Reshmi Dasgupta
My mother had an extensive collection of Ganeshas of different sizes, shapes and material; so did my mother-in-law. They both bought Tanjore plates, a decorative silver and copper-embossed brass disc rarely seen anymore. They both also had phulkari bedspreads and a similar collection of cushion covers, not to mention heavy brass apsaras and deities, cutwork doilies and tablecloths, pichwais, delicate chikankari napkins and artwork by Jamini Roy.
As they were both Bengali women of similar age and education, it is easy to consider such commonalities inevitable. But they grew up in different cities in India and came from families in totally different professions, all of which presaged a divergent upbringing. Moreover, one married a diplomat and the other an industrialist, which made their social circles in adulthood very unalike too. Yet they had such a remarkable aesthetic convergence!
Indeed, the similarities in the décor preferences of that generation—the first to come into its own after Independence—transcended region. There was a resurgence of interest in what the nation’s own crafts and culture had to offer for their homes. If Tanjore plates and Kalamkari paintings were almost standard issue for middle class homes up north, the same could be said of the presence of Jaipur blue pottery, and Kashmiri papier mache boxes in the south. India’s home-makers came together to trigger a cultural ghar wapsi.
Up to the first four decades of the 20th century, many Indian middle and upper class homes had followed Victorian and Edwardian norms of décor thanks to the British Raj. From three wooden or ceramic flying ducks or swallows on walls and bone china knick-knacks in glass-fronted ‘showcases’ to silver-framed photos and crocheted or embroidered antimacassars on the arms and backs of sofa sets, they gladly adhered to a pan-Empire aesthetic order.
The two ladies of my family were among the millions who took the first steps away from that school of décor. They did not throw out what their elders collected but added their own distinctly desi touch. Some of their ideas and purchases were obviously influenced by what was being made available at the Cottage Industries Emporium thanks to the efforts of Indian handicraft revivalists like Kamaladevi Chattopadhyay; but that was not their only inspiration.
Eventually each of them developed their own swadeshi interior aesthetic, just like countless other women of their age and milieu around India, and even abroad. They rediscovered, embraced and celebrated India’s traditional handicrafts and artisanal products, to forge what became the defining look of the first few decades of the post-Independence era. It was uniquely Indian, owing little if anything at all, to the prevailing design and décor trends abroad.
This Indian décor consonance struck me as I read the news of the recent successful effort by the central government to revive namdas, the embroidered woollen felt carpets of Kashmir. Back in the 1970s, my mother, mother-in-law, not to mention my father’s sister, all bought namdas although they lived in Delhi, Calcutta and Bombay respectively. And they three had dhurries, coir ‘welcome’ mats and other traditional Indian floor coverings too.
And yet, a few decades later, after India ‘opened up’ in the early 1990s, namdas gradually entered that dreaded classification of a ‘dying craft’, like many other staples from Sankheda lacquer work furniture to dhokra artefacts. Traditional Indian crafts nurtured by the patronage of my mother’s generation were replaced by waves of decorative products influenced by ‘international’ design trends and brands, and mostly sourced from abroad too.
Indian crafts previously common in home décor became too dated, provincial and even twee for aspirational Indians. Instead, Buddha heads reminiscent of recent holidays in south-east Asia or dull faux Scandinavian sofas with equally dull furnishings prevailed, enlivened by only certain Indian artisanal accessories that western trendsetters deemed appropriate. Upwardly mobile, 21st century Indians aimed to become indistinguishably international.
So, governments have had to step in to rescue crafts that once countless Indians had included in their lives in the first flush of Independence. In its 75th year, India is now asserting its distinct identity and abilities in a myriad of spheres but the spirit of women like my mother, mother-in-law and aunt—and yours—who ensured the renaissance and sustenance of Indian artisanal crafts is yet to be resurrected. Revival of an Indian aesthetic is overdue.
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