Sixty-year-old Punna Lal is one contented man. He sits in the sun outside his workshop in Varanasi, listening to the screech of the lathe machines inside, watching his sons make and lacquer wooden beads, boxes and toys. The machines make a frightful racket, throwing up flurries of fine sawdust. But he's not bothered by the noise or the dust, and is busy painting with a thin brush. Suddenly the noise dies, and he looks up: "The electricity supply has really been great this month. Look, the light has gone exactly when it's time to close for lunch!" says he. His son, nephew and two other workers file out of the workshop, covered in brown sawdust, but he carries on painting. His old mother shouts at him to come for lunch. "Let me finish what I'm doing," he shouts back, too engrossed in what he's doing to even look up. When he finishes his work, I see he's been painting a face on the smallest piece of one of those toys which fit one inside the other. "Isn't it a good likeness of Lord Shiva?" he asks me. The piece is no bigger than the beads his men are making, so I squint a little to see. "Here, see the next one," says he, putting another, only slightly bigger piece in my hand. The toy has ten pieces, each a perfectly painted, snake-bedecked Shiva. "How much do you sell this for?" I ask. He scratches his head "" "well people here can't pay me too much, but this is a popular item with children. So maybe I'll charge..., I don't know "" do you think they'd actually pay me Rs 80 for this?" Mistaking the incredulous look on my face, he says hurriedly, "I just like making these toys, I don't really make them to sell. So maybe I should settle for Rs 50!" | |
| I ask him how much time it has taken him to make the toy. "It took me the entire morning to paint it," says he, "and yesterday my dolt of a son took a couple of hours to fashion the different pieces from wood," says he, "and now my nephew will lacquer it, but that won't take more than an hour or so!" All that work "" and he only wanted Rs 50 for it? I queried. Punna Lal scratched his head and said, "that's exactly what my son argues as well!" |
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| He and his son have been at loggerheads over many issues recently. "My son says we should go to Delhi to sell our products," he snorts, "but I say, why bother when we're happy here, and have enough orders?" He seems more than satisfied with the Rs 300 a day that he earns here, unlike his son. "He always complains about the power cuts. But I say the situation is not bad "" we only have a five-hour cut which coincides with lunch and the afternoon siesta!" Of late, his son has been threatening to leave home and go to the city with his wife and son: "He says that there are better schools there," Punna Lal sighs, "he says even I should migrate with him." |
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| But that will never happen, he says. "I've never even been curious about life outside. So if my son wants to go, he can. I'll stay here," says he. When I leave, I reflect that whenever I return to Varanasi, I'd probably find him exactly where I've left him, selling his beautifully handcrafted pieces for a pittance "" and still satisfied with his lot. |
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