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This is an archive article published on September 26, 2004

Scrap merchant

HER smiling confidence sets Madhuri Kadu apart from the other women in this tiny Warli hamlet. In Ramkhind, an adivasi pada 120 km to the no...

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HER smiling confidence sets Madhuri Kadu apart from the other women in this tiny Warli hamlet. In Ramkhind, an adivasi pada 120 km to the north of Mumbai in Thane district, the women peep shyly out of their little homes.

But 26-year-old Madhuri just strides out, nods and welcomes you in. The mother of four, is no simple housewife—she’s the new confident face of the tribal woman.

Inside her new brick home, she proudly shows off her latest work— a tortoise and a toiling adivasi. The Warli form of papier mache sculpture—figurines made of paper and gum—is itself a rare form now. And Madhuri is a much rarer woman who is keeping it alive.

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Decades ago, her father-in-law Dharma Kadu had made the art an exclusive family domain, with husband Subhash and brother-in-law Bhagwan taking the family secret across the country and even abroad. ‘‘I can’t remember where the exhibition was exactly,’’ she says. ‘‘But I know it was somewhere in America.’’

The brothers are away right now, this time in New Delhi. In their absence, Madhuri simply takes over.

‘‘Initially I knew nothing. I’d just watch mamaji (father-in-law) and my husband at work.’’ One day, they sought her assistance with a minor detail and from there the learning curve shot upward.

The Kadus don’t own any agricultural land and jobs are difficult to get. But the income from sculpture is clearly enough.

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Graciously, Madhuri offers a live demonstration, but only if the pieces will be compensated. ‘‘Don’t feel bad,’’ she adds hastily, ‘‘but I can’t waste precious material and labour.’’

FIGURING WARLI
A It’s made of a fine mix of waste paper and resin
Themes vary. They include animals, gods, adivasi people and of late, feng shui figures
Prices start at Rs 50, made-to-order shapes cost more

Turns out she’s burnt her fingers—the order book is full but some buyers never came back with the money. A set of dimly polished statues stands testimony. ‘‘That’s for a priest from the nearby church. He only gave us some advance,’’ she says.

She also complains about a woman from Vile Parle, Mumbai. ‘‘She’d buy our pieces dirt cheap and make huge profits in the city,’’ she says angrily. But these incidents only help sharpen her business acumen along with her skill.

As she starts, that skill doesn’t seem too difficult to acquire. Then the backbreaking mixing of the waste paper (‘‘newspaper won’t work,’’ she cautions) and chera gum continues for over 55 minutes. And you realise how much effort goes into the small turtle she’ll sell for Rs 50.

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Raddi comes free from the Jawhar Panchayat Samiti. But getting the gum means trekking hundreds of miles into neighbouring forests every month.

The Kadus are vegetarian, despite the adivasi love for meat. ‘‘There are many tribal families who don’t eat meat,’’ says Madhuri.

The next generation is fine-tuning the legacy too. Madhuri’s daughter Mukta and nephew Yuvraj are already assisting the seniors, though she insists they attend school.

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