- Chendamangalam’s handloom represents a rich cultural heritage that is at risk because of environmental factors, economic challenges and inadequate government support.
- In 2012, the town in the historic Muziris region of Kerala received a Geographical Indication for its soft muslin, handwoven by traditional artisans.
- The floods of 2018 in the state brought national attention to these textiles and the weavers, who were, until then, feared to be fading into oblivion.
A quaint old town in Kerala’s Ernakulam district, around 40 km north of a buzzling Kochi city, Chendamangalam received the Government of India’s Geographical Indication for its kaithari or handloom in 2012. Handwoven by the traditional weavers of Chendamangalam, these textiles are some of the softest muslins woven in the country.
T.S. Baby, the president of the Paravur Handloom Weavers Co-operative Society, explains, “Chendamangalam kaithari is a thin and soft fabric with a high thread count of about 100-120.” In handloom, the higher the thread count, the softer the fabric. In contrast, another GI-tagged handloom from Kerala, Balaramapuram kaithari, originating from Balaramapuram in Thiruvananthapuram, is a slightly coarser fabric with a thread count of 60-80, though both textiles are visually similar.
Woven on a frame loom, the fabric made at Chendamangalam is typical of Kerala’s indigenous drape — off-white fabric with a thin, colour-dyed or a zari border. The drape is mostly gender-neutral, with just a “mundu” or a piece of cloth worn around the waist for men, and a piece each for the top and bottom for women, called “set-mundu”.
Kerala’s progressive identity is interwoven with this drape, propagated by Sree Narayana Guru, a spiritual leader and social reformer in the early 1900s, who spoke against caste discrimination, according to Ramesh Menon of Save the Loom, a non-profit dedicated to reviving the handloom industry in the country. “He advocated for a neutral colour and style of drape that were the same for everyone across caste and class lines,” he shares.
Disasters shape a town
In the application for the GI tag, the Directorate of Handlooms and Textiles points to historical records that suggest that weavers were brought to Kerala from the neighbouring states of Tamil Nadu, Karnataka, and Andhra Pradesh to weave soft and unique fabrics for Chendamangalam’s illustrious Paliam family, whose male members served as chief ministers to the Kochi Maharajas. Over time, Chendamangalam textiles became accessible to the masses, and in post-independent India, co-operative societies were established to support the craft.
Currently, there are 11 registered co-operative societies in Ernakulam district with five of them in Chendamangalam town in Paravur taluk.
One of the oldest weavers of Chendamangalam, 69-year-old Aisha Nanappan of the Kuriappilly Handloom Weavers Co-operative Society in Vadakkekara panchayat, recalls a time when every house in Chendamangalam had a weaving unit. “Most families were engaged in weaving. It was a norm that children, mostly girls, after passing the 8th or the 10th grade in school, would be sent to a weaver to learn the craft,” she says. Aisha learned from her sister, who, in turn, had learned from an older neighbour. Baby and his brother picked up weaving from their father, who was skilled in weaving Chendamangalam textiles.
“Weaving was a rather long process then,” says Aisha. The yarn had to be boiled and stomped with one’s feet for seven days to make it malleable for weaving. It would then be hung out on the street to apply adhesives — made from maida (flour) or rice — and to dry, a process called “street sizing” in handloom parlance. “The process would take at least 10 days. This is exclusive of dyeing the yarn for borders,” shares Aisha. Over time, these processes changed, primarily with improved yarns. It considerably reduced the intensity of labour involved.
Marketed by the state’s tourism department as a rare geographical combination of three rivers, including the mighty Periyar, seven inlets, hillocks, and vast green expanses of plains, Chendamangalam has a checkered history marked by environmental disasters.
An integral part of the ancient Muziris region that shaped Kerala’s rich tapestry, Chendamangalam faced the fury of nature in 1341 CE, when the region went under water in a deluge. In a case of history repeating itself, the Muziris area, which had long since shed its historic glory, had to once again wade through chin-deep water during the devastating Kerala floods in 2018.
Kerala received 42% excess rainfall between the months of June and August that year, leading to severe flooding and landslides. There were reportedly 500 human casualties and over 1.1 million people were displaced.
Flood fury and slow revival
The five co-operative societies of weavers in Chendamangalam faced an estimated economic loss of Rs. 15 crore in the floods. C.S. Saritha, the secretary of Kuriappilly society points to a mark on the society building’s wall — almost five feet above the ground — where the water left its indelible print.
Braving rising water levels with her husband to reach the building on August 14, 2018 before it became inaccessible to them, Saritha moved yarns, papers, files, warps, stocks and whatever she could, to higher places in the building and into wooden shelves where she thought they would be safe. “When we came a week later when the flood subsided, the shelves had fallen, damaging the contents.”
The last to receive financial aid from non-profits, civil society groups and philanthropists who came forward in large numbers to help the Chendamangalam weavers, the all-women Kuriappilly society reported 16 of their 24 active members as severely affected by flooding. “Apart from the society building with five looms which was destroyed, the homes of many of our members, that double as their weaving sheds, were flooded, too,” Saritha informs Mongabay India. Aisha shares that her house and the weaving shed adjacent to it were completely inundated before they were moved to a relief camp nearby.
Ironically, the devastation turned into a blessing in disguise for the Chendamangalam weavers. Before the floods, the weavers and their traditional craft had remained largely obscure to the outside world and were feared to be fading into oblivion. Many societies, such as the Kuriappilly society, were already burdened with debt. When the floods engulfed the tiny state, generous Keraliites across the world opened their wallets wide, willing to extend aid to anyone in distress. The poignant story of the Chendamangalam weavers and their loss tugged at their heartstrings.
“Rescuing and reviving a traditional craft was a resounding sentiment,” recollects Jerit Venugopal of the non-profit Gopalji Foundation, which was at the forefront of relief efforts for the weavers. Three of the five societies, including Kuriappilly Society and Paravoor Handloom Weavers Society, were the most affected, says Venugopal. “Many of their weavers, who weave from home, had their looms, yarn, and raw materials completely destroyed,” he shares.
While the government did not act immediately, Venugopal notes, it sprang into action four or five months later. In the interim, many non-profits, designers, corporates, and others helped the weavers get back on their feet by repairing looms and providing raw materials.
Times are changing
“Our country’s language and clothing changes every 200 km. Traditional handlooms are worth preserving. There is a whole ecosystem that exists around them and they are deeply connected with our environment,” says Save The Loom’s Menon. This makes climate adaptation in the handloom sector an important policy-level intervention.
Weavers inform that heavy rains and harsh sun, both a recurring reality in Kerala, make weaving difficult. “Weaving slows down during monsoon since wooden looms become hard to operate,” says Aisha. During the recent heatwave-like condition in Kerala, some women weavers reported skin problems, Baby says. Baby highlights that many weavers failed to report for work, resulting in a drop in production. “Our weaving sheds don’t have fans or cooling facilities. I took repeated breaks from weaving because I was getting drenched in sweat,” recalls Aisha.
These days, a downcast sky fills weavers with trepidation. “When we heard that another flood could happen in 2019, we moved the warps and stocks to the top floor in anticipation of it. Looms are too big to transport. Whatever happens, we have to face it,” Saritha says.
Handloom is mostly organic, sustainable and consumes little electricity. Moreover, it sustains generations of traditional artisans and allied workers. It’s largely women who are engaged in weaving in Chendamangalam. At Paravoor Handloom Society with 140 weavers, 95 percent are women, says Baby.
Signs of the craft declining are too clear to ignore in Chendamangalam. “Most weavers are women above 40 years of age. Male weavers have almost disappeared from the profession, and women do it mostly as a side gig now,” says Menon. He notes that while this is concerning, the wages they earn justify it. While the standard daily wage in Kerala for both skilled and unskilled labour is between Rs. 900 to Rs. 1500, Saritha reports that Chendamangalam weavers get paid an average wage of Rs. 900 a week if they meet a target of approximately 38 metres of fabric. Out of 648 weavers registered with Kuriappilly society, only 24 (all women) are weaving now.
Problems plague artisans
Menon blames faulty government schemes, such as weaving school uniforms aimed at helping struggling weavers, for contributing to the decline. “The school uniforms woven by traditional craftsmen are supplied for free. Will anyone value it? To make it durable, synthetic fabric is added, killing the traditional craft,” Menon adds. According to him, the drape does not have a market outside Kerala if designs are not improved.
Weavers are no longer encouraging younger members of their families to take up the profession. “When the government supports and incentivises formal education but not traditional skills, why would anyone take it up?” asks Menon.
There are allied issues accelerating this downward spiral. In the post-flood scenario, many designers came forward to make the designs more contemporary and saleable in markets outside Kerala, but few weavers are open to change. “Over 90% of weavers are older women who cannot easily transition,” says Venugopal.
Baby highlights the lack of space for street sizing, an important process preceding weaving, as the biggest hurdle in sustaining traditional weaving. “We need a minimum of 100 m x 3.5 m open space for drying. Kochi and surrounding areas are rapidly growing, and vacant plots suitable for the process are no longer available,” he says. Baby, who is the president of the yarn society, says that discussions are underway to mechanise the drying process. He mentions that changing weather, which hinders optimal street sizing, has also been taken into account.
The sudden uptick in demand for handloom after the floods did not sustain, weavers say. Baby highlights the market slowdown as the current reason.
Even 12 years after receiving the GI tag, the five weaver societies in Chendamangalam are yet to receive the certificate — an indication, the weavers point out, of government apathy towards the craft. Baby pins his hopes on the new handloom village coming up on a 6,000-square-foot space by the river Periyar, which is expected to be ready by the end of the year. “An international museum, sale, and exhibition spaces will all be set up in the four buildings in the space. We will collaborate with the tourism department,” he says.
Banner image: Saritha and Aisha at the Kuriappilly Handloom Weavers Co-operative Society. As president and secretary of the society during the floods in 2018, they gathered all the resources to bring the society back on its feet. Image by Arathi Menon/Mongabay.
