Land Of Kaseras

by Priya Patel (India)

Making a local connection India

I recall imagining how irresistible it would be to live here 2 centuries ago!. I spot the narrow street just wide enough for two people to walk together and long enough to see the end from ingress. Loaded on both the side of it there is a row of two-story houses, but they are not just dwelling, they have something embedded in them... A powerhouse that keeps them together and these powerhouses had shrines. As I walk further inside the street to the temples, I hear the tintinnabulation of metal bells, chanting of morning hymn, an aroma of fragmented dhoop and the fresh smell of prasad which awakened every sleeping animal in the locality. But Amidst this melancholy, There’s a sound! louder than the bells and the hymn. The sharp sound of beating metal made me Anxious! and reluctantly I steered down. I get a lump in my throat as I see him, or maybe his forefather and others like them! and then there it is not one or two but a row, a row of open workspaces with people beating on the shiny yellow metal of brass, sculpting it to give a perfect curve upon which sits the temples. I stopped for a moment breaking my daydream and looked at him, his eyes moist. I see the pride in his eyes, a pride describing why is he still making those metal utensils, saving it I also see pain. A pain crushing his soul, as he told "A few centuries from now, a hundred of Kaseras used to hammer metal day and night continuously in these stone houses. There used to be so much noise and clatter in the streets that sometimes, it becomes hard to even carry out a conversation. However, everyone in the locality adapted to these sounds, and these gave us a sense of belonging, whose absence now makes the land feel more foreign. He further added, "Out of the 100 families who were pursuing this profession, now only 5 have remained and our kids are not willing to continue it in the present time." I remember thinking how this art seems to lose its way and a place seems to lose its belonging. How brutal time can be on some people and places, and how it creates a culture and dismantle it in his own way, It reminded me that nothing in this world is mortal, everything that has been made will get destroyed one day but we can keep it at least as a memory and can move on with life. I blessed the moment when I peeked out of the jail window of the old temple that we just found to find what is hiding from me. I and my friend walked to the pandit to find out more about it. As he describes " The land behind the temple is named Kasera Oli, Kasera in Hindi expresses a community mainly working on metals and Oli on the other hand, refers to a street. These people came here to serve the Army of Gwalior Fort eventually settled up making utensils their caste occupation. As slowly the business grew they built their houses at the backside of their workplaces. The Kaseras of that time were also very religious and wanted to construct temples to worship the Gods. Since the land they occupied was much lesser, they did not have enough space to build temples. Consequently, they decided to build them on the first floor of their workspace, creating a new typology of the temples. Now God resides in these temples and protects them from evil. This two hundred meters long street dwells a total of seventeen temples, dedicated to various Hindu deities." As we moved towards the street a gentle smile came on our face and we looked at each other. She knew I thanked her for bringing me to this locality of Gwalior. Since then this heritage city of central India has embedded deep into my heart.