Rudranil Dey from Kolkata brings the artistry and heart of creations like Thewa to life—connecting readers with the rich heritage.
Have you ever stumbled upon something so beautiful, it feels like a gift from another time?
That’s Thewa art for me, straight out of Pratapgarh in Rajasthan. It is not just shiny jewellery—it’s like a piece of the desert’s soul, with gold etched into glass that sparkles with stories. Every pendant, every frame feels like it’s whispering tales of kings, gods, and dusty old forts.
Gold That Spills Stories
Way back in the 1600s, when Mughal emperors were flexing and Rajput kings were ruling their sandy kingdoms, a man named Maharawal Sunmiant Singh in Pratapgarh had a wild idea: take pure gold and carve a thousand Krishna statues from it. Wrap them in flowers that loo alive, or desert dust thick with myth—and press them into coloured glass.
That’s Thewa, named after Thova, the Rajasthani word for hammering. Every tap of the chisel is like a heartbeat from the past. You can picture a master craftsman, hunched over his table, his hands moving like they have got a mind of their own. “You don’t just make Thewa,” the craftsman seems to be saying. “You pour your whole heart into it.” It’s not just art—it’s keeping history alive, one tiny stroke at a time.
How It’s Born (and Why It’s Wild)
Making Thewa is no walk in the park. You start with a sheet of 23-karat gold—so thin, it’s like a golden whisper. Then, using delicate chisels, you carve out designs that look ethereal, the kind that makes you hold your breath. But that’s only half the magic. You take coloured glass—think fiery red, deep green or cool blue—made from sand and a secret family recipe. The gold is bonded to the glass with a mysterious adhesive no one talks about outside the family.
A veteran artisan says, “It’s like tying a soul to a body.” One slip—maybe you’re tired, maybe you sneeze—and the whole thing can crack. Weeks of work, gone in an instant. Your heart breaks with it. But then, when it works? It’s like holding a piece of the desert sun, glowing with stories.
A Family Vow, Opening Up
Thewa is like a secret handshake. Only a few families in Pratapgarh know the real way to do it, and they guard it like a sacred mission. For years, it was just fathers teaching their sons passing it down like a solemn vow.
But things are loosening up now. A young artisan with big dreams taught his daughter how to carve. “She’s got me beat already,” he chuckles, probably bursting with pride. Art must flow, like the wind over the dunes. That’s the spirit—let it fly free.
Keeping It Alive, Making It New
Thewa has weathered some rough times—British rule, factory-made knockoffs, people forgetting what’s real. With only around 30 families still practicing it, it’s like a campfire down to its last embers.
Yes, it has a prestigious Geographical Indication tag, like a badge of honour. But that’s not enough. It needs us to notice, care, and help it thrive. What’s amazing is, Thewa is not stuck in the past. Artisans are mixing things up—crafting cufflinks, bookmarks, even watch faces that feel modern, yet retain that old desert magic.
A designer who’s head over heels for Thewa has a big idea: “I want it in every Indian home, not just collecting dust in museums.” Yes! Picture a Thewa brooch pinned to your jacket or a framed piece on your wall, telling a story older than anyone you know. It’s been shown in prestigious places like the British Museum and Paris, which is incredibly cool.
But it’s also kind of wild how few folks in India have heard of it. We’ve got to shout louder—maybe through workshops, online stores, or Rajasthan’s tourism boom. It’s not about changing Thewa—it’s about helping these artisans keep the fire alive.
Art Soul Life speaks with Deepak Soni, a master Thewa artisan from Pratapgarh and relative of Padma Shri awardee Mahesh Raj Soni. Over steaming cups of chai in his cozy workshop, with the soft clink of chisels in the background, Deepak shared his passion for the craft with a warmth that lit up the room.
Q: How did you get into Thewa Art?
Deepak Soni: (Grinning) I was just a little kid, barely able to peek over my dad’s workbench.
He’d be there, chipping away at these super-thin gold sheets, and I’d beg him to let me try. By the time I was ten, I got my own tankla—felt like I’d become a man! (Laughs) It’s not just a job, you know? It’s like the gold runs in our veins. Growing up in Pratapgarh, Thewa’s not something you learn—it’s something you live, like a story your ancestors keep whispering to you.
Q: What’s the toughest part about making Thewa?
Deepak Soni: (Leaning back, scratching his chin) Oh man, it’s the patience you need. The gold’s so thin, it’s like working with a spiderweb—one wrong move and it tears. And those tiny chisels? One slip, maybe your hand shakes a little and boom—the whole piece, gold, glass, weeks of your life—just cracks. (Shakes his head) The real trick is bonding them. We’ve got this old family recipe for the glue, and it’s like convincing two stubborn old friends to get along. But when it comes together? It’s like you’ve trapped a piece of the desert’s sunlight in your hands.
Q: How do you keep this tradition alive when mass-produced stuff is everywhere?
Deepak Soni: (Chuckling) It’s a fight, I’ll tell you that. Cheap jewellery’s flooding the market, but we’re a stubborn bunch. We’re making things like cufflinks and bookmarks now—everyday stuff, but with that Thewa magic. I even taught my daughter to carve,which got some raised eyebrows in the family! We’ve started workshops too—letting tourists try their hand at it. When they pick up that trinket and feel its weight, they get it. It’s not just about passing on the skill—it’s about sharing the love.
Q: What’s your big dream for Thewa’s future?
Deepak Soni: (Eyes sparkling) I want Thewa everywhere—not just sitting in fancy galleries, but inpeople’s homes, pinned on jackets, sold in markets.I dream of kids picking it up—not just my daughter,but anyone curious. Online shops, workshops, maybeeven fun reels on social media—why not? It’s beenin the British Museum, sure, but it belongs in everyvillage, too. Thewa’s Rajasthan’s heartbeat, and we’vegot to keep it pumping, you know!
Closing thought: Don’t Let It Fade
Thewa isn’t just a craft—it’s Rajasthan’s heartbeat, a golden thread that ties us to where we came from. It carries the patience of a desert wanderer, the grace of a royal, and the soul of someone who loves what they do.
In a world full of throwaway trinkets, Thewa reminds us what happens when you putyour whole self into something real. Sonext time you’re searching for somethingmeaningful, skip the ordinary—hunt downa Thewa piece. It’s not just a necklace or aframe. It’s a slice of someone’s life. Let’skeep this desert glow alive.
About the Author: Rudranil Dey is a professional writer with a passion for uncovering the stories behind traditional crafts and cultures.
