Before the sunrise, the quiet Neeruguttu Palle colony in Madanapalle begins to stir with the rhythmic sounds of a handloom. Inside a cramped room beneath a low roof, 58-year-old Subramanyam steps into the pit of his loom. His feet find the worn wooden treadles, and his hands take hold of the shuttle. The familiar khata-khat sounds mark the beginning of another 14-hour workday.

Outside his narrow wooden doorway, long hanks of crimson, teal, and gold silk thread are stretched between bamboo poles, drying in the cool morning air. Women walk past, carrying brass pots of starch water, while elderly men sit on stone ledges, carefully winding raw thread onto wooden bobbins.

But the handloom is no longer the only sound defining the colony. A few metres away, the rhythmic khata-khat gives way to the lounder hum of machinery. Inside a poorly lit concrete shed, 48-year-old Venkateswarulu supervises four motorised power looms clanking at top speed.

Between the two men, who are descendants of a long line of Rayalaseema weaving families, lies a striking contrast: one is tethered to the old ways of the slow precision of handlooms, while the other moves with the raw, unyielding speed of automated machinery.

Their experiences point to a wider trend documented in government records. According to official records under the One District One Product (ODOP) initiative, Madanapalle’s silk industry operates with nearly 7,500 active handloom units and over 8,000 weavers, supported by 35 primary cooperative societies. Additionally, a fast-growing network of around 200 power loom units is in operation. In reality, more than 50,000 people depend on this sector for their livelihoods.

Undervalued

But the numbers only tell part of the story. For traditional handloom weavers, crafting a single six-yard saree—which fetches ₹15,000 to ₹25,000 in high-end shopping malls in Bengaluru, Hyderabad, or Chennai—requires nearly a full week of disciplined labour. Yet, what actually reaches the weaver’s hands is only a tiny fraction of that retail value, typically around ₹8,000 to ₹9,000 for materials and labour combined.

While the retail market undervalues their artistry, the local structural system squeezes their actual take-home earnings even further, reducing master craftsmanship to below-subsistence wages.

The unwritten rule here is that the master weavers and local middlemen supply the dyed silk yarn and metallic zari on credit, dictating the wage rate per piece. For a saree that takes five full days of hard manual labour to weave, a professional weaver carrying a State government ID card earns roughly ₹1,000 to ₹1,500—just ₹200 to ₹250 a day. This is noticeably less than what an unskilled daily wage worker earns at a local construction site or in the tomato loading yard at Madanapalle’s agricultural market.

For a community already navigating uncertain prices, unpredictable weather adds another layer of difficulty. The cottage industry is regularly disrupted by high monsoon humidity, which causes delicate threads to snap repeatedly. Weaving slows down, yet not a single rupee is added in extra pay. Furthermore, any rise in raw silk prices in the wholesale spot markets of major mulberry silk trading centres directly depresses weaver wages.

In such circumstances, the financial burden becomes severe for weavers families that rely heavily on a complex system of advance payments from master weavers and middlemen. A majority of weavers take small loans during lean agricultural seasons, daughters’ marriages, or medical emergencies—debts that effectively bind their labour for years.

“I took ₹25,000 for a hospital emergency, and suddenly I was tied to that trader’s order book for three years,” says Kavitha (35), a weaver who boils starch in a blackened clay pot behind the loom pit. “Even though we have the skill, we are not free to take our work to another trader who might offer ₹100 more per saree. Our old debt acts like handcuffs. In many cases, women like me work merely to pay interest, not to build a future,” she adds on a heavy note.

An elderly handloom weaver works under strained conditions at Neerugattu Palle in Madanapalle of the Annamayya district.
| Photo Credit:
K. UMASHANKER

Toll on well-being

The cost of the crisis for the weavers is not measured only in rupees but also in the physical toll that the arduous daily routine takes on their well-being. Health surveys across South Indian handloom belts reveal that eight out of ten pit-loom weavers suffer from severe back, neck, shoulder, and knee ailments caused by sitting crouched in narrow spaces for hours without proper spinal support.

“Constantly inhaling fine thread particles and micro-fibers damages our respiratory systems. Bronchitis and chronic coughs are common among our families,” says Siva, a young weaver.

For Ramachandra (56), the strain on the eyes is equally unforgiving. “We spend hours aligning microscopic silk threads under a single hanging 40-watt bulb. It causes intense tension and headaches, which eventually lead to premature eyesight decline and gradual vision loss by our 60s,” he says.

The weavers see these hardships as a lived reality, but the officials demand attention to these concerns. A revenue official in Madanapalle acknowledges that, to numb the constant aches in their joints and lumbar spine, several weavers turn to alcohol or smoking after long shifts. “Persistent joint pain often leads to severe substance dependency, which consumes their meagre earnings, triggers domestic conflict, and ruins their physical health. Declining health, mounting personal debt, and meagre incomes drive many weavers to silently abandon their looms and migrate elsewhere,” he says.

If the handloom takes its toll through long hours of repetitive work, the power loom brings its own set of risks. A power loom worker handles 35 to 50 meters of fabric daily per machine. Power loom weaver Rajasekhar, 46, says the primary concerns are not spinal posture or eye strain, but rather constant noise, heat, and machinery hazards. “Working near high-capacity motors without basic ear protection makes noise levels hazardous over time. My ears ring for hours after my shift ends. I started a decade ago, and the ringing has eventually faded—not because it stopped, but because my hearing has dulled. Now, I find it hard to hear my family at home unless they speak at a raised volume,” he adds.

The physical strain is only one dimension of the handloom’s predicament. In the market, it must also contend with the speed and scale of the power loom. “A machine-made imitation is ready in hours for a production cost of under ₹2,000. These products flood regional wholesale markets, threatening the survival of the handloom trade. While official Geographical Indication (GI) tags and the national Handloom Mark exist on paper to protect us, the reality on the ground is very different,” says Rajendra (38), who dropped out of a B. Tech programme to return to weaving.

The struggle at the loom points to a larger challenge for the sector, one that officials acknowledge. Assistant Director of the Handlooms & Textiles Department, Annamayya district, R. Pawan Kumar Reddy states that relentless physical labour and economic hardship are driving the younger generation away from the loom entirely.

“There is a severe shortage of young weavers in the handloom sector. To protect traditional artisans, the Central government strictly enforces regulations prohibiting power looms from manufacturing pure silk sarees without blending cotton or polyester. While violations occur, our inspection teams regularly monitor workstations to curb these practices,” Reddy says.

Financial concerns

He further adds that some families turn to loan apps and private lenders to manage financial stress, which damages their credit (CIBIL) scores and disqualifies them from government schemes like Mudra loans.

“Bankers strictly evaluate CIBIL scores before sanctioning loans. We continuously monitor industry stakeholders and remain available to address genuine trade challenges. In one instance, a weaver approached us after falling into a ₹10-lakh debt trap accrued entirely for personal reasons. In such cases, we are helpless, yet these situations contribute to the misconception that government support is minimal,” Reddy states.

Handloom weaver Chandrasekhar shows his product at Neerugattu Palle in Madanapalle of Annamayya district.
| Photo Credit:
K. UMASHANKER

‘Too little to offer’

The question of the industry’s future ultimately comes down to its next generation of workers. However, young people from across the silk town are opting for roles in retail stores, mobile repair shops, gig economy driving, or pursuing technical degrees over sitting in a family loom pit.

Mahesh, 21, a computer applications student, says he does not entertain the idea of taking up the trade. “My father worked surrounded by silk dust and deafening noise, but I get to sit in a bright classroom. I respect our family’s craft, but I see no viable future in work that demands so much physical sacrifice for so little financial security. I might consider the power loom sector someday, but not handlooms,” he says.

The decline of handloom pits is fraying the social fabric built over 150 years of Madanapalle’s silk heritage. For generations, weaving communities have operated as tight-knit social networks—sharing tasks like warping, sizing, dyeing, celebrating festivals together, and relying on informal local credit unions during tough seasons. As pit looms fall silent, these community support systems are gradually disappearing.

“Unfortunately, a stigma has attached to the weaver community—that we are drinkers, smokers, and lazy. While a small fraction may fit that description, the bad reputation burdens innocent, hardworking people as well,” says Sambasiva (40). He owns three handloom pits that consistently yield a monthly profit of ₹60,000. “If you are willing to work, there is an abundance of work. If you don’t want to work, you can invent a thousand excuses,” he adds.

On the other hand, local trade activists argue that existing welfare schemes fall short of preserving the industry. “We need direct, practical support on the ground—such as wage subsidies per meter, accessible healthcare clinics specialising in occupational hazards, free reading glasses, and strict legal enforcement against power loom design piracy. A steady, affordable supply of yarn and direct access to high-end urban markets are essential to free weavers from exploitative intermediaries,” says 60-year-old Chandrasekhar.

For now, the looms continue to move, even as the future they represent grows less certain.