Our house for the past few months has been the scene of hectic activity. Some floors are being constructed. Despite the noise, I have discovered a veritable treasure of scrap that can be moulded into sculpture.While in the beginning the workers must have been mystified at my lack of interest in the construction every time I made a trip upstairs, I think they got used to the fact that I came up, not to check their work, but to make inquiries whether this scrap of iron or that piece of wood was “spare”.The second floor is dominated at present by the three carpenters: Bade Mian, Bhure Mian and Chhote Mian, while a turbaned family is doing the woodwork of the first floor. The first time I needed help — the drilling of a hole in the wood for a sculpture I was working on — I went to Chhote Mian. When he seemed not too pleased with the good tip I gave him, I angrily decided to seek the help of the youngest of the Sikh working clan. I watched with increasing respect as he worked relentlessly on that bit of wood which I had painstakingly burnt at strategic places. Just when it was all ready, in entered Chhote Mian and carelessly stepped on the piece. I exploded!Chhote Mian went around with a long face. On an impulse, I presented him with a pretty desk calendar, just hoping he would appreciate the thought behind it. He did, as was evident from the care with which he wrapped it up in an old newspaper. Good humour prevailed after that. Then, one evening, I found I needed some Fevicol and thinking that everyone would have left, ventured to the top floor to help myself to some, when I came face to face with Bade Mian. Just as I was leaving with the Fevicol, he suddenly spoke. I almost dropped the Fevicol for I was more than a little guilty about the jar in my hand. “I have also made something,” he said. “See,” he carefully took out a wooden structure in the shape of two inverted commas joined at the base. “Great work, Bade Mian!” I said, studying the decorative piece and was about to leave, when he stopped me with a wave of his old, gnarled hand, “I made it for you. It’s a gift. Use it.”I tried to figure out where I could fit in the piece and suddenly had an idea! I could make a new sculpture with Bade Mian’s happy gift as its base. So I painted his work of art and placed a little child made of ceramic clay looking skywards, smack in the centre.the beginning of a peace series! My reward was the first smile I have ever seen on Bade Mian’s wrinkled face as he observed my ‘Earthbird’ (his rainbow commas were her wings).
