Chennai

Kadhais of kitchen culture

Textile revivalist Sabita Radhakrishna and architect Thirupurasundari detail the culinary heritage of south Indian kitchens

Vaishali Vijaykumar

CHENNAI: Samayal arai, adige, vantagadi or adukkala. The culinary and architectural legacy of every region is distinct and determined by its landscape and historic timeline. But, over the years, the advent of modern equipment and the West’s introduction to modular kitchens has skewed our perception of space and functionality. So much so that we have turned oblivious to what our rich past has to offer. Textile revivalist Sabita Radhakrishna and architect Thirupurasundari Sevvel took us back in time with their two-day insightful talk on ‘South Indian Kitchens’ for DakshinaChitra.  

A legacy in kitchen

From their years of extensive research and documentation, the duo virtually walked us through the traditional kitchens of Tamil Nadu, Karnataka, Kerala and Andhra Pradesh. Offering a sneak peek into what the space meant for our female ancestors, Radhakrishna began. “A kitchen used to be many things to a woman. Besides cooking, she would exchange fun banters with a friend or relative while sharing the workload, she would play a board game or even paint artwork on the wall. The kitchen was considered a divine space where a kolam was usually drawn in front of the stove or counter, a lamp was lit, and women refrained from wearing slippers, especially while preparing prasadam. And, those days, there was a reason why menstruating women stayed away from the space; it was to get some much-needed rest from the mundane chores,”  she shared.

Scenes from south Indian kitchens 
| DakshinaChitra and Arun Kombai

Radhakrishna detailed the conversation with anecdotes and visuals of heirloom utensils that were once an inseparable part of kitchens. “It was common to find brass, copper and iron cookware. Beyond their aesthetic appeal, they were also utilitarian. It’s important to identify them by their vernacular names to understand their functionality. In Tamil households, we had a dedicated idiyappam nazhi to prepare string hoppers, thayir mathu to churn curd, thenga thuruvi to grate coconut, arivalmanai to cut vegetables, anjarai petti to store the condiments and spices. There were also graters, ladles for all purposes, vessels in all shapes and sizes to store different things in other regional kitchens,” explained Radhakrishna, who has authored two cookbooks — Annapurani: Heritage Cuisine from Tamil Nadu and Aharam: Traditional Cuisine of Tamil Nadu.  

While people have been making conscious efforts to go back to the roots, kitchens in many households continue to be dominated by stainless steel vessels. A champion of artisanal cookware, Radhakrishna uses soapstone, which she considers the best to set and store curd. “They say, let food be thy medicine. There’s a reason our traditional vessels were given importance by our ancestors. Take the kitchens in Kerala, for instance. It’s common to find puttu makers made of bamboo and coconut shells because of the abundance of raw materials. Cooking in them helps retain heat and flavours for a long time. These days, everything is machine-made and mechanical. This is perhaps why you don’t find the authenticity in taste,” she shared. 

Beyond four walls

Talking about the architectural structure, Sevvel highlighted how the flooring, roofing, walls, lighting and ventilation formed the core architectural elements of a kitchen and played a significant role in the design process. These were often determined by the location, landscape, flora and fauna, techniques and materials available. “Back then, even as the lady of the house used to be occupied with her chores in the kitchen, the entrance would be in her line of vision. It was convenient for her to keep track of visitors dropping by. It was also quite common to have the kitchen in the rear end of the house for various cultural and social reasons. Space constraints also determined the positioning of the kitchen.

Scenes from south Indian kitchens 
| DakshinaChitra and Arun Kombai

However, Kerala kitchens were different. They were spacious, well-ventilated, and had a thatched roof to withstand a heavy downpour. The back doors of their kitchen often opened to gardens,” she explained. If two districts shared a common geographical border, then it also meant they shared a similar culinary landscape. For instance, the architectural set-up of a kitchen and style of cooking in Coimbatore and Erode (the Kongu region) are similar. “If you take Kerala, which is along the Lakshadweep coastline, the two places will have a similar culinary landscape. Also, the kitchens along the coast were designed in a way that was conducive to cleaning fish. There was so much thought and practicality that went into the construction of every kitchen. It’s unfortunate that the artisans who specialised in these traditional techniques are out of jobs today as our preferences have changed,” she said.

Representation matters

The talk also brought to our attention the issue of representation of kitchens in literature, books and films that has played a crucial role in colouring our idea of the space. “The kitchen that’s usually portrayed in the films, with the matriarch sitting by aatu ural (grinding stone) or arivalmanai, shows only the vegetarian side to it. As in, you don’t find any evidence of meat being cooked. It’s the same with books; Samaithu Par, Hindu Pakasastra and Pathartha Guna Sinthamani were popular for a vegetarian kitchen, whereas not much was available on non-vegetarian cooking. From the late 1700s until the 1980s, there has been not much of a representation of vegetarian and non-vegetarian cooking,” she pointed out.

Even in Sangam literature, several words referred to meat varieties like un (meat), thasai (flesh), thadi (steak), kurai (fish slice), ninam (fat), pulal (dried meat), she pointed. “There are poems that have references to the rich Sangam cuisine. The people cooked the flesh with ghee and spices. Depending on the five landscapes they inhabited, the Sangam people’s food habits were shaped by the environment. Ayars and Idayars enjoyed dairy products. Uzhavars ate roasted fish, fowl and more. Fishermen consumed fish and drank toddy. Hunters had other animals like pigs.”

If this wasn’t enough evidence, even inscriptions on the walls of temples revealed how food habits and religious practices became intertwined. “These epigraphs give an idea of the role of food in rituals, as sacrificing, cooking, dedicating and feasting all became part of worship. I’m sure that kitchens in other regions have different stories to tell. We should always look beyond the obvious and not get carried away by stereotypical representations. It’s important that we understand our legacy before we pass it on to the coming generations,” said Sevvel.

Tamil weight table

  •  32 kunrimani: 1 varaaganedai
  •  10 varaaganedai: 1 palam
  •  40 palam: 1 veesai
  •  1,000 palam: 1 kaa
  •  6 veesai: 1 thulaam
  •  8 veesai: 1 maNangu
  •  20 maNangu: 1 paaram

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