‘Big decisions are made over hookah’

A hookah is always at the centre of gatherings in rural Haryana. “Hookah ke sahare panchayat chalti reya karti [The panchayat would run with the help of the hookah],” says Rohtas, recalling a common sight in the village square growing up.

“Unlike tea or water, which can’t last all day, a hookah is practical — you fill it with tobacco, light it once, and it keeps going. Five to ten people can sit together, sharing a hookah comfortably for hours. It also helps pass the time,” adds Rohtas (he uses only this name).

The 40-year-old hookah craftsman is smiling when he says: “now every house has become its own chaupal [village square], and every home has its own hookah.” As he speaks to PARI during a work break, he puffs on one — a habit he picked up 12 years ago, after taking up the craft.

The hookah pipe is believed to have originated in 16th-century northern India during the Mughal Empire. According to some accounts, Akbar, the third Mughal emperor, was among the first to use it. Other historical accounts, however, suggest its origins may trace back earlier to central and western Asia.

Either way, it’s a cherished tradition in the daily lives of Haryana’s people, “a part of our sanskriti [culture],” says Dharambeer. “Big decisions are made over hookah.”

In his seventies, Dharambeer Singh Jangra is a veteran hookah craftsman, one among four hookah makers left in both Bhainswal Kalan panchayats – Bhainswal Kalan Mithan and Bhainswal Kalan Bawala. These two villages in Haryana’s Sonipat district are renowned for their handmade hookahs. “Once, there were about twenty artisans in the village,” recalls Rohtas. “But only the work of two or three families was truly appreciated in the market, and their craft got established. The others eventually moved on.”

Dharambeer was 15 when he finished school and started accompanying his tau (elder paternal uncle) Kali Ram, to Sonipat city to learn how to make hookahs. “My uncle was a better karigar [craftsman] than my father,” recalls Dharambeer. “That’s why I chose to learn from him.”

Dharambeer’s workshop is the front room of his home in Bhainswal Kalan Mithan, about an hour north of Delhi-Haryana border. On a cold November morning, he is busy assembling a hookah using a length of copper wire. “My hands often get cut during the process,” he says, holding both up for us to see.

A hookah is built of 12 primary pieces. One of these is made of wooden cylinders purchased for around Rs. 8-10 each, gathered on one high shelf of the workshop. These will form the body of the hookah and “have to be shaped carefully,” he explains.

Dharambeer’s family belongs to the Jangar (also Jhangra) community that is classified under Other Backward Classes in Haryana. One younger brother – Karambeer – is also a hookah craftsman while the other two joined the police force.

His cousin Rohtas – Kali Ram’s grandson – also has his own workshop in Bhainswal Kalan Mithan. In the 8x8 room, which opens onto the street on one side, Rohtas too is working on a hookah.

Using two sharp tools, naan and chairasi, he chisels a wooden tube held in place by two metal nails – a simple lathe which he turns using the bow-shaped kamani. The chisel on wood creates a shrill, rhythmic sound. Rohtas is carving the pori which will be connected to the kulfi.

“We all belong to the same family tree,” says Rohtas about his relatives, Karambeer and Dharambeer. It was Karambeer who trained and helped Rohtas set up his shop and who often refers his own customers to him. “It makes a big difference when an established craftsman takes responsibility for someone new,” says a grateful Rohtas who has orders lined up for the next few months.

In a hookah, coal or cow dung cakes heat the tobacco placed in the chillum, releasing smoke that flows through the terua into the tanki. “Mostly in villages, burnt cow dung cakes are used instead of coal because of their low heat intensity,” says Dharambeer. “Besides, they are easily available.”

The brass needed to make hookahs is typically bought in sheets of 18-20 gauge thickness purchased at a rate of around Rs. 500-700 per kilogram from Sadar Bazar in Delhi. A hookah uses around half a kilo of brass, “but when supplies run low and no one can travel to Delhi, paraats [platters used to knead dough] are bought from Sonipat, melted down and carved,” adds Preeti Devi, who has been observing the process for many years now.

As in all crafts, the family usually pitches in – children and adults. Preeti’s husband, Dharambeer eldest son, Ajay Kumar knows “about 55 per cent of the craft” according to his father. “Whenever he comes home from his duty in the police force in Odisha, he starts working with me on the same day.”

Of all steps that go into crafting a hookah, making dodas (brass joints connecting different parts of the structure) is the most time consuming. Artisans take four to five months making them in bulk – five for each hookah – to last an entire year. But it is the water tank or tanki, sourced from Moradabad in Uttar Pradesh, that forms the foundation of the hookah. Its weight and size determine the shape and placement of the other components, as well as the final price of the piece. The prices vary from Rs. 9,500 to over Rs. 20,000 depending on the volume of the tank.

Hookahs made in Bhainswal Kalan Mithan range from Rs. 12,000 to Rs. 23,000. Since it takes about three to five days to complete one, craftsmen charge labour costs of Rs. 2,500-3,000 per piece, netting an average monthly income of around Rs. 25,000.

Rohtas says about 80 per cent of the hookahs made in the village are sold within Haryana while the remaining are purchased by buyers from Uttar Pradesh, Punjab, Rajasthan, Mumbai and Himachal Pradesh. “With many young people now moving to countries like the UK, Canada and America, about three to four are bought annually for export,” he adds.

Customers visit the village to make their final purchase, ensuring the hookah is free of any leaks. “Any leakage would be detected at the terua when inhaled,” says Narendra, a villager sitting at Rohtas’ workstation. Terua is one of the two pipes connected to the water tanki. “But that never happens,” he adds, vouching for the quality. Artisans provide a two-year guarantee, and “if a customer takes good care of it, the hookah can last for 50 years,” says Rohtas.

That’s about how long Dharambeer has been crafting hookahs and he shows no signs of stopping. Although battling health issues, he pauses only to eat, sleep and puff a hookah himself. Preeti Devi, his daughter-in-law is concerned: “He doesn’t rest at all. After his heart surgery, the doctor advised him to rest for a couple of months but he resumed working just three days later.”

When his youngest son Anil Kumar, who serves in the police force, takes him to his home in Sonipat to rest, Dharmabeer soon returns to the village. “Mera ji nahi lagta [My heart isn’t there],” he admits. He prefers working.

Meanwhile Rohtas, a father of three school-going children wonders whether the next generation will carry on the craft. “If our children don’t succeed or face difficulties finding a job, we’ll teach them this family skill,” he says. “At the very least, it could help them manage their expenses. The rest is up to destiny – time time ki baat hai.”

This story is supported by a fellowship from Mrinalini Mukherjee Foundation (MMF).