In a modest community space tucked behind Chennai’s bustling IT corridor in Perungudi, a group of women gather every afternoon, their hands moving with practised precision over strips of plastic wire.

The material bends and loops under their fingers, slowly taking the shape of sturdy, patterned baskets, each one built through a series of tight knots and careful tension. 

It is painstaking work, one that demands both strength and patience. “After a while, your fingers start hurting… even your back,” one of the women says, pausing briefly before returning to the weave. “But when it’s finished, you feel proud.”

For many of them, this is not their only job. Their mornings are spent as housekeeping and support staff in the glass-fronted offices that define this stretch of the city, work that keeps the corporate world running, but rarely translates into financial security at home.

The weaving, then, becomes a second shift: a way to earn a little more, to make use of a skill they already possess, and, just as importantly, to sit together in a space that feels their own.

When Siraj Khan first noticed them, she was in the next room, teaching their children. Siraj, a teacher by profession and a single mother who had rebuilt her own life through years of financial and emotional strain, had come to the centre to conduct classes.

But what drew her attention was not just the quiet rhythm of the women at work, but the gap it revealed. “They knew the craft. They were already doing the work,” she recalls. “But there was no way for them to sell it, no system, no market.”

That realisation, simple yet difficult to ignore, marked the beginning of what would later become Thalir LEED, a community-led initiative that has since enabled over a hundred women to turn their hobby into a means of financial independence.

A journey shaped by survival

Siraj’s instinct to notice what lies beyond the obvious is rooted in her own life.

A single mother of two, she remembers navigating a period marked by uncertainty and isolation after her marriage broke down.

“I have no support from my parents or family,” she recounted to The Better India. With mounting financial pressure, she turned to self-education as a way forward, completing my BA, MA, and BEd in English while raising her children.

Her early career as a freelance web designer allowed her to stay close to them, but it came with its own instability. “I needed something more consistent,” she says. That need eventually led her into teaching, a profession she would remain in for over 13 years.

But even within classrooms, Siraj’s approach extended beyond just textbooks. Her weekend activities with NGOs had already started changing her perspective.

“Children don’t just need lessons,” the philanthropist turned entrepreneur says. “They need attention, they need someone to listen.” Over time, her classes became more interactive, rooted in conversation and care as much as curriculum.

It was this same attentiveness that led her to notice the women outside her classroom in Perungudi, and to recognise that their needs, too, extended beyond the obvious.

The foundation that made it possible

The space Siraj walked into was not built overnight.

The New LEED (New Life Economic and Educational Development Trust), where she had begun volunteering, wasn’t a new initiative finding its feet.

For nearly two decades, the organisation had been dedicated to working with underserved communities and building programmes around education, healthcare, skill........

© The Better India