Ahead of the Navaratri season, the streets in Mylapore, Triplicane, and several lanes in different localities of the city, buzzed with activity. Vendors announced the arrival of new dolls in the market, while customers examined them, chose their pick, and haggled for a discount. Yet, one building that Golu-enthusiasts frequented every year remained silence.
Architect-planner Thirupurasundari Sevvel reminisces her visits to Kuralagam off NSC Road. “The corridors were packed — some bargaining, some carefully inspecting the doll’s weight, children tugging at sleeves to point out their favourites. There was a mix of fresh paint smell, the fragrance of jasmine perfume, the hay in which the dolls were packed, and the paper smell,” she recalls.
But it is all a memory now. In June this year, reports said that the building was to be redeveloped to a total built-up area of 22,794 sqm encompassing two basement levels, ground floor, and nine upper floors with retail spaces on its ground, first, and second floors, and office spaces planned for the rest.
A shopping hub
Kuralagam, a hub of Tamil Nadu Khadi and Village Industries Board (TNKVIB), has long been a marketplace for various handicraft and handloom products. Since its inauguration in 1969, shelves here were filled with colourful and intricate dolls. “It was a different mode of shopping from the markets around the temple or sourcing from different districts and getting it posted,” adds Thirupurasundari.
It exposed the public to a space that was not limited to shopping. For instance, at the main entrance, there was a softie vending machine, language trainer Shoba C’s favourite spot. She recalls, “In those days, getting that for 50 or 75 paise was rare, and they had only strawberry and vanilla flavours.”
On other days, she would visit her father working there. Shoba says, “As you step in, you’d be hit by the fragrance of sandalwood, because on the right side, they had their Khadi woven silk showroom. And beyond that, on either side, Navaratri dolls were displayed. You name it, they had it.”
In the early decades, the dolls reflected the world of mythology and everyday life — cricket sets, village weddings, bazaars, traders, ammikallu, aatukallu, parents with kids, children in traditional attire, and rural occupations, among others. Additionally, the deities stood tall. “You look at it and you want to fold your hands and pray to them,” says Shoba. Thirupurasundari adds, “By the ’90s and 2000s, you could find dolls of different sports, swimming pools, players, political leaders, or modern professions. While some found it odd, I felt it showed how Golu remained a living tradition — it absorbed the present into its steps while honouring the past.”
Dolls for all
The display of dolls did not sever its thread with traditions. Most dolls were made of indigenous methods, mostly mann bommai, the clay often sourced from artisans’ backyard, making it long-lasting. “Initially, many dolls were sourced from Panruti and Cuddalore artisans. Gradually Kuralagam began stocking dolls from other states, introducing papier-mâché, terracotta, and plaster pieces from Andhra Pradesh and Karnataka. I have a vague memory of seeing dolls made out of shells as well,” recollects Srishti Prabakar, artist and urban planner.
These dolls, wrapped in paper, cushioned by hay quilts, and tucked into wooden boxes, would awaken each year during the nine days of the festival to be displayed on Golu steps and admired by guests. Srishti adds, “By offering variety and affordability, Kuralagam popularised Golu beyond elite households. Families from across the city could buy dolls and expand their steps each year. I remember my grandmother taking me around and talking to different artisans there and learning where they came from and what kind of dolls they brought with them.” Her first doll was that of a postmaster holding a girl’s hand, resembling her bond with her brother.
Kuralagam opened its doors to all, visited by people from all classes, carrying with them the Golu doll culture. “Kuralagam functioned as an organised, government-run showroom under Khadi Craft, offering dolls at standardised prices without the haggling culture. This made it far more accessible to middle-class families or those who were unfamiliar with artisan networks,” shares Srishti.
Concurring, Subha Lakshmanan shares, “The dolls here were comparatively at a reasonable price, and the quality was really good. You did not have to bargain and could trust the artisans’ price quote, because their hard work was reflected in each figurine.” It was her mother who started the routine of purchasing dolls from the complex. “In our culture, when our daughters get married, we give them Golu dolls. The dolls I got for my wedding were from here. I remember most of my family members got their dolls from here,” she notes.
The colours of the dolls were “rich” and, according to Subha, they were “as perfect as described in the scriptures. Krishna and Rama pachai, Lakshmi in araku (between red and maroon), making the dolls more authentic.”
Thirupurasundari adds, “Kuralagam was a world where tradition met creativity. It was not just another shopping complex; it was born out of a larger vision. It stood as a symbol of crafts and self-reliance.”
Fifty-six years later, even as it is temporarily shut, Kuralagam stands for its memories of craft, culture, and the city’s shared festive spirit with hopes for this tradition to be continued even after redevelopment.