Spice of Life: Small pleasures of life moulded in creativity

Carving on the pots and plates tested our creativity even more. Being a civil servant, I almost carved the Ashok Chakra on a pot! The stars that I carved shone bright after glazing

As my right foot kicked at the potter’s wheel and both hands clasped the clay, elbows perfectly positioned on the thighs, my eyes grew wide, seeing the shape emerging in my hands. The clay was whirling and twirling as I kept trying to hold on to it lest it splattered all over my new pottery outfit. My teacher, Shubham, stepped in in the nick of time, holding on to it. Voila, it started looking like a pot. I had just opened up to another level of creativity, a world away from files, video conferences and administrative issues.

used my string from the set of tools to remove the newly made clay bowl from the wheel and gently placed it on the assigned tray to take its place along with my other creations. (File)

Suddenly, I heard the teacher say, “Centre it!” With my knee groaning after so much kicking, I focused on my twirling knee cap more than the clay. Then came the instruction, “Pull it.” Pull what? I pulled my thoughts together.

Shubham was back and lo and behold, a pretty bowl came out as I stopped kicking the wheel. I looked again at what I had managed to create. I used my string from the set of tools to remove the newly made clay bowl from the wheel and gently placed it on the assigned tray to take its place along with my other creations.

The completed work was put out to dry, leather hard. This was followed by trimming and cleaning up extra clay or the frayed edges. Carving on the pots and plates tested our creativity even more. Being a civil servant, I almost carved the Ashok Chakra on a pot! The stars that I carved shone bright after glazing. Ultimately, it was put in the kiln for firing.

How can I forget mentioning the tricky business of kneading the dough to make it into a homogenous lump, which rests on the wheel, waiting for action. Kneading is almost like a parade, saavdhan (attention)! Place your legs, one behind the other. Knead, knead and knead till the clay is smooth and turns into a nice round ball with no air bubbles. The toning of your arms is a healthy side-effect. The standard joke was, “Madam, you’ve made up for all your 50 plus years in kneading the dough,” while I mumbled in pain, “The next 50 years also, I think.”

My newly discovered creative instincts had got me to the pottery workshop at Andretta in Palampur, Himachal Pradesh, with my bhabhi (sister-in-law), Jasmine. The romance of Andretta heightened with heavy rain offsetting the lush environs. Umbrellas in hand, we used to diligently walk to the pottery studio. Each one of us, including the vice-president of an MNC and a journalist, both having taken voluntary retirement from service like me, a textile designer, a technocrat and fancy business people from Mumbai. We were there to learn a new skill.

Leading us on our journey of creativity was our 27-year-old Guruji, who left aeronautical engineering to take over the pottery studio from his father when he passed away suddenly. Evenings were spent catching up with batchmates over rain, music and beer.

Today, I gloat with pride when my self-made nameplate outside our home announces my pottery skills to the world and when the wind-chimes merrily welcome visitors and I serve snacks to them in my little pots and plates.

And yes, the lovely Sohni-Mahiwal painting by Sobha Singh ji, bought at Andretta, also adorns my living room. Ah! The small pleasures of a life steeped in creativity.

devpreetasingh@gmail.com

(The writer is a retired civil servant practising as an advocate)