Sustainability initiative 

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The idea began in a dream. I saw Tara shaping a small animal from terracotta, its form carrying the life of the forest. When I woke, the image stayed with me. The Sundarbans had clay in abundance, yet I could not find a distinctive local handicraft tradition telling the story of its people, animals, rivers, and mangroves. Could this ever-present soil become the beginning of something new?

I imagined terracotta as more than an art form. Because the clay was locally available, women could learn to shape it into figures inspired by the animals they knew, and make the work close to home. I hoped this could create an additional source of livelihood for women affected by shark bites and other wildlife encounters—some of whom had lost the ability to earn through work in the water. It might also help keep local knowledge and stories alive, while offering a path that did not depend on entering risky waters or adding pressure to already vulnerable ecosystems. It was a hope, not a guarantee, but it felt worth trying.

To bring the idea into the world, I visited the Government College of Art & Craft in Kolkata. Two young sculptors, Subham and Dipu, agreed to come to Gosaba and share their skills. The question of funding still troubled me. Then, over coffee, I told my brother’s old friend Chirajeet—“Bullet da,” a dentist visiting from the United States—what I hoped to do. He wrote me a cheque and urged me to carry it forward.

In August 2022, we gathered with eleven local women. Together, we collected clay from the riverbank, prepared it, and began shaping figures of Sundarbans animals. Subham and Dipu guided the process, but the women brought their own knowledge of the surrounding world to the work. When building a kiln proved impractical, we arranged to have the figures fired in Kumirmari.

On 9 September 2022, I opened the Gouri Sundarban Handicraft Project shop in Pakhiralay, named after my mother. The plan had been to fill its shelves with hundreds of figures; about forty were ready that day. They were enough to open the door.

For me, the project joined soil, skill, imagination, and livelihood in one small beginning. Its deeper promise was that something already present in the landscape could become a source of creative possibility—made by local hands, shaped by local knowledge, and rooted in the Sundarbans.

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