About four centuries ago, a weaver community from Tamil Nadu migrated to Kerala’s Paravur. They settled in the hamlet of Chendamangalam, and began serving Paliyathachan, the then prime minister of the erstwhile Kochi kingdom.
Now, centuries down the line, this exceptional artisan community has transformed. Tempered by several upheavals — from colonialism to deluges, including the 2018 flood, and the pandemic.
One thing that hasn’t changed is the beautiful, soft, traditional weaves. Everything is handcrafted in the weaving centres of Chendamangalam, from making the yarn and dyeing the spun fabric to weaving them into garments.
At every stage, the thread moves through human hands. Each fabric holds centuries-old tales.
Now, the weavers are busy preparing for the Onam season, the boom time for everything handspun. But they clearly are not excited. The cherished legacy, they say, is on the brink of extinction.
The rhythmic clatter of the looms is fading. The number of weaving centres has dwindled. There are just 11 weaving societies remaining in Ernakulam. Paravur taluk has just five.
“Now, we have just around 75 weavers,” says M K Venu, the president of H 47 Chendamangalam Handloom Weavers’ Cooperative Society. “But no youngster is keen to learn the craft. It’s likely to end with us.”
Can’t blame them, he says. “Weavers now earn just about `300 to `400 a day. One can earn `800 for other daily wage jobs. So, why would one pursue weaving?” Venu asks.
Next, we meet Chandran ‘maash’, who is busy giving directions to carpenters on making a charkha for the upcoming ‘Kaithari Gramam’ — a long-pending handloom tourism project in the area.
“More than 70 per cent of our sales happen during Onam,” he says. “The 20 per cent rebate on handloom products is an attraction for customers.”
This rebate is compensated by the state government. “But the issue is that we receive months or even years later,” he adds. “Moreover, the discount period — when we see peak sales — has been slashed from 101 to 60 days.”
Weavers here also struggle to avail benefits of Central schemes, says Venu. “The process involves technical procedures such as submitting project statements. For that, we have to hire consultants and pay them hefty sums. Currently, most handloom societies are functioning by taking out loans,” he laments.
The lack of support dampens the spirit even at a time when handloom has become a trend, say Venu and Chandran.
“The public attention and love we received after the 2018 flood, which nearly wiped out the looms of the village, definitely helped in reviving the sector. Chendamangalam handloom is popular now,” says Chandran.
Venu chips in that people come from even outside Ernakulam to buy mundu and sari from here. “We now make handloom shirts as well,” he adds.
“But the problem is that neither can we meet the demand nor increase the prices of our creations. And on top of that, powerloom is eating into our business.”
Chandran says he is aware of several commercial brands that sell handloom products for considerably high prices. “Some online marketplaces even charge over `5,000 for a handloom sari,” he notes.
“Our handloom cotton sari costs only `1,750 a piece, and silk, about `3,000. Mundu is priced at around `700-800. In my unit, every single fabric we create passes through my hand at every stage. The number of master weavers is just one or two in the entire district. That makes what we create special. But not many understand the value of it.”
Notably, about 80 to 90 per cent artisans in these centres are now women. Slowly, some are also rising to managerial positions. The low wages is the main reason why men, who once were the primary workforce in the sector, moved away from it.
Diji Sumesh is now the president of Cooperative Society H 3428. She has been weaving since childhood. “I was an expert in hand designs called butta,” she smiles.
Butta designs elevate a sari with intricate floral and geometric patterns, especially crafted on a soft handloom sari. “It will take around two days to finish it, depending on the intricacy and the number of patterns,” she explains.
Now, Diji is immersed in managerial work. “Like all societies, we are also functioning with loans. We are scraping through because of Onam sales and government interventions like introducing handloom uniforms in schools,” she says.
But is just bare survival enough for a heritage art? Fashion consultant Ramesh Menon, who founded ‘Save the Loom’ movement during the 2018 flood, calls for a more modern approach in terms of support.
“These weavers are experts. They shouldn’t be struggling to survive. Their weave, which has received GI tag, is indigenous to this small area. Preserving this legacy is our collective need,” he says.
“Nowadays, even brands that use semi-handloom and powerloom fabrics sell their products at high prices. What they sell is a narrative, a story, not just that garment. That’s how they market it. The same, of course, can be done in the case of the traditional handloom sector too.”
He cites the example of Kerala Tourism campaigns. “Products that are sold at low margins here can be exported to Western countries,” he says.
“If high-end fashion brands start using these rare fabrics, the value will automatically rise on the ground too. People will recognise the exclusive and exquisite craft behind it.”
Chandran is amused at the suggestion of modern marketing strategies. “Yes, a sari named ‘Mallika’ or ‘Mandaram’ sounds good. Why not?” he laughs.