Into the Heart of Fire: The Silversmith of Tambat Ali
If the potters taught me to wait, it was in Tambat Ali that I learned how to watch.
I was introduced to Prashant Pramod Karde, a fourth-generation silversmith working from a workshop that feels more like a living organism than a space. Blackened walls, a warm chemical scent, steel tools carefully scattered across benches, and the gentle hum of an ever-ready flame.
There are no signs. No display boards. No brand identity. Just Prashant, his father’s tools, and the ritual of craft.
His practice is not part of a tourist trail or cultural showcase. It is quiet, consistent, and entirely manual and it immediately stood out in contrast to the more publicly known craft clusters I had explored earlier.
The journey of exploration
It’s strange how a project that begins with “documentation” can turn into something far more personal. I thought I was walking into a field study. Instead, I found myself navigating a quiet world where memory sits in the hands, tools whisper old instructions, and seasons dictate what can and cannot be made.
This journey has taken me across crafts and communities in Pune-
Clay that waits for dry skies, bamboo that bends under stories, and silver that remembers every strike. And it wouldn’t have been possible without Sambhasha, a Pune-based organization working at the intersection of cultural research, language, and community engagement. Sambhasha helped me identify potential directions for fieldwork and encouraged me to approach communities with openness rather than predefined outcomes.
Initially, I was interested in exploring traditional craft practices in and around Pune. I began with a series of site visits across distinct areas:
Hands shaping clay
My first step was Mundhwa Kumbharwada, a neighborhood where the smell of wet mitti hangs in the air, even when no one’s working. I imagined spinning wheels, blazing kilns, and rhythmic hands shaping earth. But when I reached, the rain had already arrived, and with it, a seasonal hush.
Pottery slows down in the monsoon.
Most artisans had either wrapped up their work early or were waiting to resume once the rains softened. The courtyards were still. It wasn’t the right time to enter their story. And perhaps that was the first thing I learned:
timing in craft is not about deadlines, it’s about weather, rhythm, and necessity.
So I let go, for now.
Mandai, Burud Ali and Shifting the Focus
I explored Mahathma Phule Mandai with the idea of documenting the architecture and informal systems that govern its flower and vegetable trade. I was particularly drawn to the overlapping roles of design, routine, and social negotiation in the market space.
However, access was limited, and the fast pace of commercial activity made it difficult to engage in deeper conversations or build sustained contact with vendors.
While promising, this route would require more time and local contacts to pursue further.
Burud Ali is known for its community of bamboo artisans. I visited the area to understand whether their work was still active or only seasonal.
The workshops I found were limited in number, and many artisans were either unavailable or had shifted to other trades. The access felt restricted, and I didn’t have enough time to establish the kind of trust or visibility needed for meaningful documentation.
This too was marked as a possible revisit in the future.
After exploring Kumbharwada, Mandai, and Burud Ali, it became clear that documentation doesn’t always follow a straight path. Timing, accessibility, and
local rhythms shaped what was possible and what needed to wait. At this point, Sambhasha Foundation played a crucial role in helping me realign.
They didn’t just offer a new option but they helped me redirect my approach.
Sambhasha suggested I explore Tambat Ali, a locality in Pune historically associated with coppersmiths, or Tambats. The lane is known for its metalwork, with generations of artisans producing hand-hammered copper vessels using traditional techniques. But instead of directing me toward copper, they pointed out a lesser-known practice happening in the same area that as silversmiths, quietly continuing their family craft just in a few houses near the more documented copper units of Tambat Ali
Step-by-step process
1. Preparing the Silver Plate
· Raw Material: A flat sheet of silver, around 1–2 mm thick, depending on the order by the customer.
· Initial Shape: Prashant selects a fibre dye (mould), this has the generic shape of a goddess’s face.
· The silver sheet is pressed onto the mould manually using hammering and pressure. At this stage, the face is only a vague outline.
2. Heating the Silver
· He uses a gas torch, assembled from old metal parts. This torch doesn’t have industrial settings; there is no temperature control is done entirely by experience.
· The plate is heated repeatedly until it softens slightly but doesn’t lose form.
· Heating is done in phases, enough to allow further shaping but not enough to burn or deform the silver.
3. Creating the Back Support
· A temporary boundary is made around the silver piece using rolled-up newspaper and adhesive. This creates a mold-like wall.
· A resin called lac (shellac in English) is melted on a side stove until it turns into a thick liquid.
· The molten lac is then poured behind the silver plate, filling the cavity and providing support for fine work.
4. Detailed Shaping and Carving
· Once the lac sets, the real detailing begins.
· Prashant uses a set of nails, chisels, and pointed hammers, many of which are handmade or inherited.
· Each tool has a specific function:
o Smaller nails for sharp features (eyes, lips, forehead)
o Rounded chisels for ornaments and facial curves
o Blunt hammers for adjusting form without distortion
· The entire shaping is done from the front of the silver plate, using the lac backing to absorb impact.
5. Final Steps
· After the detailing is complete, the silver plate is gently reheated to remove the lakh.
· It is cleaned using local solutions (ash, soap, cloth) and polished manually.
· The final product is handed over as per the custom order, usually for temple rituals, household altars, or seasonal festivities.
At Workshop,
· No mechanization: Every task from heating to carving is done manually.
· No waste: Silver shavings, leftover lac, and even newspaper pieces are reused.
· Tool improvisation: Many tools are hand-modified. Tool maintenance is self-taught and ongoing.
Prashant Karde primarily makes silver deity faces used in temples, home shrines, and religious festivals. These include forms of Durga, Laxmi, Ganesh, and other regional deities, crafted in low-relief using traditional hand tools.
In addition to these, he also produces smaller silver plates with sacred motifs like the lotus or swastik, and occasional ornamental elements such as crowns or chest adornments for idols. Most of his work is commission-based, customized to the religious and cultural needs of individual clients or temple committees.
From Workshop to Feed,
Despite working in a traditional, tool-heavy environment, Prashant Karde has taken a small but meaningful step toward modernising his visibility. He recently created an Instagram account to share images of his finished silver pieces, primarily deity faces and temple ornaments.
While the account is not aggressively marketed, it functions as a digital portfolio, helping him connect with clients beyond his immediate local network. This shift reflects an understanding of how craft today isn’t just about making it’s also about being seen. Without changing his techniques or workflow, Prashant is adapting to a digital landscape, where showcasing work online can lead to new orders, commissions, and a broader appreciation of what would otherwise remain hidden behind workshop walls.
Instagram handle – swami_samarath_metal_design
This Isn’t Heritage. This Is Survival.
There’s nothing museum-like about this.
There’s no sentimentality in his motion.
He’s not “preserving tradition.”
He’s working.
Because people still order silver gods.
Because his family has always done this.
Because this is what he knows.
And because, even if things are harder now, even if silver is expensive, and the market unstable, he still shows up.
That’s what struck me the most.
Not the process.
The discipline.
Project Direction
Spending time in Prashant Karde’s workshop changed the way I approached this documentation project. Earlier site visits to Kumbharwada, Mandai, and Burud Ali taught me how access, timing, and visibility affect fieldwork. But observing the silversmithing process up close brought out something else entirely: the value of staying with one practice long enough to understand its internal logic.
This was not a walk-in-walk-out documentation. It required showing up more than once, observing without interrupting, and learning to read the room, especially in a space where most things were communicated non-verbally.
Reflections
This project would not have taken its current shape without the direction and support of Sambhasha Foundation. From the beginning, they didn’t hand me a fixed route or ask for predictable outputs. Instead, they gave me the space to explore, make mistakes, and return with deeper questions. Their guidance helped shift my mindset from “covering ground” to “staying still long enough to notice.”
The silversmith’s work continues, quietly, even as the craft economy around it fluctuates. It is not public-facing, not on display. But it is alive; shaped every day by discipline, heat, inherited tools, and a shared rhythm between artisan and assistant.
Craft doesn’t announce itself. It lives quietly in rooms without nameplates, in rhythms passed down through gestures rather than words, in materials that change with the weather. To document it is not just to record what is made, but to pay attention to how it survives; in silence, in repetition, in refusal to rush.
Prashant’s workshop reminded me that continuity isn’t always visible. It’s not in museums or campaigns. It’s in the daily decision to return to the bench, heat the metal, adjust the angle, and keep going, even if no one is watching.
And maybe that’s the real lesson from this process.
That to witness craft is not to extract its secrets, but to spend enough time not needing to know everything.
To watch. To wait. To return.
And slowly, to understand that some knowledge isn’t meant to be captured but only carried.
Chaitrali Wakharkar
Bits design school, Mumbai.
Internship under Sambhasha Foundation, Pune.