy, I decided to step to local market in Dimapur, which was around 2-3km walking distance, the market was buzzing with vendors who were selling fresh and dry produce of Naga Chillies.
That evening, as the sun set on my Nagaland adventure, Joel arranged a final farewell dinner in his back office. Sitting there with Joel and Maggie, my last meal in Nagaland was a plate of Nasi Goreng topped with a fried egg, chicken satay, prawn crackers, and a cold beer.
It was a delicious reminder that these hills sit at a unique geographic crossroads where India gently transitions into Southeast Asia.
Late that night, Joel and Maggie dropped me off at the Dimapur Railway Station just in time for my overnight train toward New Jalpaiguri and then drive-up Darjeeling.
Looking back out the train window as the station lights faded into the dark, I felt a deep sense of gratitude.
From ancient log hives and back-strap looms to warrior houses, the warmth of Ikali, the spice of Saucy Joe’s, the adaptability of Msere, and the quiet strength of Chizami. I was leaving with far more than souvenirs.
I was leaving with lifelong friendships, unforgettable stories, and a profound respect for the hands and hearts keeping India's heritage alive.
🌿 Beyond the Journey
Did you know?
- Sustainable Beekeeping: The traditional log hives of Nagaland represent one of the oldest forms of stingless and indigenous beekeeping in Asia, seamlessly integrating farm ecology with forest conservation.
- The Cultural Value of Shawls: In Naga culture, giving a handwoven shawl is one of the highest expressions of respect, friendship, and hospitality.
- Southeast Asian Culinary Ties: Naga cuisine shares striking similarities with Southeast Asian food cultures, utilizing fermentation (Axone), bamboo shoots, fresh herbs, and rice-based dishes like Nasi Goreng across the border region.
🎵 Mango's Road Playlist
"Songs for closing chapters, long train rides, and fond farewells."
- John Denver – Take Me Home, Country Roads
- ABBA – Chiquitita
- The Beatles – In My Life
- Bob Marley – Three Little Birds
- Journey – Fatihfully
- Iron Maiden - Hallowed Be Thy Name
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Metallica - Nothing Else Matters
Until the next road,
Mangesh Shinde (Mango)
Co-Founder, Darjeeling Connection