A letter from the founder of Peren Touch:

“I didn’t know we were building until it had already begun.

The first fabric we made wasn’t perfect. The colours didn’t quite settle as planned, the yarn was slightly uneven, and some edges frayed way beyond our expectations. But when I held it in my hands, I felt something shift, not in the way you think when a business starts, but in a way you feel when something ancestral wakes up and stretches its arms again.

I grew up watching my mother, Bano, at the loom. Her fingers moved without thought, as if they had memorised the rhythm before she was even born. She did not label this as art, heritage, or sustainability. It was just living, something you do because your mother did, and her mother before that.

Our home in Punglwa, in the Peren district of Nagaland, was full of these quiet rituals: natural dye baths bubbling on the fire, conversations flowing while threads were wound, stories tucked into each weave. But like many others, I too decided to leave for work and studies, trying to make something of myself ‘outside’. On every visit home, I noticed fewer women at the loom. Slowly, the looms started to gather dust. Our patterns then slowly began fading into nothing but a memory.

One evening, I asked my mother, “What happens when no one is left to remember how to do this?” She shrugged, not because she did not care, but because she had never imagined her way of life might need to be protected. That night, I wrote down the words ‘Peren Touch’ in a notebook, without knowing what I would do with them.

We began quietly. A few women – my mother and some of her friends started weaving together again. No launch or fanfare, just the hands meeting yarn. Some didn’t remember how to set up the loom, while others hadn’t dyed anything in years. But as they began, it came back, just like how muscle memory works, just like how you breathe.

My father, Lt. Shurhovi Haralu, a retired Air Force officer, watched everything from the side with his usual quiet pride. While he did not offer any advice, he said, “If it matters to you, then do it properly.” He was the first to back us financially, not as an investor, but as a father who knew this meant something more to us than just a hobby. He passed away in February 2025. Every day, I see the work we are doing as an echo of his belief in us.

While we did not have a clear roadmap, what we had was purpose. Orders trickled in, someone bought a stole from Kohima, and another placed a custom order from Delhi. Nothing was mass-produced, nothing rushed. Every piece we made told a story – of the woman who spun the yarn, of the leaves used in the dye, of the village that shaped it all.

The dyes came from what we had available: forest plants, tree bark, and indigo. We use natural organic cotton and Azo-free dyed yarns in our products. Nothing synthetic or wasteful. Some colours surprised us while some faded beautifully. This is how we leaned into the unpredictability, just as life does here.

The dignity of being seen made Peren Touch grow. Women who had always woven in the shadows, without payment, without credit, began to feel pride. The process of doing ‘only handicrafts’ changed to creating, earning, and sharing. We have always ensured that our business model is fair and not just fancy. Artisans are paid promptly, and decisions are made together. Sometimes work pauses because someone needs to tend to a field or care for a child. It is a part of life. We shift the loom and share the load. We do not see that as a disruption.

We have had no interest in ‘scaling’ for its sake. What we want is for each woman, each village, to feel ownership, to see that what she holds in her hands is valuable, not only because it can sell, but because it carries stories and skills. Traditional weaving is part of our culture, which was slowly dying. Therefore, this is an effort to continue and engage women and young children in the revival before we lose it all. Now, more villages are joining in. Some younger girls, daughters of weavers, are asking to learn.

I often think of the first time someone asked me, “So what is Peren Touch?” and I remember stumbling through answers – “It is a textile initiative, a revival project, a grassroots brand.” However, none of that really fits, because Peren Touch is not just a brand, but a bridge between the home and the world, between what we have lost and what we are still holding onto.

Our art of weaving has a generational history of intentional weaving. So, if you wear something we have made, know that it is true, and comes from somewhere real, from misty hills where stories are woven, from kitchens where dyes are cooked, from hands that have remembered more than we will fully understand.

And if you ever find yourself in Punglwa, the kettle will be on. And the loom will still be singing.”

Warmly,
Gugu Haralu
Founder, Peren Touch.