Claims of Pollution, Kiln Shutdown and Financial Difficulties Mark Diwali for Artisans in Delhi's Kumhar Gram

Every Diwali, India’s cities bathe in a warm, flickering glow. The clay diyas, urns, and sacred vessels that illuminate homes are often the work of artisan potters whose lives lie in sharp contrast to the brightness they help usher in. Nowhere is this disconnect more stark than in Delhi’s Kumhar Gram in Uttam Nagar, where smoke, regulation, erratic weather and financial distress converge to make Diwali a season of hardship for the very hands that light up others’ homes.

Environmental Regulation and Kiln Closures Affect Kumhar Gram 

Historically, the potters of Kumhar Gram relied on wood- and biomass-fuelled kilns housed within or adjacent to their homes. With more than 500 households involved in pottery in Uttam Nagar, the area was once veritably alive with the sound of wheels, the clink of moulds, and the scent of burning wood.

Thus, one stepping into the colony for the first time would expect a different scene than that one will witness today: blue tarpaulin-covered shops selling work, diyas being dried in the sun and not kilns, people hurriedly packing stuff to be exported and not rather busy in making more, and a general silence of artisans converted to traders from terracota handicraft potters.

In December 2018, the National Green Tribunal (NGT) ordered that all wood-fired kilns in Uttam Nagar be shut down, and directed authorities to “confiscate all materials used for burning kilns.”

Within weeks, the lanes of Kumhar Gram fell silent. “Because of the order, we have not been able to do any business,” says Hansraj, a 34-year-old potter, who claimed that prior to the shutdown, he used to earn approximately Rs. 20,000 per month.

Vimal, who now sits at a store of his own rather than a workshop and is a third-generation potter, estimated the combined daily loss for all households at roughly Rs. 4 lakh when all of his material was taken away and his workshop was ransacked in the process. “I’ll never get back to making the work at mass, because my hands are tied now. Without kilns, work speed has dropped rapidly; now either machine-made diyas are taking our spot or no diyas are needed, electric lights are enough,” he says, “The government ordered us to shun the only skill we have.” 

Municipal authorities, reportedly, sealed 22 furnaces in the colony. The Delhi Pollution Control Committee (DPCC) issued notices to demolish the kilns. In the face of such regulatory pressure, potters have now almost nullified kilns. Diyas are now not made in abundance but in batches; some workers, due to heavy seasonal unemployment, have taken to vegetable selling, electric fairy light selling or now to cracker selling.

Proposals for mitigation—such as providing gas or electric furnaces to replace traditional wood kilns—have been floated, but with little concrete, widespread support. National award-winning master potter Harkishan Prajapati, who also resides in this colony and was delighted to meet us and know that their concern still lingers in public minds.

For years now, he has voiced frustration that the village’s work is being recategorised as “industrial” in residential zones—despite its cottage-industry character. “We went as a collective and told the NGT that if there’s a problem with the smoke, the government could provide us with gas or electric furnaces at a subsidised rate. If that is not workable, we are ready to shift to a different location,”  Prajapati laments.

The tension is acute. Vimla ji, who has been working here for more than 30 years with hands busy in finishing her batch of pink glitter diyas, fumes at the mention of “challenges” and “pollution”, and challenges the logic of the ban, asking, “Why don’t they first focus on traffic and other factors contributing to air pollution in the city than killing our jobs?”

Diwali, Demand and the Broken Supply Chain

Diwali is the peak season for potters. The demand for diyas, earthen lamps, figurines, puja vessels and decorative ceramics surges. Potters in Kumhar Gram once laboured around the clock to meet this influx of orders.  Without active kilns, however, there is little to sell. Many finished items remain in stasis, unsold, awaiting firing that cannot take place. “What is left anyway? As you can see, you walked around for an hour but couldn’t find a single kiln worker; it's because we can't exist here anymore,” laments Ishwar ji, a potter busy transporting his family's work onto an auto for transportation.

Transportation and logistics further complicate matters. Terracotta and ceramic items are brittle, prone to damage, and heavy to ship. The longer goods remain unfired or half-baked, the more fragile they become. Artisans complain that transport losses—cracks, breakages in shipping—already eat into their margins. With kiln production constrained, the economy of scale is lost and transport becomes even more costly.

To compound the issue, erratic monsoon patterns and unseasonal rains have disrupted the drying cycles. Wet weather delays the “sunning” of clay, slows evaporation, increases the risk of cracks during firing, and throws the production timetable off schedule. In a monsoon-affected season, even perfectly shaped diyas may crack, distort or fail to survive the firing process.

Before the NGT order, Vishal Prajapati—who has moulded clay items for 22 years—explains: “It costs us Rs. 1,200 to make around 30,000 diyas.” He cautioned that a gas furnace, which is economically burdensome, could not replicate the capacity or flexibility of traditional kilns. In his view, gas furnaces “are good for glazed items” but ill-suited for pure earthenware; “you can’t use it according to your requirement, the temperature is fixed".

Thus, during Diwali this year, many potters find themselves unable to produce at scale, leading to empty shelves and unmet orders at a time when demand would otherwise guarantee revenue.

The Irony of Cultural Promotion and Its Collapse

It is a bitter irony, while India’s national and state narratives often celebrate handicrafts as heritage and cultural identity, the very artisans who create those symbols find themselves squeezed by regulation and market forces. The prime minister has urged citizens to light earthen lamps, yet those who make them are largely prevented from firing them. As one potter put it: “Modiji ne kaha mitti ke diye jalao. Lekin mitti ke diye kaha se jalayenge Diwali par jab banenge hi nahi (The PM said to burn clay lamps, but where will the lamps come from this Diwali if they cannot be made?)." 

In many ways, the potters feel betrayed: regulated out of their craft even while cultural orthodoxy demands the very products they cannot produce.

Moreover, courts and environmental bodies have not tightened norms for all polluting sectors: from vehicles to construction to stubble burning. The Supreme Court relaxed the firecracker ban, while the government this year has not done much to control heavy vehicular pollution due to increased movement in the city during Diwali, as evidenced by the kilometre-long jams in the capital. Yet kilns are still shut, making it questionable as to what the management is actually doing.

“I think the courts and everyone else think that people anyway are not buying earthern diyas or lamps, sitting in their mansions lit by electric fairy lights installed by electricians, not even themselves. From those top floors, how will they be able to see the struggles of us working in the dark and in basements?” Vimla laments as she gets back to her work in the basement, where natural light is absent and power cuts have increased.

In the homes illuminated by clay diyas, one seldom reflects on the hardship behind the glow. For the potters of Kumhar Gram in Uttam Nagar, Diwali is often a time of heartbreak: finished products pile unsold, kilns are cold, debts mount, and futures are uncertain.

If India truly values its artisan traditions, the time has come for a policy that balances environment and livelihood. Otherwise, in the glare of firecrackers and LED lights, the hands that once shaped light may themselves slip into darkness.