Thousands of diyas from their kilns light up our homes in the festive season every year. This year may just be their last in Dharavi’s Kumbharwada. But even faced by the prospect of losing their home and hearth to redevelopment, the potters say, ‘Nothing can take Diwali away from us’
Abbas Galwani, a fifth-generation kumbhar, says relocation will cost them community and business ties. Pic/Nimesh dave
You can feel the chaos of Dharavi invade your senses way before you actually reach it. Standing outside one of the many entry points of Kumbharwada, we see men carrying out diyas on their shoulders to the main road and loading them in tempos. We also see senior women with paathi (basket) balanced on the head, carrying out 10 to 15 kg of diyas that will light up your homes this Diwali.
We come across Jeevi Bai, clad in a red saree and green blouse, carrying an empty basket on her head. She tells us, after pausing for a second to do the math in her head, that she’s 73. Loose skin hangs from her arms hoisting the basket above — a testament to a hard life.
Jeevi Bai is one of the few women who continues to earn her living transporting earthenware out from deep inside the belly of Kumbharwada. “This is my rozi-roti. I have been doing this since I was strong enough to carry weight on my head,” she says.
A couple turns freshly made pots towards the sun to dry. Pic/Nimesh Dave
In Kumbharwada, while the men handle the kiln, the job of carrying the wares out into the world falls on the shoulders — and heads — of the women. “There was a time when anything made here would only go out in our paathi, but now we have labour from other states too,” says Jeevi Bai.
It’s a hard job, especially in the blistering October heat, but for Jeevi Bai, it’s a question of survival. “At this age, if I didn’t need to do it, why would I?” she asks with a touch of anger to her voice.
Both life and livelihood now seem uncertain amid talk of Dharavi being vacated for redevelopment. But the community is putting up a strong front, demanding fair terms for their rehabilitation before they give way to the project. In June this year, surveyors entered Dharavi and the hallowed ground of the pottery makers, only to be chased out. “Dehleez paar nahi karne di [they couldn’t cross our threshold],” residents told this scribe.
A cotton base furnace bakes Diwali diyas for over three days, the cover is removed and the diyas are rotated to get the heat on all sides. Pics/Arpika Bhosale
Despite the bravado, they are acutely aware that this could be their last Diwali in Kumbharwada; a thought that has cast a sombre cloud on festive preparations.
Although Diwali is their busiest season, the wada’s cultural fingerprint is all over the lives of Mumbaikars, from birth to death. Workshop after workshop has walls lined with pots. “Ye matke ghar mein bachche ke janam pe aur antim yatra mein, dono waqt pe use kiya jaata hai (this matka is used when there is a birth as well as in the last rites),” says Adam Kasim Jala, who has come together to make a group with other elders of the community that represent the wada in the Dharavi Bachao Samiti.
Jala, a cardboard seller, is a fifth-generation Kutchi Muslim whose family came to Dharavi over 100 years ago. He is now actively trying to ensure that the redevelopment is fair to the wada’s residents and offers alternatives for both their homes and businesses.
Meena Kumari; (right) Jeevi Bai carries diyas out in a paathi (basket) to the tempos that will ferry the wares to retail stores
There are around 3500 kumbhar homes in Kumbharwada and over 15,000 kumbhars, Jala tells us. “We are not opposing the redevelopment, but we want it to be fair and profitable to us as well,” he says as he takes us around the wada.
We run into Mansuk Chitroda, whose family migrated from Chittorgarh. We ask if he is considering returning to his hometown if and when the redevelopment takes place. “Go and do what there?” he asks. “There is nothing there to go back to; in Mumbai, you can at least work and earn,” he adds as he removes baked diyas from a square furnace which holds at least 50,000 pieces.
It usually takes a total of 10 days to make a single batch of diyas from scratch, informs Chitroda, when he is interrupted by an elder who gently reminds him to ensure that all sides of the diyas get even heat in the kiln.
Mansuk Chitroda, Mani Ben, Adam Jala and Hasmukh Chawdha
“We need it to cool down for at least 24 hours, but it’s been only 12 hours, and there is just too much demand. I am beginning to sort out the broken ones,” he says, with a note of pride creeping into his voice, “Hardly any are broken because of the way we make it.” We look around and hardly witness any broken matka, diya or earthenware lying around — a testament to the skill that has been passed down through generations; there’s no shoddy craftsmanship and no waste.
The huge brick furnace is fuelled by waste cotton from the mattress-making market in Dharavi. Placed at the bottom of the furnace, the cotton scraps are then covered with wooden slats to temper the heat and get it “just right”.
In the city’s collective memory, Kumbharwada is a place to get affordable earthenware, and a part of Dharavi, which has the dubious distinction of the being the “world’s largest slum settlement”.
Jayanti Tank
But if you were to visit the wada, it’s much more than that. It’s a community where everyone is on a first-name basis, where each person’s grandparents were friends with yours. It’s a place where young, hardworking hands never remain idle. Take Ravi Kumbhar, who didn’t get a chance for much of an education, but when he asked around for work, he was told that he could help in transporting the wares. Jala introduces us to him: “He is supporting his home with this work; he has been asking us if we will have work for him if we have to relocate.”
“Iski shaadi bhi karwani hai. Karni hai na?” he asks Kumbhar, slapping the 29-year-old’s shoulder and laughing. The youth smiles shyly and rolls his eyes, indicating that this is not the first time he has been teased about marriage.
In another workshop, Jayanti Tank is hyper-focused on his wheel; his spectacles inching their way to the tip of his nose until they’re hanging on for dear life. It takes us a couple of tries before he even registers our presence. “I have been doing this since I was 15,” he says when he finally hears our question. Tank, has a 650-square-foot workshop that he works out of, and has his home upstairs that he shares with his wife.
Bharat Solanki and Jetabhai Ramjibhai Majevaniya
He has two sons and three brothers, all of whom live in their own units in the wada. With the family growing, he is worried how they will manage if they are given only a single flat. “If my grandchildren marry, we can always raise another floor in this house to accommodate the new couples, but if I get one flat, how will my family, my brothers, live there?” he says.
The worry is writ clear on the faces of the Tank family members, even as they carve diyas with their fingers. “It’s been a bit stressful for us. I have refused the [redevelopment] surveyors access to our home because they are unwilling to tell us anything about how they will allot us homes,” says Tank.
As we head towards another home, we run into a small meeting between Hasmukh Chawdha, Jetabhai Ramjibhai Majevaniya and Vijaybhai Purshottam Tank, who tell us that they, too, have turned the surveyors away. “There is a bit of fear and uncertainty in the Kumbharwada air,” says Chawda.
The Solanki home is known for its water matkas. Kanchan and Bharat Solanki are busy making the pots, placing the still soft clay inside an iron mould. The pots are then slow-baked on over a cotton-fuelled fire and then cooled.
Their life holds few comforts apart from the solace of community, and familiarity with the wada and nearby areas. Kanchan is worried about her 22-year-old son who has special needs. Currently, he spends his days at an NGO in Mumbai Central. “They keep him busy; right now, they are teaching them how to make small towels. He travels on his own via BEST buses as of now. If we are relocated, I am worried about how I will manage to transport him to the centre every day. It will be a huge challenge if it’s very far away,” he says.
We ask Bharat what his plan is for the future. “What plan, madam? Our beginning is Kumbharwada, our end is Kumbharwada too,” he says.
“If they ask me to move, I will move to the grave only,” cackles Mani Ben, whom we encounter on our next stop. “My left eye has a problem, and my hands and legs are giving out, ab kahaan jaungi?”
Mani Ben and her sister Meena Kumari are the Solanki matriarchs who have both clocked over 70 years living in the area. Their hands remain busy while they talk to us, painting golden borders on diyas without missing a beat. “The men make the pots or diyas, and we decorate them. This way, we get a decent price and it looks more finished,” says Kumari.
A little way away is Abbas Galwani’s workshop, where he graduated from regular pots to six-foot-and-above versions that are moulded from iron coils. Galwani sells each of these mega jars for R50,000 to R60,000 at his workshop, but retailers often hike the price to over Rs 1.5 lakh.
“I just made one for Shilpa Shetty. Many Bollywood actors buy these pots for their homes, as do many people with bungalows in Navi Mumbai and Panvel,” he says.
It’s not a simple matter of rehabilitating their set-up at another location — there is no way to cut, copy, and paste all that is Kumbharwada. Logistics pathways built over 50 to 60 years will be destroyed, says Galwani, “right from the clay that we source right here, to the labour, to the kumbhar himself, and the trade routes that bring in materials and take out the finished products”.
“This is all the result of four to five generations of kumbhars creating those supply lines. If they move us somewhere else, these trade routes can’t be replicated,” adds Galwani.
As we head out we can’t but be a little worried about the future of this small hamlet that feels a lot like our own native village. The next second, we remember that Kumbharwada needs no saviour to fight their battles — this is a community that has been here longer than most people in the city. The thought fortifies us, as does the quiet conviction of those like Veljibhai Bhagwanbhai Jethva, who refuses to let anything dampen their Diwali spirit. “This is life, and we will face whatever may come. But it’s Diwali, and we will not let anything let us get down. We are going to celebrate it like we always have,” says Jethva.
Jala is quick to add his two cents, “We are used to living every day as if it’s the last. You might not find us here next Diwali, but in this season of lights, we are still here,” he says with a shrug and a smile.
15,000
No. of kumbhars in the wada
3500
No. of homes in Kumbharwada
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