In lush Lonavla, Rajkumar and Saroj Goel live amidst a museum of hand-made curiosities, including different types of Ganesh murtis. mid-day takes a tour
The newest addition to the Goel’s Ganesha collection is this Ganesha sitting on a swing
The first impression that takes over as we step into the hall of the Goels residence in Lonavla is awe. Aptly named Ram Kripa, the house was painstakingly built, almost brick-by-brick by Rajkumar Goel, whose many talents can be sheltered under the broad term of artist. But what strikes the eye first are the Ganeshas peeking out of every nook and cranny—some small enough to disappear inside your palm, others more self-assertive with their presence.
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“It’s unbelievable how everything in this house has been built from scratch,” we compliment the Goels, to which Rajkumar replies, with a look of humility, “I can’t believe it either.”
Rajkumar Goel dabbles in many arts: woodwork, handicrafts, and metal work and poetry, to name a few. He is also a specialist in making Ganesha idols, like this glass murthi
The lower level of the red laterite Goel residence was completed in 1983, initially for Rajkumar’s parents who loved the hill station. The materials came from everywhere—the trees from then Victoria Garden’s (now Veermata Jijabai Bhosale Udyan and Zoo) nursery; the laterite stone—which reminds Rajkumar “of MF Husain, somehow”—from Ratnagiri, sleeper wood for the doorframes came from a railway yard in Vakola.
Located opposite Lonavla lake, the house is not just a treasure-trove of handcrafted furniture and quirky clocks, but also a veritable museum of Ganesha murtis, all created by the couple, and a testament to the role the elephant god has played in their lives. “It’s like I am looking at myself when I look at Ganesha,” Rajkumar says, “He is so flexible, so mischievous. Ganesha and I, we’ve been growing on each other…he feeds on me and I thrive off him. My inspiration comes solely from Ganesha; he has given me the push to become what I am.”
The Goel’s Lonavala residence has a small store that resembles the original one they set up in Mumbai in the 1990s
Saroj, the second half of the artistic team, feels Ekdanta is inspiring because “there is art in him”. The ability to make whatever you can out of him—a laughing Ganesha, a sleeping Ganesha, a playful or a serious Ganesha. Ask which idol is their favourite, and they can’t choose—all are special in some form or another. Each of them is inscribed with “Mai hu na”, a testament to his belief that the god will take care of everything.
Popcorn Ganpati is so tiny, the idol balances on the tip of the index finger. Then there are large cream-coloured resin murtis, the first ones the couple manufactured. The most recent creation, a metal Mangalmurti swinging on a seat, is carved by Rajkumar out of the hathodi variety of bamboo, found at R10 rupees-a-piece at hardware stores. Pratham Ideas, a gifting and artefacts store, was established by the couple in Sion in 1994. Saroj helmed it, packing nameplates, murtis and other items for customers. It was around the same time that Goel pioneered the dashboard Ganpati, omnipresent in almost every Indian vehicle today. There’s a story behind this as well: The now 70-year-old was at an exhibition held at the World Trade Centre in Cuffe Parade and saw a collection of one-inch paper-and-wood Ganeshas on display. Their colorful nature intrigued him; he’s always been the one to bring home curiosities and artistic pieces from the places he visits.
Among the Goel’s collection of Ganeshas are one-inch popcorn Ganeshas, which are made out of fibre. Pics/Anurag Ahire
Rajkumar visited the exhibition for four days straight, bringing back 10 mini Ganeshas each time at R8 a piece. Finally, he convinced the manufacturer to sell him the remaining 5,000 pieces for R5 each. Once he had them at home, though, carefully tucked in a box under the bed, the problem of what to do with them became paramount. That’s when he decided to mount them on a piece of marble or wood to make them stable, and had customised test tubes made to cover each idol, thus gifting the dashboard Ganesha to the country.
“A close friend once told me that once upon a time, there was a crooked man, who had a crooked look, and who had a crooked bend in his thought process,” he reminisces with a smile. “I always look for discarded materials and objects, knowing that it is going to become gold one day.”
Rajkumar Goel with wife Saroj Goel and son Pratham
This journey of transforming materials and bringing them to life and “an impetus to be different” shapes the course of Rajkumar’s existence.
In the lower portion of the house, fronting the steps that lead up to the tree-house terrace, is the couple’s workshop, amidst towering trees that Rajkumar planted as six-inch saplings 40 years ago. Here, we get to see a plethora of wooden handicrafts spun out of the creative recesses of his mind: The “anti-clock” that ticks backwards, symbolizing time is whatever you choose to make of it; a barrel converted into a liquor chest, and a motorcycle made entirely out of wood. Multiple wooden clocks hang on one wall, as in the main house—the Goel family has been into clock-making since the 1940s.
Rajkumar approaches his creations not as an artist working a medium, but as a child learning from a master. “The mediums tell me what to make of them,” he says, “I keep playing with teakwood, bamboo, waste wood, driftwood, stone, metals… Somebody once gave me a compliment: ‘You have a very big child within you’. It’s that child who encourages me to do some mischief. I am a little child very inquisitively asking the medium, ‘What shall I do with you?’ You can’t tell the branch of a tree, ‘I want to chisel you into a pole.’ The branch already has a natural bend. You have to respect that bend, and compliment it.”
Even at age nine, Rajkumar’s flair for creating expressed itself in bits of candy and ice cream sticks picked up on Juhu beach. He would create small boxes out of them, which, he laughingly tells us, he would gift childhood girlfriends.
Apart from tinkering with odds and ends around their sprawling home, the artist has also been instrumental in gathering creative and intellectual personalities of the hill station to his bosom. “There are so many like-minded artistes here—singers, poets, artists, who I’m always on the lookout for,” he says, and Saroj adds, “Currently, he’s on a bamboo experimenting spree, having been tasked with the restoration of a friend’s house whom he convinced not to spend his days in an old age home.” “There is nothing like old age, only a gold age,” he quips.
As we leave, the red letters on the stone board flanking the entrance follow us: “Mai aaj iss pal ko sarvasvas apna deta hu.” Much like the materials the couple comes across, they are eager to fabricate something unique out of every moment. As Rajkumar wrote in one of his poems, “I play with ideas that scrap, firewood, rock pieces, discards, etc. radiate, and meditate with them to reform them into odds and uniques, reciting poetry and celebrate. The journey makes me younger, and it is never ending.”
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