A luxury of the medieval elite, the handcrafted and eclectic craft of wood-carved ceilings almost died out in the face of political and economic exigencies, but a few artisans keep Kashmir’s 400-year-old legacy alive.
His father’s crestfallen face made Ali Mohammad Najar drop out of school and lend a hand in his family’s trade – the craft of making Khatamband wood ceiling tiles, a legacy handicraft of Kashmir that, like the region’s stunning carpets, had its own cultish following.
Khatamband once enjoyed the patronage of royalty and the super rich because only they could afford it in their palaces and mansions.
Then came the British clients, hung up on the exotic. It was also the time when signs of waning interest began to show.
Like many traditional Indian crafts, this ornate but time-consuming Kashmiri woodwork was held hostage by political and economic exigencies of the tumultuous 20th century. Hordes of craftsmen left the trade. Only a few persisted, clinging on to hope and staring at hunger.
One such Khatamband ace was Najar’s father, struggling to stay afloat and feed his family with the meagre income from his karkhana, or factory, in Safakadal of downtown Srinagar.
But things have been looking up over the past decade.
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In his sixties today, Najar is a revered Khatamband craftsman and his karkhana (factory) produces eclectic ceiling tiles with a turnover that runs into lakhs of rupees.
Also, he finds time to mentor youngsters.
It’s a novel endeavour given that hardly 200-odd craftsmen are active in Kashmir now and no one knows the full inventory of 160 original designs.
The ceiling – sometimes referred to as a room’s fifth wall – often gets short shrift in decorating schemes. Walls and furnishings take centre stage while the acreage overhead receives a coat of neutral white paint, with perhaps a snazzy fixture.
That wasn’t the case historically.
Plaster ornamentation and murals were used centuries ago, and the Kashmiris really went to town on the ceiling, with elaborate Khatamband woodwork.
Like tiles in a mosaic, the Khatamband collection is a sophisticated display of medieval Islamic art in sumptuous geometric star-and-polygon patterns.
It’s an intricate craft of combining hundreds of wooden slats of walnut, deodar or fir into interlocking polygonal patterns. The individual wood pieces have tongue-and-groove joints, and no nails are used. These can be dismantled as and when required.
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Walnut is a straight-grained hardwood, while deodar and fir are softwood. This combination of strong and soft materials gives this style strength and balance.
The craft goes back centuries. Etymologically, Khatamband traces its origin to Persia and it means combination of polygons. Some say it was introduced by Mirza Hyder Tughlaq about 400 years ago in Kashmir when the Mughals ruled the land. Another school says the craft was brought by medieval Islamic saint Mir Sayed Ali Hamdani from Persia.
There was a time when the only work we got was either a houseboat or government guesthouse.
How it came to the Valley may be debated, but there’s no doubt it has endured the test of time and remains a treat for the eyes.
“There was a time when the only work we got was either a houseboat or government guesthouse. The 1980s and 1990s were hard,” recalled Najar, referring to political uncertainty and insurgency in Kashmir that pushed the local economy to the brink.
The 21st century brought positive changes.
An affluent middle-class benefitting from a liberalised economy are getting creative with architectural elements and looking at work preserved from the past.
Home owners and designers alike have rediscovered the unexpected bonus from creating a statement ceiling. Khatamband can tie the room together and make the space feel that much more special.
These decorative ceilings are now mostly used in houseboats on the Dal lake in Srinagar, guesthouses, hotels, country cottages and shrines.
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The artisans are getting creative too, making some contemporary tweaks, little personal touches that can turn elaborate geometric designs into hip and homey. The imagination is their only limit.
But yes, the designs keep to the Islamic tradition, which frown upon pictorial representations in artwork.
The money is trickling in, but in a trickle-down economy, it’s not reaching the hard-saddled artisans who toil 10-12 hours a day to take home Rs 800.
“Wood is scarce and expensive. The high input cost eats into our earnings. That makes the tiles out of reach of most people,” said craftsman Mohammad Shafi Geeri, the tips of his fingers stained from the black walnut lumber he’s been sawing, sanding and shaving.
Geeri and fellow artisans often spend hours painstakingly sifting through firewood and salvaging usable wood.
There is steady demand now. We get orders from outside Kashmir. I will expand the trade.
Essentially a handcrafted trade, motorised tools are entering some karkhanas. Machine saws, planers and the like quicken the output, but not many can afford them.
Still, artisans like Najar and Geeri plod on in good spirit and high morale because of the growing demand for their craft. Carving, for them, is therapeutic and rewarding.
“We won’t let it die,” they say in one voice.
Many young Khatamband artisans have either been trained by Najar or had worked with him.
“There is steady demand now. We get orders from outside Kashmir. I will expand the trade. I motivate the youth to join my karkhana,” said Najar, ever the optimist.
The government is doing its bit too. Khatamband got the GI tagging, while Jammu and Kashmir tourism department has organised a series of events to showcase the craft.
The lead image at the top shows an interior view of a private house decorated with Khatamband (Photo by Nasir Yousufi).
Nasir Yousufi is a journalist based in Srinagar.
