In one corner of town is the small shack where Vijay Mukunda Hajare is painting purple robes and yellow scarves on to a series of statues on a round table in front of him. "I've been doing this for 40 years," he says, "It's my family business." He takes special pride in the quality of the watercolours he uses, and has refused to switch from clay to Plaster of Paris. "Working with clay is more difficult, we can make only 500 idols a year—but I won't sacrifice quality for quantity," he says.
D.M. Valankar is reputed as Pen's 'eye specialist'—for 25 years now, he has been painting eyes onto vibrantly hued Ganeshas with the assured hand of a master and the reverence of a devotee. After Valankar has put in curling lashes and a fleck of white inside the pupils, his Ganeshas somehow begin to embody human qualities like intelligence and compassion.
There are other issues, though. "Environmentalists ask us to use eco-friendly colours," says Deodhar, "like haldi (turmeric) to paint robes yellow." But that's easier said than done, he scoffs. "Haldi will get washed off in the rain, and besides we don't find eco-friendly colours in large supply."
As the countdown to Ganesh Chaturthi (on September 15 this year) begins, workshops across Pen are beginning to empty out. Truckloads of Ganeshas have already been dispatched to Mumbai. Phones and computers are bringing in fresh enquiries. An old customer phones to reassure the artisan that his Ganesha idol is exactly like the God himself, and could he please make a slightly bigger one next time? And, while he's at it, could he craft a smaller one for his brother in the US and ship it by July next? A 10-day break, says Deodhar, and he will start again. And so Pen's Ganesha story continues.
