Studio 2:
Mahanadi Pottery

Situated on the banks of the Mahanadi, is Dighi-Nimeisapur, the village where my father was born.
There were eight kumbhar families in the village, of which only one family continues to make pots.
Daitari made pots during the festival of dola poornima - when there is a requirement in the villages.
There is a demand for pots in the local market, but Daitari said that it is not possible for him to meet this
demand single-handedly; the younger generation finds the old profession unattractive.
Daitiri has now passed away but there are other traditional potters who continue to eke out a difficult livelihood.

Mahanadi Pottery is currently, just a shed besides a green pond.
Dighi-Nimeisapur, resembles the quintessential village in India - far removed from the bustle of urban activity.
Time moves in an unhurried way, as the village folk follow a rhythm that matches the passage of seasons.
Their calendar is marked by the time for sowing and harvest.
The river Mahanadi, that flows past the village, waxes and wanes with the coming of the rains.
The stretches of spotless sand, the tiny weeds and grasses that sprout from it in the dry months,
a reminder of flimiest excuses for life and living. In a few months time, when the dense black
monsoon clouds march past the land and the river grows swollen and muddy, these shrubs shall disappear.

As the younger generation grows up, the village appears to remain unchanged, but beneath the surface
one may discern the persistent forces of change. Traditional caste boundaries still exist and in a curious manner,
contemporary influences work to blur as well as reinforce these divisions. As I remember Daitari
and dream of building a wood-fired kiln, I become aware of how cultures and mindsets are shaped by climate,
and by the history and geography of a place. I examine afresh, my own motives for setting up a pottery
and look forward to seeing new wheels turn.