A real craftsman

A development which has been taking place everywhere but which is perhaps most marked in Delhi is that people who work with their hands no l...

A development which has been taking place everywhere but which is perhaps most marked in Delhi is that people who work with their hands no longer take pride in their work. The attitude today is: just get the thing working, never mind how you do it, never mind how it looks, never mind how long it lasts.

It is near universal among carpenters now not to drill holes into which they can then drive screws. Instead, they hammer the screws in for some distance before beginning to twist them. Decades ago, we were taught to always be gentle with material objects, to never use force. If force was needed, something was wrong: and equally, if force were to be used, something would go wrong. That excellent principle is no longer recognised. Today the preferred implement of craftsmen is the hammer. Whatever it is, hit it.

8220;Craftsmen8221; is, of course, a wholly inappropriate description for these barbarians. Mechanics who deal with automotive vehicles are probably the leading specialists in ripping off their customers. Parts that do not need to be changed are routinely replaced at considerable cost; and of course the perfectly functional components removed are later sold to someone else.

Sometimes it is difficult to tell if deceit is at work or ignorance. Last month a fellow insisted that the linings of the front brakes on my scooter needed replacing. When the wheel was opened up, my diagnosis turned out to be correct: the cam was not doing its job. A narrow strip cut out of an old tin can was the answer. The only cost: labour. Brake linings are expensive and thinking people do not replace them without good reason.

The shopkeeper today will not easily admit to a defect in goods sold. Instead, there will surge forth a series of diversionary explanations. The first attempt will be to say that there is in fact nothing wrong. If the customer persists, there may be accusations of misuse. And so it will go.

This is of course only an expression of our national trait of never admitting that we might have been wrong. For a people none of whom ever makes a mistake, we are ranked surprisingly low in the world in terms of any criterion one may care to think of. Except, perhaps, dissembling.

At the beginning of the 60s, a child rather younger than me, fell seriously ill and died within a few months. But we witnessed something that cannot even be conceived of today. The carpenter who did that household8217;s work came one day and saw the sick girl. He squatted by her bed and spoke with her.

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A week later, he was back. He brought with him a doll8217;s house he had made. All its pieces fitted together perfectly and it was satin to the touch. It had tiny hinged doors and windows, and it came complete with tiny beds and tables and chairs in it. Who knows how many hours he had slaved over it, who knows what he could have earned for that much effort. When he was offered money, he broke into tears. 8220;Sahab, bitiya studies in the same class as my Navasi. How can I accept money?8221;

He was only a poor carpenter and the doll8217;s house will almost certainly have made his family go without something. But I believe he was immensely wealthy. He had earned his own respect for having put his skills to good use. He had earned the respect of those who saw the quality of his workmanship and the size of his heart. He had earned the smile of a little girl whose few remaining days would be made brighter by his work. A real craftsman.