Lohar Shilp~ Wrought Iron

The wrought iron craft of Chhattisgarh is centuries old. Crafted by the Muria tribes, wrought iron was traditionally used by the tribal people to make tools such as ploughs, knives and axes. While today’s artisans use recycled scrap iron, their ancestors extracted iron from the ores. Over the past few decades, artisans have adapted to the urban market and adopted newer designs.

The tedious craft process begins with cutting the iron sheets into smaller strips. A coal furnace is prepared alongside.

   

 The iron is made malleable by heating it in the coal furnace, and then beating it over a metal anvil using a hammer and tongs.

  

This heating and beating process is repeated until the sheet takes the intended shape. The artisans work tediously in the heat, first creating the shape and then finely detailing the product. (This forging process usually halts around noon as it becomes unbearably hot for the artisans to work due to the heat from the furnace and the asbestos roof.) It’s a rather tedious process; for example, forging the flat peacock outline below took around 20-30 minutes of heating and hammering.

 

Each product is entirely handmade and no machines are used in the process. The fine craftsmanship is evident as each figurine is created from a single sheet and has no joints. Decorative additions such as clothing/adornments for the figurines are made separately and attached to the product without using any welding technique or machinery. Finally, a coating of red oxide is applied to prevent rusting and then a coating of black paint is applied for lustre.

Hand-painted Tiles

The wind hugged us tight as our bikes rode along the serpentine roads. Swaying trees, calm lakes and pleasantly smiling fisherwomen pass us by. An hour later, we reach the dainty production unit in Goa, where blue and white hand-painted tiles greet us artfully at the entrance. With an obvious childlike excitement, and an unwillingness to mask it, we walk into the artists’ world of hues.

The art of hand-painted tiles was introduced in Goa centuries back by the Portuguese. The art soon intertwined itself with the local architecture and is often seen adorning church interiors, name plates at homes and hotel entrances.

According to the Goan state department for handicrafts, this art form was abolished in the 1960s, and was later revived by a few local artists in the late 1990s. Interestingly, the Goa government recently applied for a Geographical Indication (GI) tag for this art form. (A GI tag certifies that the product has a specific geographical origin.)

While traditionally the tiles were painted in blue and white, with time, artists eventually added a burst of colours and introduced contemporary designs. Notably, Mario Miranda inspired designs made their way to these hand-painted tiles.

Unlike the typicality of a noisy and busy workshop, the place is enveloped in its quiet surroundings, interrupted occasionally by the chirping of birds. It has a peaceful, susegad-ish feel to it. The workshop is small and tidy – rather minimalistic. The artists’ tables are colourfully marked with paint sloshes and littered with paint bottles and palettes. In a tiny space below, all the tiles are stacked alongside the off-white walls. The wall’s peeling paints struck a certain irony.

We're taken around the workshop to watch the artists at work. First, a plain ceramic tile is first wiped clean, then glazed (covered in a base coat of white) and set to dry.

Typically, the outlines of the painting are then draw in pencil or charcoal. Increasingly though, the outlines are being screen-printed. The paints are spread out, brushes are dipped and the bright white tiles slowly wear layers of colour. The paints are made of glass powder and do not fade over time.

The tiles are allowed to dry for a while, and then moved to a furnace. They are baked for 6-7 hours in the furnace at a temperature of over 1000 degrees centigrade. This allows the paint to fuse permanently with the ceramic surface, and also gives a glossy finish to the tile.

Our tryst with the artists comes to a gradual and pleasing end with an aromatic cup of chai, while melodious old-school Konkani music graces itself in the background. We take our time to pick our hand-painted tiles, bid adieu to the artists, and head out to soak up the Goan sun, sand and spirits. Afterall, it's all about mixing business with pleasure for us. Goa demanded that from us, and so, we kindly obliged.

The Hitchhikers' Note on Hitchhiking

We're not hitchhikers. Neither of us has ever been.
We've never taken off on a wild backpacking trip in some remote part of the world to brave all odds and enjoy every bit of the adventure. We're regular city girls who've been warned as kids to never ask for rides from strangers. Ever.

So doing exactly that for the first time seemed completely out of the question. Agreed, we were dead tired, agreed we had tons of bags and other sundry stuff weighing down on our not very strong shoulders and agreed that we were most likely to miss our train if we did not get to the station in time. But here we were, in the middle of this lovely winding and long (read never ending) stretch of a village road with no transport to ferry us back to the station.

Ideally, since the sun had gone down, we would've loved a nice leisurely walk more than anything. But time bound we were and 'not' with those bags. Not with 'those' bags please!
So on a whim and a little spur of the moment madness i stuck my thumb out just to see...i don't know...maybe if it actually works perhaps?! And to our great delight it did. But that wasn't as delightful when we realized we would still be riding with a complete stranger.

Of what i remember, the vehicle that stopped was a large rickety yet sturdy looking jeep. The man looked, well, like a regular middle-aged pot bellied, moustachioed country guy. I think he had worn a safari suit too.
Went with the look for sure!

So very hesitantly we asked him if he could give us a ride and he was not at all surprised strangely. Instead, very calmly he said that he'd drop us halfway and beyond that we'd have to walk it up. We were about to climb in when we realized that there was no back seat and so the two of us would have to push in on the front seat itself. We thought we'd manage and manage we did. Praying every second in our heads that he doesn't turn out to be a merry little psycho or a happy little creep.

Our overworked imagination brought us thankful disappointment as we got off the vehicle and thanked the kind and decent man. Since that first time, we've only become more sure of the goodness of humankind and have very successfully gotten free rides back each time we've been pressed for time. It's not the most exciting thing after a hard day at work but it's definitely something that adds that little extra something to our village trips. We hardly exchange more than five words, (of which three are thankyou!) with our driver. But in our list of varied modes of transport that we use to get to our Warli village and back, this one's the one that makes us smile a little.

Into Bidar

A rickety bus ride from Hyderabad dropped us off at the historic town of Bidar. Perched close to the border of Karnataka and Andhra Pradesh, Bidar today is a bustling town. Having served as the capital of the Bahamani dynasty in the past, it is steeped in history. Sadly its impressive fort ruins and history remain rather forgotten, while it’s precious age old craft – Bidri, is now its major claim to fame.

At first glance, Bidar seems like any other noisy, dusty little Indian town. People and buses whiz by and vehicles honk away noisily. It’s only later that we notice the fort walls in the backdrop, standing stoic, with the town settled all around it. It stirs up a weird sense of the future mingling with the past (surely the Sultans wouldn’t approve of its present state!).

Little stores flaunting gigantic Bidriware greet us all around. We visit a workshop situated along the periphery of the crumbling fort walls. We can’t get enough of the old ruins though, and stand glued…gasping in marvel, while the artisans chisel away nonchalantly. Forcing our eyes off the ancient walls, we walk into the workshop that gleams with its silver and black merchandise. 

 

Once inside, the rhythmic hammering of the silver slowly drowns all other noise. The artisans with their heads bent over, are completely engrossed in etching and chiseling magic into their wares. After a  full tour of the workshop, we feel  ‘all educated’ about  Bidri craft and its process.

The casting of alloy, carving and chiseling of designs, the hammering of silver in the tiny grooves, are all a tedious process. And then there’s the fascinating black soil ingredient from the Bidar Fort that has special chemical properties. Being away from sunlight and rain for hundreds of years, it is used as an oxidizing agent in the craft process. Chatting with the craftsmen, we gather a little trivia on the soil. Each goes with a different theory though. "No one really knows what makes this soil unique”. One suggests, “Back in the days of the Sultanate, copper coins were made in a section of the Fort. Powdered metal seeped down to the soil, giving it its oxidizing property over time”. Another claims it’s because ‘weapons were stored underground in the fort’.

We also found that there is no mass production of Bidriware, for the Bidar Fort soil is limited. Once this soil is depleted, the gleam of the silver and the rhythm of the chisel and file too will die.

Soon our short trip draws to an end and we realize that the town of Bidar, with its enormous Fort, the Rangin Mahal, Bahamani tombs, Mohamad Gawan Madarsa and the Chowbara  is an absolute must see. With not enough time to spare, we grudgingly board our bus back. We know we’ll return soon enough though… all that splendid 15^th century heritage is just too much to resist!

Bidri Craft ~ Waat eet ees?

Bidri is the craft of inlaying pure silver in a blackened alloy of zinc and copper. The craft gets its name from the Bidar district of Karnataka, where it is practiced. It originated in Iran (Persia) and came to India in the 14th century.

The significance of the craft lies not only in its beauty, history and production technique, but also in a special ingredient- the soil from the Bidar Fort. The black soil from the Bidar Fort has special chemical properties. The soil has been away from sunlight and rain for hundreds of years and is used as an oxidizing agent. For this, the craft obtained the ‘Geographical Indication (G.I.)’ tag to certify that it cannot be made anywhere else except Bidar. Despite the GI tag, the craft is on the wane due to a sharp rise in raw material prices – the price of silver has risen three-fold in the past 4 years, forcing a gradual decline in demand for Bidriware.

Bidri Process

Casting the alloy: A mix of soil, castor oil and resin is used to prepare a mould, in which the molten metal alloy of zinc and copper (in the ratio of 16:1) is poured to form the product base.

Since the surface of the casting is rough, a file or sandpaper is used to smoothen it.

       

Drawing the design: Copper sulphate is applied on the surface, which causes it to become temporarily black in colour. This makes it easy for the craftsman to draw the designs clearly on the black surface. The design is drawn using a metal stylus.

 

Engraving the design: Craftsmen then use a chisel to carve out this design.

        

Inlaying:  Inlay work is of two types - sheet work or wire work, depending on the design. Sheets or wires of pure silver are meticulously hammered into the grooves of the engraved design.

The silver is hammered in and the surface is buffed and smoothened to remove the extra silver jutting out.

      

After complete filing of the product, the temporary black coating is lost and the entire surface turns white again. The silver inlay work is hardly visible now.

Oxidizing:
The process of oxidizing is very unique to Bidri work. The soil from the Bidar Fort is mixed with ammonium chloride and boiling water to form a solution.

                          

When this solution is applied to the product surface, the zinc-copper alloy turns jet black, while the silver is unaffected. This black colour is permanent and does not fade. The end product is striking silver against a black background.

Warli Art ~ Waat eet ees?

Warli painting is an ancient tribal craft of India that dates back to 10th century A.D. or earlier. Warli figurines are stick-like and the geometric art bears a striking resemblance to the pre-historic cave paintings, like those in Bhimbetka, Madhya Pradesh. Compared to the colorful and intricate designs seen in other Indian paintings, the tribal Warli paintings are rather simple yet vibrant.

The Warlis are a tribal farming community blissfully nestled in and around the Western Ghats. Their villages are lush green with hills and farms strewn around. Despite their proximity to the bustling city of Mumbai, they maintain their tribal lifestyle and shy away from modern influences.

Traditionally, Warli paintings were done on special occasions only by women on the walls of their home. The wall surface is first smeared with cow dung and then a layer of red mud is applied. This is then painted upon with rice paste for the white colour. Until the 1970s, the Warli craft was not much known outside the villages where it is practiced. In the ‘70s, the Indian Government and a prominent tribal artist- Jivya Soma Mashe brought the craft to the fore in the national and international markets.  Today, for commercial purposes these paintings are also done on cloth, paper and wood. To suit these new materials, the rice paste was substituted by poster paints (rice paste dries up and flakes off cloth surface). Also, the men have now outnumbered the women as Warli artists.

Into Warli

What is it that draws us back to this bare brown village time and again? We'd imagine it's where our ideas and designs come to life. Where our artist resides, in his mud baked hut with Warli growing across the walls. He paints a fresh patch in the time between our frequent visits to his rustic home.

A few chaotic rickshaw, bus, train and dumdum rides and we reach our destination. Though only once after the pace slows down and the noise disappears, are we assured that we’ve indeed reached the village. Over glasses of cold water, we explain our designs to him, working, helping and learning to merge our ideas together.

Engrossed in the task at hand, time flies by. In breaks, we watch the afternoon shadows emerge and drown into the backyard earth. Sometimes there are glistening red chillies left out to dry with pieces of marinated fish in a steel plate. During lunch, an over-eager brood of chickens runs upto us and hangs around for company. There's also a cat, who conveniently chooses to snooze only under our drying umbrellas. We soak up as much of all this lazy calm as we can. And try to preserve a little till we get back to the city.

Evening brings what we eagerly look forward to, other than our work ofcourse, on every trip we make. Sitting pretty in white cups on a Warli tray, we can smell its lemon grassy cardamomyness right from a few feet away. It's a typical black tea that the women in the house prepare during afternoon evenings. It's super sweet and delightfully refreshing. We know we’re done only when we’ve emptied the last’est’ drop cup-upturned into our mouths.

In between, rounds of interesting conversations happen. He tells us how Warli art has been around forever. Since the time man painted on cave insides. We nod and recollect reading about cave paintings in Bhimbetka, Madhya Pradesh and how similar Warli is to those. He also points out how Warli as a language is a mix between Marathi and Gujarati. And how subtly different in pronunciations it is from Marathi. We learn that manjar (cat) in Marathi is majar in Warli. From his personal history, we learn he inherited the art from his grandmother, like a gift, passed on from one generation to another.

For us to see how a traditional artist works with contemporary designs is super interesting and we believe for him, challenging. So it’s rather rewarding when at the end of the day, as we stand assessing our work together, he steps back, cranks up his nose, sulks a little and then says 'I can't believe I painted it. It looks so amazing.'

But getting to being satisfied and content is quite the struggle we’ve learnt. Over the past few months we’ve tried and tested every possible paint before we found the one works umbrellas. After being miserably heartbroken over missing heads, hands, feet and other parts of our designs, we researched about and tested our products to finally figure out a customized paint that worked the magic.

Speaking of magic, a memory that needs to be shared – As we were trudging along on our way back home one evening, exhausted from two back to back days full of work, dragging along our bags and baggage, we were witness to a typical rural wonder. Up ahead on our almost pitch black path, we spotted a huge tree, aglow with a million fireflies. Just for that little bit, our bags seemed lighter.