<b>Keya Sarkar:</b> Perplexed by my own code

Of the many cities and small towns I have been to in India, Santiniketan, I feel, has a distinction of being surrounded by villages where several crafts are not only alive but are actually, also part of everyday life. 

So many a time, while on a drive to somewhere, I have discovered people working with their hands. While I may not have use for what they are making, it makes me want to get off and speak to them about whether or not they are willing to fashion other things using their obvious skills.

The same is the case when I visit the numerous fairs that are held in the neighbouring villages. In the midst of all the rural kitsch, my eyes always hunt that one artisan whose wares hold promise. Even though his products may have no use for the urban consumer, my mind quickly wraps around the problem of finding the right product, which would use his skills. Once I have had an inkling of an idea I gather the courage to talk to him.

 

I say courage because sometimes it can be a challenge to negotiate a transaction where I am not a buyer for any of his present wares, but I am asking him  questions regarding future wares that I might design with his help. As he moves from complete scepticism to a halfway understanding of what I am trying to say, I ask for a contact number so that we can set up a meeting post the fair. 

He does give me a number and a name. Often, names I am unfamiliar with, heard with the blaring loudspeakers of village fairs, seem completely garbled on my phone display, so often I save these contacts by the name of the craft. So “horn stuff”, “junk sculpture”, “bamboo boxes” are often what I search for when I need to call them.

Some of the craftsmen are of course a little more entrepreneurial than others and they often call me. But the trouble is more often than not they have already changed to another service provider, who must have provided a cheaper scheme. So considering I didn’t know his name to begin with and my personal craft name code doesn’t work because he is calling from a different number, my hello is tentative. Even when he says his name my voice reflects no recognition. So the poor man must think that my enthusiasm at the first meeting must have been totally fake.

I have subsequently worked with many of these artisans and craftspeople and now have had long and enduring relationships with them. The first rule of our joint association is of course that he should not keep changing his phone service schemes and that if he does he should inform me. Whether or not he listens to me of course depends completely on the success of our joint design of new products and their use for urban consumers. If customers like what they see and he gets more orders, our relationship falls into a pattern where he appreciates the need to have a constant number that I can call. The fact that these dealings make them savvier in handling other enquiries only adds to the faith they repose in me.

Recently, when I needed to have a blood test done, I called the path lab and got a gentleman to come home to do the needful. He gave me his personal number and said he would call when the report was ready. I had no idea how far I had taken my code-naming tendencies till the next day my phone ran and the display said, “vampire”.