A cold gust of wind announces the arrival of rain and K Eswari looks up at the sky nervously. She is mixing clay to make Karthigai lamps and rain can mess up the whole process. “I am kneading the clay we sourced from Thadagam and Kanuvai, with water. It has to be very smooth, otherwise, the end product might develop cracks,” says the 38-year-old. Before I ask any further questions, she cuts me short with, “I will get back to work before it starts raining.”
Peek inside any household in Udayar Street, a neighbourhood in Kavundampalayam (nearly 40 families of potters live here), and you will see floors lined with just-made lamps, still wet and smelling of fresh earth. G Kesavaraj is making a batch of large ones that can hold half a litre of oil each. “This is for an order I received from a temple,” he says. Seated on the floor cross-legged, he fashions them with pagalai , a wooden implement shaped like a ladle with a rectangular end.
just-made lamps, still wet and smelling of fresh earth
In a lime-washed room behind him, stand rows and rows of lamps, bowls, and stoves. A table fan rattles as the 40-year-old moves from one lamp to the other. “The rains make it difficult for us to find good quality clay,” he says. “And the lamps need plenty of sun to bake well.” The street has six common kilns that are shared among 10 potter households. “Baking is a nerve-racking process,” continues Kesavaraj. “Even a minute more than required in the kiln could change the colour of the lamps and we could lose the entire batch.”
Rows and rows of lamps, bowls, and stoves
Kesavaraj’s forefathers made this neighbourhood their home several decades ago. “My grandfather came here from Oddanchatram in Dindigul district looking for better prospects when there was a famine in the region,” he remembers. Kesavaraj sells his products to a middle man, who in turn distributes them to shops around the city. “My earthenware also travels to Ooty, Tirupur...five years ago, I made a homa kundam for a customer in Chennai.”
S Jayanthi is chasing after her four-year-old daughter who weaves her way through the stacked pots and hillocks of discarded, burnt shards of pottery arranged around the kilns. “When she was younger, she would grab at what my husband was making on the potter’s wheel,” she laughs. “We have lost so many pieces because of her. Now that she is a little older, she understands.” The 30-year-old moved into the neighbourhood 10 years ago after she got married. Her eyes on her daughter’s fast-moving form, she leads us further into the colony.
A Kanagasundaram is making lamps on an electronic potter’s wheel his father fashioned out of a wet grinder. A Tamil song from the 1990s blares from an FM receiver that is suspended from a window nearby. The 19-year-old works in a small company in the city and takes to pottery during his free time. “I pitch in during Karithgai and Pongal seasons when demand for our products is high,” he says, his hands cupping the sides of a revolving column of glistening clay. He gradually moves up, shaping the peak of the column into a lamp with his fingers; in one quick move, he slices it off using a thread tied to his thumb, and places it on a gigantic tray that has over a hundred lamps. “I can make 10,000 in four hours,” he says, adding two more to the tray by the time he finishes the sentence.
Kanagasundaram admits to not knowing the craft as well as his father. “I’m trying to get better at it,” he smiles. Behind him stands a 10-feet tall clay horse his father made. It is among his father’s best works. “I hope to make one by myself someday,” he says, glancing at it. “But for now, I will stick to lamps. They’re much easier,” he grins.
On Karthigai Deepam day, every inch of the potters’ colony will be covered with lamps, according to Jayanthi. Says Kesavaraj, “Only, sometimes, we might run out of lamps ourselves.” He laughs adding with a hint of pride, “In that case, I will quickly make some fresh ones and light them.”
