How the Halba Koshti Weavers Shaped Nagpur’s Culture and Cuisine

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In the late 19th century, a group of migrant weavers quietly altered the cultural landscape of Nagpur. These were the Halba Koshti people, a tribal community from central India, who arrived in this eastern Vidarbha city around 1877 to work in a new textile mill.

At the time, industrialist Jamsetji Tata’s Empress Mills had just been established, drawing skilled labour from across the region. Among those drawn to the city were the Halba Koshtis, who brought with them not only centuries-old handloom expertise but also unique customs, language, and even recipes from their homeland.

Over the decades that followed, this modest community of weavers would leave an outsized imprint on Nagpur’s cultural identity, from the fabrics that clothed its people to the spicy cuisine that now defines its mornings.

Arrival of the Halba Koshti Weavers

The Halba Koshti story in Nagpur begins with opportunity and upheaval. Historically, the Halba tribe (also called Halbi) hails from the forests of what is today Chhattisgarh and Madhya Pradesh.

Under British rule, Halbas were recognised as an indigenous “Scheduled Tribe” in the Central Provinces, including parts of present-day Vidarbha.

Many Halbas took up weaving as a livelihood, becoming known as “Koshti” (the Marathi term for weaver). In fact, anthropologists note that the “weaver Halba” eventually merged socially with the traditional Koshti caste of this region.

This convergence gave rise to the joint identity “Halba-Koshti,” reflecting tribal origins fused with the weaver’s trade. By the 1870s, when Nagpur was emerging as a textile hub, generations of Halba Koshtis had honed a reputation for fine handloom work.

The opening of Empress Mills in Nagpur in 1877 provided a magnet for these artisans. Contemporary accounts describe how the Halba Koshtis hailed from Madhya Pradesh and came to the city to take up jobs in Empress Mill, settling in large numbers around the mill compounds.

They formed a close-knit enclave of weavers in localities like Colonel Bagh in the Mahal area of the old city. Many families brought their looms and traditions, ready to weave new fortunes from the region’s rich cotton harvests.

At home, they spoke Halbi, a dialect blending Marathi and Odia influences, which they maintained even as they learned Marathi for city life. By all accounts, Nagpur’s new migrants integrated into the social fabric while preserving a distinct identity.

Notably, early 20th-century observers recorded that the Koshti weavers in Nagpur even took part in the local Muharram festivities, tying a green thread around their bodies and begging for alms at the start of the Islamic month, a sign of their long association with Muslim neighbours in Berar.

Textile Traditions and Transitions

The Halba Koshti community quickly became central to Nagpur’s textile craftsmanship, bringing with them techniques passed down over generations. In their native villages, they had woven the famed kosa silk from forest silkworms.

After moving to Vidarbha’s cotton country, they adapted their craft, shifting from silk to the fine local cotton that was abundant in Nagpur’s hinterland. The hallmark product was the “Patti Kinar” saree, a traditional nine-yard drape that these weavers made uniquely their own.

Woven from single cotton yarn, each saree measured about 6.5 metres and featured a plain 3-inch border with extra-weft dot motifs (known as butis) sprinkled across the fabric. The colours were usually muted, earthy tones, light enough for everyday wear in the scorching summers of Vidarbha.

In an era when brightly ornamented silk was reserved for the elite, these cotton sarees were elegant but unembellished, intended to be affordable and practical for working women.

For a time, Nagpur and nearby weaving centres like Dhapewada, Bela, and Umrer thrived on this cottage industry. The Halba Koshti weavers’ exquisite Patti Kinar sarees and fine silk-bordered dhotis were exported widely.

In the early 1900s, Nagpur’s handloom cloth exports were estimated at ₹5 lakh annually. Umrer and Pauni became especially known for their silk-bordered cotton lugda cloth, sustaining many weaver families. Older weavers initially shunned jobs in the mechanised mills, preferring the independence of their home looms.

But by the mid-20th century, the handloom industry was in decline. The advent of cheap, machine-made textiles flooded the market, undercutting the demand for laboriously handwoven sarees. As powerlooms and mills proliferated, “the product of [the weaver’s] loom” no longer fetched a viable price.

Many cooperative societies of weavers collapsed under financial strain. In villages like Dhapewada, which once had over 40 weaving households, only about half a dozen still keep their looms running today.

An ageing generation of Halba Koshti artisans continues weaving largely out of habit, while most of their youth have sought other work due to the meagre income. The community that once dressed the region now faced an existential challenge to its craft.

Yet, the legacy of those textiles endures. The Halba Koshtis’ Patti Kinar saree is remembered as a symbol of Vidarbha’s heritage, and efforts are afoot to revive it.

Recently, design experts from NIFT partnered with local weavers to document and modernise this saree’s patterns.

Even government initiatives have begun training hundreds of Halba Koshti women in new weaving projects, aiming to preserve history, culture, and the skilled artisans for future generations.

Through such interventions, the surviving weavers find hope that their traditional kinar borders and buti motifs may once again adorn wardrobes, not just as nostalgia, but as a living craft.

From Looms to Saoji Kitchens

As weaving declined, the Halba Koshti community demonstrated remarkable adaptability. Finding their loom-work increasingly unprofitable by the mid-1900s, many had to pivot to new livelihoods.

They fell back on another aspect of their heritage: cooking. When industrial mechanisation threatened their traditional livelihoods, many community members established small food stalls near the mills.

After long days of manual work, the weavers had always relied on robust, spicy fare to replenish themselves.

Now, out of economic necessity, they turned those home recipes into a public trade. Women of the community, traditionally the custodians of spice-mixing knowledge, led this culinary enterprise, blending their ancestral spice mixes with locally available ingredients and selling hearty meals to fellow labourers.

Over time, what began as humble mill-side kitchens evolved into Nagpur’s signature cuisine known as Saoji.

By the 1970s, dedicated Saoji eateries had sprung up in the city. The first reputed Saoji restaurant was opened in the Golibar Chowk area by a Halba Koshti weaver-turned-chef named Mama Dhamarkar.

The defining feature of Saoji food is its searing heat and complex spicing. The Halba Koshti cooks use a masala with an almost secret composition, often two dozen or more spices painstakingly balanced.

Black pepper, dried coriander, bay leaves, black cardamom, cinnamon, cloves, poppy seed, and more are dry-roasted and ground to form the potent base of all Saoji gravies.

Traditionally, linseed oil (locally called jute oil) is used instead of ghee, giving the dishes a distinct earthy aroma. “The unique blending and balancing of spices makes Saoji food different,” explains Ajay Jarulkar, a second-generation Saoji restaurant owner, noting that authentic recipes remain fiery and are cooked in earthen pots with fresh-pressed oils.

Indeed, the food’s intensity is such that one has to acquire a taste for it. It’s not for the faint of palate. But for Nagpurians, the sweat and tears from a proper Saoji mutton curry are a point of pride.

One of the driving forces behind Saoji cuisine’s growth was economic pragmatism. As one community elder recalls, “As mills closed and markets dwindled, this was the easiest way to earn a living,” turning spice-laden home cooking into a business.

Clusters of weavers in places like Umred town, which had a huge Koshti settlement, gained renown for their spicy canteens, spreading the reputation of Saoji by word of mouth. Families closely guarded their masala formulas, passing them down through generations of Halba Koshti women. “The trick lies in mixing the spices, which is known only to Koshti women,” says Ramesh Saharkar, whose father started one of the earliest Saoji outlets in Umred.

Even today, many believe the full nuance of a true Saoji curry can’t be replicated by outsiders. This exclusivity has led local figures to push for a Geographical Indication (GI) tag to protect Nagpur’s Saoji food, much like champagne or Darjeeling tea, both to celebrate its uniqueness and prevent dilution by imitators.

The most ubiquitous legacy of Halba Koshti cooking is undoubtedly Tarri Poha. This spicy twist on a Maharashtrian breakfast staple was born from the fusion of the community’s cuisine with local habits. Poha (flattened rice sautéed with onions and turmeric) was a common morning meal across Maharashtra long before the migrants arrived.

But in Nagpur, Halba Koshti vendors introduced a game-changing accompaniment: tarri, a soupy kala chana (black chickpea) curry redolent with their signature spices. Rather than mix everything together, early 20th-century street vendors began serving a mound of mild poha alongside a generous ladle of the fiery tarri.

Diners would douse the poha with this broth, creating a delightful contrast of textures and flavours, the soothing, nutty rice against a sharp, chile-laden gravy.

The innovation caught on quickly among the working class. By the 1980s, Tarri Poha stalls had proliferated from mill gates to markets and college campuses, feeding office-goers and students every morning. The dish has since become inseparable from Nagpur’s identity, a daily ritual that cuts across class lines.

Many of the most famous Tarri Poha vendors either learned directly from Halba Koshti cooks or still source spice mixes from them, a quiet acknowledgement of the dish’s roots.

Today, locals proudly assert that one hasn’t truly experienced Nagpur without a plate of Tarri Poha at a bustling street stall. The enduring popularity of this breakfast staple is, in effect, a tribute to the Halba Koshti community’s ability to transform hardship into a cultural treasure.

Integration and Cultural Imprint

From the shuttles of their looms to the ladles of their kitchens, the Halba Koshti community has woven itself into Nagpur’s cultural identity. What began as a migrant tribal group seeking work in an industrial city evolved into a community that helped define the city’s character.

In the process, the Halba Koshtis adapted to their new home while preserving core elements of their heritage.

Most members are now bilingual, speaking Marathi in public life but often conversing in Halbi (a Chhattisgarhi-linked dialect) within their homes.

They participate in mainstream religious festivals like Diwali and Holi alongside their neighbours, yet also retain unique customs and folk traditions from their tribal past.

Their historical willingness to embrace cultural syncretism, evident in practices like observing Muharram with Muslim friends, shows how seamlessly they blended into the plural social fabric of Vidarbha.

Crucially, the contributions of Halba Koshtis are now being acknowledged as integral to Nagpur’s heritage.

Community leaders and historians have noted that the “Halba-Koshti” label itself is a reminder of the group’s dual identity, indigenous people who became master weavers. While there have been bureaucratic struggles over their official status in recent years (with some Halba Koshti families fighting for tribal reservations in Maharashtra), their cultural status in Nagpur is unquestioned.

In 2023, local representatives highlighted that Halbas were recognised as an Adivasi tribe in this region since the British era and form a significant part of Nagpur’s social mosaic. Meanwhile, efforts to revive traditional weaving under government schemes and the push for a GI tag for Saoji cuisine underscore the value of the community’s legacy.

It is a legacy of skill, spice, and survival instincts, one that has enriched Nagpur in everyday ways.

As Nagpur’s fame grows for its distinctive orange orchards, fiery foods and rich handlooms, much of that uniqueness can be traced back to the Halba Koshti influx over a century ago. Their story is a remarkable case of cultural integration: an Adivasi weaving community that arrived seeking livelihood and in turn expanded the city’s cultural horizons. The sarees they wove clothed generations and are now being reimagined for future fashions.

The foods they cooked to sustain themselves have become emblematic of Nagpur’s culinary appeal far beyond Vidarbha.

In the lanes of Mahal or the stalls of Kasturchand Park, one can still feel the imprint of this community, in a pattern on a drape, or the aroma of a spice blend at dawn.

Nagpur’s cultural identity, in many ways, has been woven and spiced by the Halba Koshtis’ journey. And as new chapters unfold, from revival projects to gastronomic accolades, that journey continues to bind the past and present, much like the sturdy cotton threads on a weaver’s loom.