Tags:
Journalism of Courage
Many pairs of huge eyes stare straight ahead. They peep out of faces, atop still bodies in colourful costumes. But one beat of the dhol and the puppets come alive. The hands and feet move in with the music, entertaining children and adults through generations.
While the demand for their brand of entertainment may have died down in the world of television and satellite, kathputlis or puppets still command a respect from connoisseurs. Their masters may be going through hard times but their craft is still respected as high art. For who else but a kathputliwala can make others dance so well to their tune!
At Dilli Haat, the Capital’s very own rural mela, sits 55-year-old Chaman Lal with his beautifully crafted kathputlis. He doesn’t hold a kathputli ka khel but has put on sale a number of royalties and warriors on horse back, for as little as Rs 50 and to as high as Rs 1,000. And there are buyers who want to adorn their homes with these pieces of art.
Chaman Lal, who is here from a village near Jaipur, dates his art to a forefather who lived in times of the Mughal Emperor Akbar. “Once when the shehenshah had invited all the 52 royal heads of state under one roof, he gave a week’s time to his master craftsman Dangbhatt to think up something new and unique for his guests’ entertainment. Dangbhatt came up with kathputlis made of wood and dressed them up in Rajasthani and Mughal-style fineries and made them sing and dance,” the puppet-maker tells the legend.
Since then kathputlis have been a part and parcel of our psyche, especially in the rural India, entertaining us with tales of heroism and sacrifice from myths and legands and set to Rajasthani music. Now they make appearence at parties and weddings for a paltry Rs 1,500 or take up family-planning programmes of the government. Or else, the kathputlis sit pretty in a connoisseur’s drawing room.
Also at Dilli Haat sit Abid Hussain from Srinagar and Samuga from Tirupati. Like Chaman Lal they have no proper stalls (it costs more) and sit out in the open, with their art handed down to them for generations.
Though a hakim by profession, Hussain (35) took to Kashmiri naquashi or papier mache, to let his family’s tradition continue. Apart from traditional Kashmiri objects like jewellery boxes, and trays, Hussain has also improvised his craft to include glittering and tinkling Christmas tree decorations and tiny bells. His stall’s a big draw “but could be bigger if we didn’t have so many of us at one venue,” he rues.
Priced Rs 15 for the tiniest bell to Rs 800 and above, the process for a final product is hard and difficult to achieve that perfect look for which the Vally’s craft is famous for. The strudy and intricately carved papier mache wares had patrons who never set a limit to appreciating a work of art. But today, says Hussain, the customes haggle and try to get a bargain going by the sixe of a box. While the truth is that even a tiny box can be priced in thousands depending how intricate the work is.
And a little distance away from Hussain is Samuga. As he chisels away at a piece of neem wood to sculpt out a tale from the Mahabharata, he has a buyer who wants a painted Ganesha head priced at Rs 4,000. The buyer is dissuaded by the price and moves away. But price is not what should be the deciding factor in Samuga’s art.
Called Koibamalu in Telugu, this ancient art of wood carving can be seen in temples and old homes of Andhra Pradesh and have survived generations, thanks to the medicinal qualities of neem. Samuga makes wall brackets, panels and doorjambs in traditional South Indian style. Only wax polish and terpentine is used to give finishing touches to the wood pieces. Done in relief, the dark-coloured carvings can cost up to Rs 35,000 and more.
Samuga, whose maternal uncle has already won national and international accolades for his craftmanship, says he wants to be a `master’ (the ultimate in craftmanship) so that he won’t have to keep changing jobs to survive. He has already initiated his little son into his craft as has Hussain.
