Monday, February 25, 2008

FEAT OF CLAY

A once glorious art form tethers on the path of oblivion
Sachin Pal coughs as he talks, “I was nine then. While playing in these narrow lanes of Kumartuli, my eyes fell upon an aged potter. With a whimsical style, he was shaping Maa Durga, as if a musician was playing his instrument. I was startled to see his eyes. They were looking more beautiful than those of Maa Durga. I went to him, touched his arms and said, ‘Kaka, amay thakur gada sekhabe? (Uncle, will you teach me how to make idols?)’ He smiled and perhaps his smile told me, for years to come, this will be my life!” Pal cannot really remember whether he is 60 or 65 now. His black, thin, naked body has only a gamcha wrapped around the waist, his face marked with week long stubble as he sits on the mud floor, two arms resting on the knees, fingers full of mud, and a half finished beedi sprouting from the left corner of the lips, talking to himself, “This profession enabled me to support a family of eight members. Now two of my three daughters are married, one still remains. Yet, these days, it’s so tough to handle! My son says, this is a ‘worthless’ job. He sells lottery tickets! This generation doesn’t understand it at all….”

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