A shining legacy

In Adakkaputhur village in Palakkad, Kerala, a 45-year-old man is eager to pass on his family’s trade secret to a worthy heritor. Short and stocky, with a wide smile and bright eyes, Krishnakumar Mooshari is the only person today who can manufacture Adakkaputhur kannadi — handmade metal mirrors. His workshop, attached to his house, seems stuck in the previous century. He uses the same metallurgy techniques that his father, Balan Mooshari, pioneered when crafting the first Adakkaputhur mirror.

Neither his three older siblings, nor his children are keen on continuing the family legacy, as they aspire for IT or other office jobs. Krishnakumar is willing to teach the craft, and its secrets, to anyone with the dedication for it, but warns “there isn’t much money in it”.

Krishnakumar’s father belonged to the Mooshari community, known for its craftwork on bronze — figurines, ornaments, utensils and tools. He had the support of Kunnathu Raman Namboodiri, a local patron of arts, who was enamoured of the famous Aranmula kannadi — the older metal mirror named after the Kerala town that produces it. Both towns guard their craft’s secret fiercely. A metal mirror does not have the secondary reflection that arises from the glass surface of conventional mirrors.

Namboodiri urged Balan Mooshari to make a metal mirror that would make Adakkaputhur proud. Some villagers say that Mooshari went to Aranmula to learn that town’s secret art of mirror-making, but returned empty-handed. He spent the next few years experimenting with metallurgy techniques to uncover the secret on his own. Krishnakumar, however, insists that his father never went to Aranmula. “My father worked hard for five years and created Adakkaputhur kannadi through trial and error,” he says.

He remembers helping his father in the workshop from a young age. “All I wanted to do was play with my friends. Instead, every day after school, I would be stomping on clay until it reached the right consistency.” Today, he’s grateful for the experience, because it moulded him into a fine and meticulous craftsman.

The mirror is made entirely by hand. Even the tools used are handcrafted. Thus, Krishnakumar can make only three or four mirrors a month. It takes six days to make a two-inchwide mirror, 10 for a three-inch one, 14 days for a four-inch mirror and so on. A large mirror can sometimes take months to make. The slow and tedious manufacturing process requires unwavering concentration.

First, a mould is made using a combination of beeswax, castor oil and sambrani (benzoin resin). The mould is encased with three kinds of mud or clay, ranging from black sand from the riverbed to a powdered mix of old roof tiles, cow dung and mud. The casing has a small opening in one place. Once dry, the covered mould is fired, and the wax seeps out through the opening. The mould is heated for a second time at a higher temperature to expel all air from inside it. “Air trapped in the mould prevents the alloy from being poured into it,” Kumar explains.

The alloy contains copper, tin and other unspecified metals, which are melted at a temperature and in a ratio known only to Krishnakumar. The melting can take up to five hours. “Even a small mistake at this stage can negate all the hard work, and we will have to start all over again,” he says. “I have seen my father get angry and irritated whenever anyone disturbed him during the melting process,” he recalls.

The liquid alloy is poured into the mould and left to cool overnight. The next morning the mould is broken to reveal a blackish metal piece, which is polished for hours, even days, using an emery paper, until it turns into a blemish-free reflective surface.

This tedious process proves meditative for the craftsman. Krishnakumar sometimes listens to songs on the radio or chats with friends to break the monotony. All the time, however, he is careful to use just the right pressure, else the mirror could crack. The polished and reflective surface is then fixed onto a bronze shell, which too is handmade at the workshop, and the edges are folded in a triangular shape to lock them.

Considered auspicious, the metal mirrors are popular gifts in Kerala, especially during marriages and other Hindu rituals. They often become family heirlooms.

It was only around 20 years ago that Krishnakumar began earning sufficiently from his special craft. Today, having given up other bronze works, he focuses only on making the Adakkaputhur kannadi . Aside from special orders, he makes only one design in three sizes. A two-inch mirror — which usually takes three-plus hours to polish — costs ₹6,000, a three-inch one is priced ₹8,000, four-inch ₹10,000, and so on. Selling mainly through word of mouth, he earns about ₹30,000 a month.

The demand is high, but Krishnakumar is unable to churn out more on his own. He refuses to automate or mass-produce. Asked what keeps him going against all odds, he replies: “Every man wants to be recognised for his ability to do something unique. He wants to leave behind a legacy. I do it because my name will forever be associated with Adakkaputhur kannadi .”

However, any legacy requires someone to carry it forward. Krishnakumar hopes to find that ‘someone’ before it is too late. For the sake of Adakkaputhur.

Sudha Pillai is a Bengaluru-based writer