Clay, courage and commitment: The inspiring story of Shopian’s 80-year-old woman

Shopian, Nov 03: Sitting at her old shop with clay utensils arranged in an apple pie order on rickety wooden shelves, octogenarian Khitija Bano carefully lifts an urn with her wrinkled hands and shows it to a customer. After a brief round of haggling, the customer pays for the pot and walks away, leaving Bano to dust her wares and rearrange them patiently.

For years, Bano has been managing this small pottery shop in Kellar, an outlying tehsil in south Kashmir’s Shopian district. She sports a traditional Kashmiri pheran adorned with delicate embroidery, its faded purple fabric bearing the marks of years of use.

Around her, shelves sag under the weight of earthen vessels, piggy banks, and tumbakh naris, the traditional clay drums used in Kashmiri weddings and folk music. “After my husband’s health deteriorated many years ago, I took charge of the shop,” said Bano, her voice soft but steady.

The mother of three daughters, she purchases the earthenware from a potter in a nearby village and sells it at her shop. “I earn enough to provide for my family,” she added, glancing toward the narrow road that leads to her home in Dunaro, a small village just a short drive away. Kellar, surrounded by apple orchards and thick forests, comprises more than two dozen villages. Most of its population belongs to the Gujjar and Bakerwal communities—tribal groups that live modestly, relying on livestock, forest produce, and small trades for sustenance.

While earthenware has disappeared from both rural and urban households across Kashmir, replaced by aluminium, steel, and plastic, the marginalised communities here continue to use them. “These are the people who still eat in these clay utensils,” said Abdul Aziz, a local resident. “They have kept the tradition alive.”

Once a common sight in every Kashmiri kitchen, clay utensils were prized for their ability to keep water cool and enhance the flavour of food. However, cheaper, more durable materials and changing lifestyles have pushed pottery to the margins. Despite dwindling sales, Bano opens her shop every morning, sitting for hours in the mellow autumn sun. Customers are few, and her monthly income barely reaches Rs10,000–12,000. Yet she continues, driven as much by habit and dignity as by the desire to preserve a craft her family once depended on.