The colours of light

Handling pieces of glass as casually as if it were paper, he says, "Glass will never solder on its own. You have to bind copper around each piece of glass to bind the pieces together."

And Salim should know about the technology. For the first few years, design took a backseat to technology. While working on his first piece, Salim found that copper foil cost a fair packet. Instead of calling it a day, Salim decided to prepare his own copper sheets, his own cleaning agents, and even the chemicals for soldering.

For nearly four years, Salim devoted his time to soldering, developing copper sheets, and cutting. After much experimenting, he came up with a thin paper-like copper foil which can easily be twisted around glass edges. This formula is a closely guarded secret, as the finish of the piece depends on the thickness of this foil. And he realised that the thinner the copper, the better the finish.

His first foray into design came after much cajoling from his father’s friend. There were no moulds available for lampshades in the city, and no basic training. But he graduated to preparing his own mould for lamps, which again is a closely kept secret.

And keeping his cards close to his chest has sound business sense behind it. Salim’s lamps cost anything between Rs 3,500 to Rs 25,000.

His first major break came in 1992 with the contract from the Taj Mahal Hotel in Calcutta. And in 1995, the Taj in Mumbai followed suit. Today, he is even exporting his lamps to Japan.

Hearing of Salim’s work, an old Parsi man came to him with seven cut pieces dating back to the early 19th century, urging him to restore them. Salim decided to try his hand at restoration and managed to save five of the seven pieces. His next project was a little bigger. Salim then went on to restore St Paul’s Church at Nalasopara.

Pointing out to a panel that is nearly a century old, and originally made in Germany, he picks out the mistakes he made during his first attempt at restoration. "See the wings of the angels, the green which I fixed turned out to be too sharp," he says. Now, he uses a double layer of glass to get a deeper shade.

But maintaining his passion and profession is difficult and also expensive. Says Salim, "The major problem is that you don’t get the required material in India." He has to import most of the coloured glass. Coming in a range of colours from corolla yellow and purple, to smoky green, some sheets of glass are as expensive as Rs 1,500 per square feet.

"Most people cannot tell the difference between an original stained glass and a fake one. Seventy per cent of the stained glass in the market is fake," he says. These are designed on a whole sheet of glass, with edges marked out in M-Seal and then filled with colour. Unlike the original stained glass, these pieces fade with time. And if it breaks, it cannot be restored. For his lamps, Salim guarantees a life span of 18 years at the very least.

Salim also plans to widen his range to include small boxes and clocks. So far, he has 23 people working for him and he insists on taking fresh people and training them himself. Salim even takes his team out on a holiday every year to a place of their choice. "This is not mechanical work. You cannot get the right cut if you are not in the mood," he says. One peculiarity about his workshops is that they only train ladies. "This has been the case since the time my father’s time. I myself don’t know why it is so.

Definitely not because I am afraid of competition. There is not much competition anyway as it is an expensive proposition," he says. But having an all-woman staff works out just fine when the boss is also a woman. Salim’s wife Ruby Khan, a stained glass artist herself, runs the workshop. "She was the one who initiated me into restoration. She is a terrific cook. If it wasn’t for her fish curry, I wouldn’t be married today," says Salim. And on the weekends, he indulges in his other passion he goes fishing, so that he can eat the catch of the day, cooked his wife’s way.