My Name is Blue

The family has been producing the particular blue for seven generations now. “The Mughals brought many crafts with them in the 1500s. At that time, many families learnt the art but now, nobody is left,” says Lal. The designs, too, have been with the family for many generations. “Though the designs can be copied, the colours can’t,” says Lal, who used to teach pottery for many years as part of a government-run programme.

So how is his work different? In a lighter moment, he reveals he uses edible gum — a resin extracted from the bark of a tree — as one of the components of the mix. The base is powdered stone. “It’s not any stone. We use acid to test the stone,” says Lal. While they source the powdered stone from a factory now, Lal remembers the women of his family grinding the stone in huge chakkis (grindstone) at home. They got rid of the grindstones a few years back, “because there’s no one to do all that”.

Four years back, an accident forced Lal to step back a little more. A dark patch in the small room where we sit with Lal and his son, used to be the kiln in which they used to bake the pottery. It now serves as the entrance lobby to a coaching centre Ankit is running with a friend. To work in the kiln, Lal had to enter the underground kiln, and fix shafts on which he could place the pieces of pottery, which were handed down by his son. Ever since the accident, Lal can’t walk properly even with support. They now outsource the baking to kilns in Mehrauli.

One of the reasons their small profits have dwindled is that a lot of the pieces break or chip in transit. In two months, they are able to make 100-200 pieces to sell. “There’s no money in it. For me, it’s just a matter of honour,” says Lal, who takes orders at his place in Chander Vihar, east Delhi.

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