But do the simple diyas made from mud and clay that bring cheer to their buyers, light up the homes of their creators? The answer may not be very much in the affirmative.

With designer elements foraying in this field, plain earthenware diyas may be passé for a niche segment in India , but this is not so for a large majority. At least not yet, says one of the potters from Rajasthan who comes to the city every year to sell his creative ware. Yet, these designer lamps are dampening the market for the plain, hand-and-wheel crafted ones by at least 25 per cent, says Munni Ram, as he draws in a puff from his beedi. “We do not lose out just on numbers, but we are also forced to slash the prices of our diyas to a paltry Rs 5 or Rs 6 a dozen,” rues Ram, who belongs to the potter community of Kailash Nagar, Korba, Chhattisgarh.

However, for majority of Indians, the quintessential Diwali lamps continue to be the plain, brick-red, budget clay diyas that are easy on the pocket, costing atleast 10 or 12 times less than the designer ones. Filled with oil, several dozens of them are left burning well past midnight for a week through which Diwali is celebrated. As far as the northern regions of the country are concerned, the maximum number of diyas get lit on Dhanteras, one of the most important days associated with Diwali, dedicated to Lakshmi, the Goddess of Wealth.

“On this day, we light up at least half a dozen diyas all over the house to welcome the goddess,” says Manoj, a Chhattisgarh resident, employed as a chauffer in Korba. “And these are the ones we can afford, something we can buy in plenty. Those fancy looking lamps that cost a fortune are not for us.”

About 20 families of potters inhabit Kailash Nagar and each family manages to sell around 20,000 diyas in the month leading to Diwali. “We make about Rs 3,000-4,000 during this time, enough to make our ends meet, subsisting on meals that do not boast any variety,” says Manharan Prajapati. This is a sum that these potters make every month, creating goods of daily use like pots, surahis (goblets), flower pots and also lamps used in temple rituals. Their earnings are almost their entire profit since expenditure on raw materials is negligible. “We have no work during the monsoon and for these two or three months we take up alternative employment as contract labourers in construction sites,” says Prajapati.

Every kumhaar or potter’s family has its own kiln for baking the clay wares. Another problem facing the potters is the availability of clay and firewood for lighting up the kilns, say Munna Ram and Mittulal.

“Do we walk 15 kms or more to fetch firewood to burn these kilns or do we burn our chulhas (charcoal fires) to prepare our daily meals?” asks Kanchan Bai, wife of Prajapati. “These days, so many houses are coming up on the land from where we access clay. So, there is a scarcity of clay for making our goods,” she adds.

Pottery does not even have the status of an organised small-scale or cottage industry here. Neither is there any concerted action being taken by the potters’ community to improve the situation. They just nurture hopes of keeping their kitchen fires burning through the “cold” and “cloudy” days, be it brought on by the monsoon or by competition.

Ram says, “We wouldn’t be in this business if we cannot keep our hearths burning.” They believe this is the only way they can secure a better future for their children, who barely complete middle-school.

They either join their fathers in this ancestral business or their mothers in the kitchen.

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