Nepal, the crew

Some time ago I spent a month and a half in Kathmandu, invited by Damodar Senhuri, a silversmith I had known when he was in Italy.

I visited a few temples, a few notable places, I roamed a little, but I spent most of my time working and learning in Jugendra Rijal's workshop, in Patan, the artisan district of Kathmandu.

Damodar, Jugendra, Jugendra's brother Vishnu and the apprentice Banghera are the crew of the workshop.

Damodar is an enterprising young man of Gurkha birth. I asked him about his religion, he answered: "Goldsmith". It is like belonging to a caste, he is the son of a goldsmith and became a goldsmith in his turn. He is married, obviously with the daughter of a goldsmith; she is very good at sand casting.

Jugendra is a master, knows every technique and works with great care. He is the reference resource when a technical problem arises.

Vishnu is younger, always fast and just accurate enough.

Banghera, the apprentice, is twelve, he cleans and tidies up, brings water, brings tea, goes to buy cigarettes, does all he's ordered, fast and smiling.
He lights up the forge for smelting, the blowtorch for soldering, uses the polishing lathe.
He's cute, observes and learns quickly; in a year's time he'll use all the tools and in five years he'll be a complete metalsmith. Meanwhile grown ups treat him brusquely but without malice: that is the way to address kids in Nepal.

But while he obeys and does what he is told, Banghera can answer back and protest for what seems to him to be unjust. Grown ups don't mind, just play grumpy for a while.

Banghera is rightly happy for the life he's leading, he can eat, has a little space under a roof to sleep in, sees his parents once a week, is in the company of good people, sees and makes interesting things, meets people, speaks to everybody, everybody plays with him.

Jugendra made a religious vow not to drink alcohol, smoke cigarettes or use drugs. Anyway he often smokes tobacco mixed with sugar in the bowl of the chillum, a kind of water pipe.

It is Banghera's duty to prepare it. He puts some tambaku, the mix of tobacco and sugar, in the bottom of the bowl. This bowl is so disproportionately wide on top that sometimes a small coil of wire or a piece of metal is put in it to be annealed. On top of the tambaku Banghera places two or three pieces of lighted charcoal and gives some powerful drags before passing it to Jugendra.

Four workbenches can fit in the workroom, they are very small and easy to move; they are a kind of cube 1 ft. 8 in. high. The pin projects 4 in. from the front, is 2 in. wide and 0.6 in. thick. It has a slit for sawing in the front and a long heel screwed or nailed directly to the worktable.
Under the pin two drawers can open, one for tools and objects, the other for filings and scrap.

The workers sit on a low cushion made of interwoven grass and take up very little space.Often, when the weather's fine they carry their light benches outside and work in the shade of the porch.

Anyone can share the work of anyone or can help him. Casting, chasing, stone setting, soldering, each one is proficient in every technique.

A number of colleagues come to help when there is a big commission, or just pass by and work a while with friends. They are visited by friends, sons and other little boys; a kid bumps into their leg, a friend blows cigarette smoke in their face, a boy shouts ... they don't react but go on working unperturbed.

They smoke a lot, throwing ashes and butts everywhere: if they eat an orange they let peel and seeds fall at their feet. They do seem to have a noble indifference for dust and rubbish, being themselves very clean persons.

Once a day, Jugendra's or Vishnu's wife whirls into the workshop and sweeps everywhere raising clouds of dust.

They have a conception of time different from ours; they cannot conceive the idea of wasting time. Time is neither wasted nor gained, it is lived. Though even an earthquake cannot distract them, they stop working without hesitations to cuddle a crying child or to have a chat with a friend.

They find a lot of reasons to stop working. It is the anniversary of a relative's death and so they fast and purify themselves the whole day long, making up in the evening. It is a national or local holiday so they wear colors, red, yellow and blue, they dance and sing, and they joke and laugh.

They convince you that any moment is OK for a cup of tea; they drink many cups of tea, with sugar and milk, the Indian way.

Water arrives only for a couple of hours in the morning so women do the laundry and collect it for daily use.
The climate is dry and the air dusty so men wash themselves very often, picking water up with a pail from a drum, in the open air and just wearing underpants; privacy among friends is not a virtue.

Arriving early in the morning I could meet the old woman of the house during her daily round of honoring, with colored powders, petals and perfumes, all the openings of the house and all the living beings she encountered, so I used to be greeted by a nice red smudging on the forehead.