Friendships are strange, they form in the most unexpected ways. We get attached to our books, musical instruments, or even the walls of our homes. Scientists have been known to get attached to their subjects. One such peculiar kind of attachment happened to me.
It was last summer, the month of May when I first encountered the magnificent Brass Tree. My manager asked me to write a product description for it as it was a popular product and had garnered significant interest, almost as if it were the Deigo Maradona of home decor items or the Pani Puri of Brass Items- always in demand.
Seeing its images made me curious and smitten at the same time. It looked regal.
It was my first encounter at the warehouse that truly sealed the deal. I mustered all the swagger I could and asked, “Hi, you seem to be new to this place.” The reply was a “No.” Undeterred, I introduced myself to it as the smartest writer. To which it smiled.
Now, just the other day, I read a psycho-logical (absolutely logical) reel that claimed that if someone smiles at you, they want to be friends with you. So naturally I took it as a sign and blessed the Brass Tree with my intelligent company.
Before I knew, the Brass Tree had become an integral part of my life. I would intentionally pick up codes and compose poetic descriptions in its honor. I put lines from ancient texts, and at other times I’d borrow lines from Rabindranath Tagore’s poetry where he describes the shade of a Banyan tree as peace.
Sometimes I would sneak out to have tea with it. The Tree would tell me how the brass birds perched on its branches have been dodging rent payments. It wanted to become the Oscar trophy or have a garden filled with Brass Trees of every kind, like the “Gardens by the Bay” in Singapore.
Ah! What an inspirational company I have. The tree would amuse me with stories of its journey from the narrow lanes of Aligarh to the opulent walls of the Taj Hotel- a true rags-to-riches story.
Every conversation with the tree led to new ideas, and I’d find it in a new look the next day, ready for a new identity.
However, as time passed, I noticed its narcissistic tendencies. It demanded new descriptions every day, changing looks it would become- a Banyan tree, sometimes a Kalpavriksha (a wish-fulfilling tree), adorned with various accessories. I became overwhelmed with its ever-changing appearance and constant nagging for new words to praise its beauty.
I did not consider abandoning it, but sought ways to co-exist peacefully until one day, its excessive demands pushed me over the edge. It came walking with five different kinds of leaves, cranes picking its roots, and birds, all in one body. I confronted it of becoming a narcissist. The tree responded by challenging my identity and claiming credit for my writing career.
The argument reached its peak and we unknowingly recreated the iconic scene from the movie “Deewar”. The tree challenged me to prove my worth and I accepted it. The lightning struck between us. With the pain of a broken friendship, I decided to visit Aligarh and uncover the secrets behind its narcissistic behavior.
One blessed day, I the smart writer, and a team of witnesses, I mean team members, set out from Delhi to uncover the roots (not the literal ones) of the Brass Tree. The team was basically there to validate my experiences.
We caught a morning train and arrived in Aligarh. I was so innocent to not know the Tree had planned a turbulent journey for me. As soon as the train halted, a swarm of passengers tried to board, leaving us bewildered. Amidst the chaos, I thought this was the perfect moment to defeat the difficulties and become the hero nobody asked for.
I prepared to make the move and recalled the 10 Muay Thai Elbow Techniques I’d recently studied (Muay Thai for the ignorant, is a traditional Thai martial art technique focusing on powerful use of elbows and feet for striking the opponent).
While calculating my elbow speed and the perfect angle for its landing I possibly invented a new martial art- Mauy Indus. I started throwing punches left right and centre but felt a sharp pain piercing my side, only to realise someone landing a punch on me while I was busy strategizing.
Back on track, we boarded an E-Rickshaw to reach the brass factory. For those unfamiliar, an E -rickshaw is a crossbreed of a bicycle and an auto rickshaw that runs on electricity. You can also call it a modern-day Pushpak Viman, capable of flying off or tumbling at the slightest collision.
Just a few minutes into the ride, I could feel my intestines nearly twisted into a DNA double helix due to the inability of the E-Rickshaw to resist the potholes. Desperate, I defied the urge to search the internet if anyone had died from organ displacement during an E-Rickshaw ride.
As so, our journey continued, with me braving the displacement of internal organs, an uncontrolled crowd of passengers, all in pursuit of the Brass Tree’s confused identity.
Finally, the rickshaw stopped in front of a quaint little factory. I gathered all my organs and entered the place only to find the Brass Tree was not there. The caretaker of the place mentioned that this is the place where the initial stages of moulding take place. Inside we found people totally engrossed in various processes. I told myself this was the perfect time to get some insider info.
As I walked in, I was greeted by the sight of a man holding a rope and performing what looked like a tap dance. Holistic development, I thought! His footwork made me remember Gene Kelly’s dance on the famous Hollywood number ‘Singin in the Rain’. I remember the lines-
I’m happy again
Singin’ in the Rain….
Pum pumpum…papa pa pa pum…
Dancinnnn….and Singinnnn…innnn…thee…raiinnn.
Charged with happy ions, I approached the person to ask if he did this every day to channelise his creative energy. If he is a famous dancer living a life in hiding. Maybe he was influenced by a mental health coach and is now making self-care through hobbies a regular practice.
I wanted to have those intellectual conversations with him but as I got closer, I realised the taps to be much gentler, not sharp like the Tap or Kathak dances.
With the “nation wants to know” look on my face, I stood before him, and before I could utter a word, he simply looked away from me just like I do with my responsibilities. But I am no quitter.
I approached him again, this time with a firm stance. Like a seasoned professional, I threw tough questions at him: “What are you doing? Why are you dancing?” Questions that could shake the very existence of a human being.
He did not answer but the person sitting next to him took pity and explained that he was covering the “Sancha”. Sancha is the Hindi word for mould. My fingers voluntarily typed “Sancha Dance” on Google, and found out that he wasn’t dancing but patting sand onto the mould.
There is an iron frame inside which the sand is filled then a brass or mud statue (sample) is placed inside and covered with sand on all sides. Chalk powder is spread over it to prevent the sand from sticking to the model. The gentle tapping with the feet ensures the sand reaches all the minute gaps and covers the mould completely. Hard patting would trap air in the sand and gaps, compromising the quality of the final product.
So, there you have it- not exactly dancing in the rain but dancing on the frame, a vital step in moulding process.
A few steps away, another gentleman was adjusting a brass branch in a frame filled with sand. Mr. Lakshmi Narayan, popular as Lacchey explained to us how he converts designs into moulds by making exact copies.
The human version of a Xerox machine he is. Another person chimed in, saying Lacchey ji could make an exact mould of me. A sinister smile crept across as I imagined putting my brass statue in my office chair and enjoy my long holidays without anybody knowing about it. I am expressionless half of the time so a brass mannequin would fit right in.
I watched Lacchey Ji, (Ji for genius) at work and was smitten by his proficiency. His hands moved swiftly knowing where to apply pressure on the sand and how much. The correct pressure would create the perfect cavity for the main design.
When asked why the sand looked dark, he mentioned sugarcane juice waste was mixed with it. I almost choked on my emotions, thinking how these artisans were trying to make sweet statues for the buyers. Such a heartfelt gesture!
I wanted to ask him about his generosity but a quick Google search revealed that sugar is a humectant and a very good binder (Sugarcrete made of sugarcane waste or Bagasse is the replacement of concrete bricks developed by the East University of London), which means it absorbs humidity and bind the sand particles to make the sand set into the frame without falling down loose.
The sand used here is also sieved multiple times to get the finest particles as it ensures lower permeability and high collapsibility. Lower permeability allows the gases to escape during the moulding process and high collapsibility allows the brass to shrink after cooling down. If the sand does not collapse properly the molten brass will fail to take the desired shape.
The more I studied about the dry sand-casting process my thoughts came crashing on me and brought me back to reality. Everything has a practical use, no one wants to make sweet statues. Such harsh realities of life!
Coming to terms with the difficult lesson, I started looking for my next interviewee. I saw a person holding a crucible full of an orange-colored liquid.
He looked at me with dismay as I almost put my head into the hot oven or what they call a Bhatti in the local language. I challenged his questioning eyes and almost channeling my inner Shakespearean character, I asked –
I the cerebral, wise, and genial person want to know what is thou art doing with thou orange solution? I mean- what are you doing with this orange liquid?
The person was holding a crucible full of molten brass that like a freshly made Aamras. For once the intrusive thoughts won and I reached out to touch the molten metal, I am sure I would have insisted on drinking it if I were a five-year-old.
Perfectly knowing that the molten brass would set into my food pipe and stomach. I remember the story of Rishi Dadhichi, who donated his backbone so that Lord Indra could have the mighty Vajrastra to kill the demon Vritasura. I felt I could have my own Vajrastra.
But what would I do with that? clear cobwebs, scratch my back or just use it as a coat hanger? Exotic India has cool coat hangers with Persian tiles. This could be the most creative addition; I am sure it would be a hit.
I asked the artisan what he was going to do with the Aamras- err, I mean the molten metal. He said it was molten brass that would be poured into the mold to make a statue. Deep in my heart, I thought, the mold gets to drink the Aamras, while we all sit near the furnace, burning.
The artisan explained to me that once the molten brass settles, the sand mould is broken to take out the statue/piece. The extra parts are trimmed off and the piece is ready for further processing.
I could see them removing the freshly made brass tree branches, they looked so beautiful. The brass tree almost succeeded in its revenge.
After learning about the Dhalai and other initial steps of the Brass Tree making process, we were taken to the other factory to learn about the advanced stages of the process. It is where we would learn about Ritai (Chasing), Chitai (Carving), and the final look of the tree.
After a bit of wandering, we finally settled down for more information only for me to find the Brass tree quietly standing at a corner and looking at me with mean eyes.
To gather more information all of us surrounded our next target Mr. Suresh, the wielding expert. There were multiple cameras focusing on him from different directions. He looked like a celebrity, someone mentioned that he is an expert in everything.
His jolly and positive attitude and also the way he explained how he joins each leaf to the tree made me dub him Suresh Ji, ji for Genial. He is a pro at putting small stitches, known as Tanka, on the leaves to join them with the tree.
These stitches are put in by dipping a brass stick in Suhaga (Borax) and heating it (a liquified petroleum gas cylinder is used for the fire). Interestingly, Suhaga is the Tankana mentioned in Ayurvedic texts, it has numerous health benefits. Its use in the process ensures smooth stitches and stable joints. The Brass Tree gets better healthcare than I do.
After this, the piece goes through the process of Ritai or Chasing (no they don’t chase the piece from one place to another). Chasing is the process where the experts rub the piece with sharp tools. The rubbing is carried out to remove seams and repair imperfections. It looked like some sort of cosmetic surgery to hide stitch marks.
Our Ritai expert, Mukesh Ji explained the entire process, tightening the piece onto the claps being the first step. He then showed how he rubs the sharp end of knife-like objects on the surface of the piece. Then the piece again goes to Suresh Ji and his team for more inspection and fixing of damages.
I could see Suresh Ji doing his best to make the Brass Tree look flawless. He mentioned how he puts the stitches or tanka on the inside so it doesn’t show. I suddenly remember the Brass Tree say, “You have no idea how many wounds I endured to become what I am today.” But hey, I can’t sympathize with my arch-nemesis!
I was completely floored by the sheer brilliance that went into creating the Brass Tree, to the point where I almost threw in the towel. Just as the shadow of defeat was about to swallow me the whole, a glimmer of hope appeared on four legs, no less! This unexpected entry gave me the courage to believe that, yes, there might still be a way out of this mess.
PART: ll
The Battle Continues……
Coming to Aligarh to find the roots of the Brass Tree proved taxing. It was no less than any battle. I could imagine myself suited up in heavy armor and riding an E-Rickshaw, ready to take down the arrogant tree. My brain was firing on all cylinders (not the LPG) and was trying to find ways to take down the self-absorbed foliage and show who the boss was.
The artisans however sided with the tree. Their talent and precision were undeniable and kept earning the tree all the brownie points. Just when I was about to wave the white flag of defeat, hope entered with the grace of the Gajagamini walk (walk of an elephant). While I was still searching for the cure for the tree’s narcissistic behavior, I did discover something that could put a dent in its elephant-sized ego.
Too overwhelmed with the amount of intelligence, I wanted to leave the place ASAP (I am not very comfortable around people who are more intelligent than me).
I just took a step forward to a space where I found another person was quietly doing his work. I unapologetically invaded his space as he looked at me with dismay. Although I did not plan to ask him anything but a shining piece of statue grabbed my attention.
Just to know about the piece I asked him what his name was and what he was doing. His name was Mr. Ashok, he was the Chitai or carving expert. To be very honest he did not look A- Shok (not- sad), a fine layer of seriousness covered his face.
I could not help but remember the famed actor of the 60s with the same name. The song “Jeevan Se Lambey Hain Bandu Ye Jeevan Ke Rasstey” from the film Ashirvad played in my mind.
Maintaining his calm, he began to explain the process of Chitai. “Chitai means Carving” he said, dragging a magnificent 38 kg brass elephant in front of us.
Carving is a process where a sharp tool chainee, otherwise known as the Palm Chisel is used for making marks on a surface with the help of a hammer that is pushed on the chisel with light strokes.
He pointed out the shiny areas on the head and back of the elephant and explained how he carved them in the form of a farma (design). And how it took him months to finally get the look that we saw. His gaze kept shifting from the piece to us, ensuring we knew what a ‘farma’ was and also appreciated his hard work.
While nodding in approval of his talent, I began devising a sinister plan to replace the Brass Tree with the Brass Elephant as the bestseller. I considered convincing the elephant to come with me (*Mumbai dreams style*) or I could simply pick it up and run.
What’s the worst that could happen? They might throw another brass piece at me to stop me-great I’d just pick that up and run, double the benefit! I could also sit on the elephant and pretend to have a regal procession. Who knows if I am graceful enough, people might mistake me for the Queen of Aligarh and let me go without any hassle.
Controlling my thoughts and hands, I asked him about the next process. I thought to keep him engaged so that I could pick up the elephant when the right moment came.
I kept asking him about the rest of the steps and he mentioned that the piece goes through corrections. After that the piece is washed in normal water, then in acid, rubbed in sawdust, and again in water that gives the piece the desired shine.
He maintained that the Brass Tree also goes through the same processes. I was curious about the Brass Tree eating sawdust, but Mr. Ashok explained that it is an important step as the sawdust absorbs all the moisture trapped in the nooks and crannies of the carvings.
A fully dried piece devoid of any moisture ensures a good patina tint; otherwise, it becomes spotty. A good quality statue or piece is an outcome of perfect washing and drying.
I could see a small brass tree going through all the processes, a baby narcissist in the making I thought. I could feel the Brass Tree’s eyes on me but I sidestepped it and ran as fast as I could.
I thought a flowchart of the process would be helpful for people who are not as intelligent as me –
• First, the sand is cleaned through sieving and sweetened with sugarcane waste.
• A design is made by putting the sample inside the sand frame that creates a cavity. Don’t forget the tap dance on the frame.
• The frame then drinks the Aamras (molten brass) and becomes a branch.
• The branch goes through cosmetic surgery (stitches through wielding) and becomes a tree.
• The tree undergoes skin treatments and polishing with sharp objects (Ritai) to become spotless.
• Another round of plastic surgery or carving (Chitai) enhances the tree’s look.
• The tree goes for a medical checkup, and any faults are fixed with wielding.
• The final makeup of polishing is done.
• A few touch-ups through acid dipping and sawdust.
• The glowing tree is ready
And here I am thinking washing my face is enough before going out.
The beauty steps of the Brass Tree gave me serious insecurities and I ran without making any eye contact. I couldn’t even pick up the Brass Elephant. It was an equally turbulent way back to the Railway station. The train was also late, it seemed like the almighty was telling me to go back and kidnap either the Brass Elephant or the Brass Tree.
I could keep the Brass Tree in captive while the elephant takes over its position. I could slowly stroll with the Brass Tree held behind my back, like a peacock flaunting its tail when the dark clouds appeared.
Finally, the train came and I boarded it. Reached New Delhi station but my legs refused to move. I could not fathom they were burdened by exhaustion or the feeling of defeat. I wasn’t the same person who went to Aligarh; I was a defeated soul. Yes, the Brass Tree had a more adventurous life than me.
Arriving home, I sprawled on the bed like the Vitruvian Man sketched by Leonardo Da Vinci. When I was young, I thought the Vitruvian Man was trying to fly away by flapping its legs and hands. I tried mimicking the same movements so that my soul could leave my body, and I wouldn’t have to face the Brass Tree again. Maybe I’ll just take a nap and let the destiny do its duty.
Somehow the night passed, and I gathered the courage to go to the office the next day. While entering the building I was confronted by the Brass Tree, beautifully inlaid with colorful stones and birds perching on its branches.
It looked at me with a disrespectful smile on its face- I couldn’t fight back, what could a defeated soul do? I had no face to fight a masterpiece made by superbly skilled craftsmen, who dedicated their valuable time in making the tree. I swallowed the bitter pill of disrespect and focussed on making the Brass Elephant the new crown prince.
As I moved forward to leave, I whispered in its ears, “You can never have real flowers,” and swiftly darted towards my work desk. I could almost hear a sigh escaping its body. A living tree will always be the best tree, no matter how many brass imitations are made. Nature reigns supreme as the ultimate creator.
In the end, this showdown actually taught me a valuable lesson. While art might be considered inanimate, the people behind its creation are very much alive and deserve the highest respect. The inanimate art can also challenge and inspire us, forcing us to see the world from a different perspective.
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