Woven and spun: An NGO at work in Nepal.

Santosh is driving a hard bargain when I return to his shop Thursday morning.

“Prices are fixed…fixed prices,” he says sternly to a group of Asian tourists, pointing at a laminated sheet of paper. Laminated. There’s no bending the rules with this guy.

But why should he? He runs the shop of a recently founded NGO, which employs local women to make bags, purses, tablecloths, pillowcases, etc, and then uses the proceeds from the items to support the women and their families.

I walked past it the night before, on my way back into town from the mountain-lined shorefront of Fewa Lake. The sidestreet was poorly lit and my attention was mainly focused on a few boys scampering up the lane with homemade kites trailing behind them and two girls drawing henna designs on each other’s hands.

Then a shop to my right caught my attention: Nepalese Women Skill Development Project, a wooden post read. I walked inside and spoke with Santosh briefly, long enough to learn I could come back in the morning and meet some of the women involved with the organisation.

“But it’s festival time,” he said, “So maybe only three women will be here.”

To my surprise, there are four. Three are in the back workroom, but I meet Rosi first, seated on the front section of the shop that’s open to the street. She’s at work on a loom that connects to the other end of the ceiling, forming a neat diagonal line between the roof and floor.

Unlike many of the bags and purses on display, the cloth Rosi is weaving is solid pink, a light shade of dusty rose that matches her name. A smile flickers when I ask if it’s okay to take pictures, but mostly her face stays set as she works. It has the Nepalese features I’ve come to recognise over the past few days: tight eyes and high, pronounced cheekbones.

Her gaze never shifts from the loom; her hands move with the precision of someone who knows what they’re doing. The shuttle is sent back and forth between the different parts of cloth. If there’s a single thread out of place, Rosi puts down the shuttle and sets it right.

When the shop empties of customers, I have a chance to sit down with Santosh. He tells me how the NGO’s founder, Indra, got experience in another company before starting her own. She’s now responsible for training the women, as well as all the designs.

“How long, how many color choice…many, many color choice. All ladies’ control,” he says with a laugh.

“They are helping purses. Poor ladies, not have husband or not joining their husbands, no income source, children not have food. After this they regularly have job. They come here, get training. After training is material checking, good or not…not good, long time training. Good material, regularly job. Not good material is not selling.”

Helping purses or not, Santosh is a salesman at heart.

When I think I’ve overstayed my welcome, I say goodbye to Rosi and head back out into Pokhara. I walk down the busy main drag thinking about how sometimes, we don’t know why we’ve come somewhere.

We don’t always have a real reason to be some place–whether it’s a different corner of our neighborhood or a new corner in Nepal–but that shouldn’t keep us from wandering down sidestreets, poking our heads into new shops, asking questions.

I didn’t know why I’d come to Pokhara, but maybe meeting Rosi and Santosh had something to do with it…

Want to check out the NGO for yourself? Visit their website here to learn more about them and view their products.