Kutch diaries, in clay
Zikdi, 24th of September, 2014
Usmaan bhai looks like a man carrying the weight of his family. He is troubled about the future. There isn’t enough work and the family is growing. He is perhaps the only potter in Kutch who is still a part of the barter system. None of us were sure (not even him) on why he is still a part of this system. Only 40 kilos of wheat is assured to his family for the year and in return he is obliged to supply the terracotta wares for the whole year to the wheat-providing family. He is trapped in a vicious cycle and doesn’t know how to get out of it. His skill is limited; he makes pots for funerals and storage pots for water and buttermilk. Most other potters in the village have stopped all work and he is alone in this dilemma.
Usmaanbhai is telling us about his 15 years of labour in Dubai, the TV is blaring and we are sipping on some very sweet milky tea when the other potters walk in. A brief conversation follows about them participating in our initiative. There is some excitement, but they are controlling it. Several people have come and gone, claiming to help but little has happened. For some reason, they seem to like us and trust us. A date is fixed for our next visit when we’ll come to see the first sample of the work. Everybody seems happy and we say goodbye to Usmaanbhai. Ramjubhai, the other potter insists that we visit his place too for tea.
So we walk across to Ramjubhai’s. He has a “pukka” house in brick and cement. The verandah is paved and extremely clean. There’s a tree in the centre of this verandah, covered with yellow flowers and a goat resting under its shade, lazily chewing on some leaves.
We are greeted with big happy smiles, like every other family in Kutch. The mother is painting some “garba” pots, the rest of the family is watching us excitedly. So is the neighbour, keenly peeking over the wall; I can see only her eyes and her heightened cheeks, she has a smile on her face. The daughter-in-law is the only one bedecked in gold jewellery; she must be a newly-wed.
Ramjubhai has stopped working completely now. His sons are masons and auto drivers who get regular work in the city. Ramjubhai has become a seller of pottery now. He purchases basic pots from the potters in nearby villages, his wife paints on them and then he drives village to village selling the wares.
I cannot hide my look of shock when I’m told that each garba pot is sold for Rupees fifteen in the market and for rupees five by the potter to Ramjubhai. How is that possible? I’m imagining the potter walking out to the fields with his shovel and gunny sack. He digs for the clay in the burning heat of the dessert fills the sack with the hardened rock-like clay and walks back home. The mothers and wives then get to work. They hammer they clay to a powder and sieve it. It’s then mixed with water and kneaded into dough. The senior potter of the family, who is more skilled, will then throw the basic form of the pot on the wheel. The thrown pot is kept to dry to mildly leatherhard state where it can be further shaped but is firm and easier to handle. The junior potter does the further shaping of the pot. This technique is called tapping. A wooden bat and clay or stone support is used to shape the pot and expand its size by thinning and stretching the walls. It’s then left to dry out completely before it can be fired in the brick kiln and then sold to the market. Needless to say, five rupees a pot is barely justifiable.
Later in the week, there is a similar story at Lodai. There are three potters left here, all three from the last generation. Assam bhai is aging now and simply put, fed up. He doesn’t want to change his methods or techniques or go out of his way now. He has had enough of “trying”. It’s not working out. He’ll live out the rest of his days doing what he knows in the little work he gets.
He is the last generation of the craft and will take it to the grave with him.
