As a challenge, I want to make the world's tallest scrap metal sculpture, something that would make people realise what redundant machinery can do.

Sculptor, Arzan Khambatta, tells Maria Louis, that his fascination with scrap and humorous titles, compels him to use unusual materials in the strangest combinations

Dad's a practising architect, while Mum runs a nursery school. My parents encouraged me tremendously when I started sculpting. I showed my first pieces to dad's architect friends whose frank criticism provided valuable guidelines.

It all began in the summer of '82, when my sisters and I enrolled at an art class at Adi Davierwala's studio, Dadar, Mumbai. Though we started out with clay and papier mache, I was fascinated by the metal I saw. Welded, cast, twisted, hammered, and combined with materials like bronze, carved wood, acrylic and aluminium, the raw welds on the metal sculptures inspired me to start out on my own.

I was only 16 then. I would sit amidst the scrap and let it poke me. The design concepts would emerge from the shapes of the scrap. From '82 to '93, I worked alone. Right from scrounging for material to cleaning the rust, welding, cutting, grinding...I would do it all myself. It was only when I started getting orders for larger pieces in 1994, that I appointed helpers.

The punning titles and humour are not new. I used to draw caricatures of my teachers, with long noses and funny faces. Once, in a chemistry exam, I knew only one answer, so I filled the rest of the paper with cartoons of an exploding lab. I was punished then and again later, when, for a history paper, I wrote: "The more time you spend in studying history, the less time you have to make history." Then, I drew a student hanging from a noose, indicating that I was done for!

Artist, Brinda Miller, has been of invaluable help. She and painter, Subhash Awchat, first suggested my name for an art camp in Goa and that opened up a completely new world for me. I saw the greats of contemporary Indian art (like Jaideep Mehrotra and Gurcharan Singh) at work. Brinda also got me into the auction organised by the NGO, Akanksha, which got a lot of publicity.

Sculpterrains at the Birla Arts Centre in 2003, was my first solo show in a private gallery. It revolved around the textures, colours and contours of the raw metals…no forms, images or humour. The common reaction was: has Arzan become old? Where has his humour gone? But artists appreciated it and architects loved the textures.

The conceptualisation of Fresh, my latest exhibition at Jehangir Art Gallery, Mumbai, started two years ago. I wanted to do essentially caricature-ish sculptures and so I began, by formulating titles that I could foresee as translating into good sculptures. Of course, I added my favourite horses, which were like bastions guarding the four corners. The head of each horse was of a different material - copper, bronze, wood and stainless steel.

Optical, illusionary sculptures like Stairway To Heaven and Yin Yang, fulfil my need to combine science with art and create something astounding. The look of total awe on the spectators' faces, after they view the effect through the peephole, is very satisfying. These sculptures are difficult to create and require immense time and precision during construction. Each one has to be sculpted entirely through the peephole, and the slightest movement could throw it out of proportion.

Fresh is part of a long quest, a journey…of doing the craziest possible things, of trying out all the materials available in the weirdest of combinations.

As a challenge, I want to make the world's tallest scrap metal sculpture, something that would make people realise what redundant machinery can do.

The more difficult the job, the more I want to do it. For example, the assignment for the Dolphins at Worli, Mumbai, was given to me on condition that I complete it in 15 days. My wife, Khushnuma and I worked day and night, getting workers in two shifts, new machines...and we delivered the piece in 13 days.

I need the vital connection with my family to function and think properly, so I avoid sitting late at the workshop or holding meetings after 4 p.m. Khushnuma's support means the earth to me. It is solely because she joined me that I have grown from a small 200 square ft workshop to a 2000 square feet one, with our own workers and machinery.

My favourite saying is: "The impossible just takes a little longer."