The seminar, however, was an altogether different affair. Here, the atmosphere was informal, and one could see other levels of engagement, an intensity of passion. For, participating in the seminar, were not only those highly skilled craftspersons and their chosen pupils, but also distinguished men and women, who, working of their own accord, have dedicated most of their adult years to the field. People, in other words, ‘from whose brows beads of perspiration never seem to dry’, ‘from whose hands the fragrance of the earth seems never to depart’. Different issues were the subject of discussion here – museums as an agency, the role of NGOs, the education of craftsmen, and the like – but woven into the tapestry of ideas always were craft objects themselves, the persona of the craftsmen and women, and matters of integrity, quality, change, absorption, challenge, response.

What came up again and again was the issue of the status of craftsmen in our society, and their economic situation. There was pain everywhere, one could sense, and feelings of great insecurity. Certainly among those who are unwilling to bend with every wind that blows, for whom tradition, and traditional skills, is something sacrosanct. In little snatches in which most of the craftspersons spoke about themselves and their lives, one could almost hear the blunt pounding of the hammer of want. It was no comfort to any of them to hear that the situation of the craftsmen had always been like this: lowly and poor, life lived at the edge of desperation. What they wished to know was what could be done about it now, in our own times. These are not easy questions to answer, but at least thoughts were being thought about them in the seminar, and solutions sought.

When it comes to the situation or the status of the artist, I should perhaps amend what I have said above to an extent. For there were contrasting styles visible among the craftsmen, too. At the confident, self-assured end, in this group of 10, for instance, there was Ganpati Sthapati, the renowned architect-sculptor from Mahabalipuram, who is a scholar in his own right, and who has directed and executed colossal projects, including the building of whole temples in places as far apart as Hawaii and New Delhi, Pittsburg and Colombo; or, again, Kripal Singh Shekhawat from Rajasthan, trained in Shantiniketan and a commanding figure alike in the fields of pottery and fresco painting. At the other end were persons who were timid and shy to the extent of being completely self-effacing: Sona Bai Rajwar from Madhya Pradesh, for instance, who does wonderful sculptures in clay on village walls, and Jivya Soma Mashe from Warli in Maharashtra, whose simple paintings have all that one can ask for – poetry, wit, charm, intensity. But then that, I suppose, is the way things have always been.

Speaking of the situation of the artist-craftsman in the past, whenever someone speaks of the titles they earned, or the respectful references to their shilpa as being the fifth Veda, I often wonder if these were not substitute gratifications, gestures meant to cover the fact that the reality of their lives was as bleak as that of most in the present generation is today. In any case, I am reminded almost always of that qita’a of Ahmed Nadim Qasimi:

(How skilled are you as a bird-catcher, how clever, lining my cage of stone with velvet; and when I complain of hunger, with what smooth skill do you pat me, and sing to me, and put me to bed!)