“Idhu enna unga appan veettu sotha?” (Is this your father's property?)
“When does someone ask such a question? When one is stopped from using a property meant for shared communal uses, be it land, water or even air,” said J Prashant, introducing the first of four conversations between field experts and the public during the recently held 'Porombokkiyal Lec-Fest', which tried to impress upon the audience that knowledge exists even where academic degrees don't.
Porombokke refers to any such property, specifically land, reserved for public use. However, the word took on negative connotations, probably owing to the popular perception of idle property as unproductive.
The Porombokkiyal Fest this time around, through the discussions, redirected attention towards the land and the language of those whose lives are built around it.
The initiative, introduced as part of the Chennai Kalai Theru Vizha a few years ago, challenges the tendency to equate science with institutional knowledge instead of acknowledging lived knowledge on and of the commons as science too.
“Without knowing that it is science, they have gained scientific knowledge through lived experiences,” said Ali Basha, welcoming the audience.
“We have so far remained unaware of the impacts of development projects on their livelihoods. Today they have come to talk about their lifestyles, the science and politics of livelihoods dependent on porombokke land, and the systematic destruction of science of the commons by scientific development,” he added.
Life on the shores: Women Prawn Pickers of Pazhaverkadu
Dhanam Arumugam and Sakila Sekar from Pazhaverkadu (Pulicat) have been picking prawns, collecting crabs and oysters in the Kosasthalaiyar backwaters for over 30 years. Dhanam started to pick prawns after marriage, in the hope of saving the few hundred rupees spent on food. Sakila started to pick prawns professionally only after marriage, although she had learnt the trade from her mother when she was 10 years old. Both women now earn enough to sustain their families and educate their children. In conversation with J Prashanth, Dhanam and Sakila talk about cultural practices tied to an extremely delicate ecosystem.
The practice of prawn picking, although lucrative, is a precarious one. There is always a risk of being bitten by the irungkeluthi meen (a type of eel-tail catfish), poisoned by industrial effluents or developing respiratory issues.
Dhanam and Sakila said that they spend about seven hours a day, neck-deep in water, to collect anywhere between 1-3 kg of prawn. The market rate per kilo of prawn varies between Rs 70 and Rs 250. They also occasionally collect matti (oysters) and crabs. Oyster meat sells for Rs 50 per cup and the shells are sold to lime processing units in Sunnambukulam. Crabs are valued according to their size; the largest crab caught by Dhanam sold for Rs 900, she recalls.
The deteriorating state of mangroves and sandbars are affecting their trade, they said. Thillai chedi (a type of mangrove plant) attracts prawns, crabs, oysters, fish, and sometimes even snakes. The women credit representatives of the initiative ‘A Million Mangroves’ for sharing such a crucial piece of information with them.
Dhanam and Sakila shared popular prawn recipes among the pickers, inviting the audience to join them for a meal. They also talked about local medicinal plants; “People spend so much money at the pharmacy and in the hospital, unaware of the simple remedies that grow in the forgotten corners of the street,” Sakila said.
Sakila wore a pari (basket made from natural fibre) and showed the audience how one parses through mud for prawn. Dhanam showed how to take the meat from the oyster; when Prashanth suggested that the audience try it later, she said with a smile, “We know how to do it, you all need to learn. It’s quite dangerous.”
Dhanam talked about cattle and how much it has helped her through important times. “When my cow died, I buried her with a 500-rupee note. People around me asked why are you burying money, it will wilt away. I told them, the cow has earned so many more 500-rupee notes for me, what is wrong in honouring her with a fraction of the money she earned,” she said.
Sakila recalled supernatural encounters with local deities through her life. She says that Selliyathamma possessed a woman during the 1984 cyclone and urged that the children be moved to Pazhaverkadu. She also notes that Theepaachiyamman protected her from a demonic possession after the irungkeluthi meen bit her.
Dhanam and Sakila acknowledged that the practice of prawn picking might not be passed down to the next generation. “My children are both educated with well paying jobs. They find it embarrassing to get into the muddy water and hand-pick the prawns,” said Dhanam. Coupled with rapid environmental degradation triggered by industrialisation, the future of prawn picking remains uncertain.
Seeds of Survival: Rice Stories from Thiruvannamalai
E Lenindhasan and Baskar Manimegalai have been resisting monoculture and promoting organic farming to revive traditional farming practices amongst local farmers for about a decade now. Lenindhasan cultivates 30 varieties and preserves 80 more varieties of rice in Tiruvannamalai, in an attempt to restore the local biodiversity; he is also a part of the Paarambariya Vidhaigal Maiyyam, (Centre for Traditional Seeds) organising seed festivals and promoting traditional architecture. Baskar conducts workshops to promote gender awareness and support young entrepreneurs; he is also the director of the Nammalvar Multiversity, creating innovative courses on peace and ethics. In a structured discussion with Aparna Karthikeyan, Lenin and Baskar primarily focused on politics and production of food.
The economic impact of shifting from industrial farming to organic farming may not lead to complete collapse of the food security system as a layperson would imagine, but such a line of thinking prompts a question: “Why do we put pressure on farmers to produce according to the whims of the consumer? Why is the debate skewed towards numbers?” Baskar commented. Organic farming yields better quality food, reducing the need for high quantity of food; for example, he added, it is better to use two flavourful tomatoes in a recipe as compared to five large tomatoes to achieve the same taste. Industrial farming results in reduction of nutrient content in food and decline of livelihoods, Lenin said.
The increasing emphasis on numbers, whether it concerns the volume of food produced or the specific chemical/nutrient composition of the food, places undue burden on the farmers, they said.
Lenin said that popular media spotlights specific varieties of rice such as seeraga samba or karuppu kavuni for certain properties, forcing farmers to cultivate (and market) those varieties regardless of the land’s ability to support that crop. Sometimes, the consumption trend might change sooner than anticipated, resulting in lower profits or even losses. Crops with varied resource requirements can be cultivated more efficiently on the same piece of land compared to mono-cropping, he added.
“Eating is a political activity,” said Baskar. What one chooses to cultivate depends on what another chooses to eat. Organic farmers are often unable to afford organic food sold at the market. The cost of transportation, preservation and corporate repackaging is borne by the farmers, but they are rarely compensated for additional efforts, Baskar said. “Affordability is not and should not be the farmer’s responsibility,” said Lenin.
Baskar talked about dignity in labour and how certain jobs are seen as more respectable than others. Agricultural labour is not compensated well enough because it is not seen as a respectable job. The very division of labour on the basis of which part of the body is engaged in work is a societal issue, he added. ‘Intellectual’ work is always valued more than ‘physical’ work; “Why pay a man who works on a computer Rs 5000, asked no one ever,” quipped Baskar. Labour are not treated well due to the overlap of gender, caste and class biases. Because of the lack of readily available manual labour, farmers turn towards ‘cheaper’ mechanised labour.
Lenin and Baskar recognised the challenges that come with re-educating farmers and reviving traditional practices. Baskar notes that decentralisation and de-expertisation of knowledge is necessary. Farmers’ collectives have helped bring about positive changes in local agrarian communities, Lenin added. However, securing a stage to present their findings without proper documentation and appropriate ‘scientific knowledge’ has been difficult, said Lenin.
Beyond the Flock: The Science and Art of Goat Herding
A Thangavelu has been managing sheep flocks for over 30 years and is among the last few practitioners of transhumance, an ancient migratory practice of pastoralists from Ramanathapuram to Thanjavur. In conversation with Kadhir Nambi, Thangavelu talks about the intricacies of goat herding and its importance for agriculture.
Both velladu (a type of goat) and semmari aadu (a type of sheep) are reared by pastoralists. Both types are reared for their meat, but velladu is more popular. While velladu is sold at Rs 7000-10000 a pair, semmari aadu is sold at about Rs 5000.
Thangavelu, on the topic of rearing goats, talked about the grasses they prefer. “Goats will eat anything that grows close to the ground,” he said.
Kadhir added that, previously, most grasses known to be potent nitrogen fixers were grown intentionally and later ploughed into the soil to prepare the land for the next crop. “There used to be a saying that ‘fields should be messy and the house clean’, but nowadays our houses are messy and the fields pristine,” he said. Without wild grass growth, the fields do not attract goat herds. Goat herds help in dispersing seeds, Kadhir said. Goat droppings introduce diverse plant varieties to the fields, helping balance the nutrient composition of the soil.
The introduction of synthetic pesticides and weedicides have changed the property of the soil, Thangavelu said, adding, “The soil is loose and dry, unlike the sticky clay-like soil in the region.” Wild plant growth is terminated, and along with it, beneficial wildlife too. Dead insects, snails, crabs and birds are a common sight on such fields, Thangavelu and Kadhir noted. The wild grass on the edges of the fields are destroyed just before cultivation to prevent snakes from settling near the crops, Kadhir said. Such ignorant farming practices induced by the introduction of monoculture have led to the disappearance of several local species; “kombu theni (a type of honey bee) is no longer spotted in the region,” said Thangavelu.
Thangavelu identified grass varieties goats liked to eat: arugampul, ammanpacharisi, kaattu kambu, sabari kodi and moongil pul. Kadhir pointed out that goats also eat the remains of harvested crops sometimes and end up ingesting residual synthetic pesticides.
Thangavelu then talked about how he herds the goats. The goats must be watched carefully, leaving him with no time to rest. He often eats while walking, his staff held in the crook of his arm. “The staff was originally made from bamboo shoots, but the one I have is made from a eucalyptus branch,” Thangavelu said.
Common pool resources provided most things needed to sustain a herd of goats: expansive grazing grounds and open access water bodies. However, the availability of such resources is on the decline, as public property is often subsumed under government property and is fenced. The Madurai HC has ruled that goat herders have the right to access local water bodies but many are unaware of the provision, said Kadhir.
The value of goats varies according to its intended use: goats are sold for meat on the basis of weight, said Thangavelu. But goats are also great for nutrient cycling and brush control in agricultural lands; they are sometimes ‘hired’ by farmers at about Rs 3 per goat, said TM Krishna in a later conversation.
Thangavelu and Kadhir underlined the importance of common pool resources for goat herding. A specific community of transhumance practitioners from Coimbatore travel along the Palakkad bypass and begin their return at the onset of the Southwest monsoon through Walayar to Gobichettipalayam; they go back home to Appanaickempalayam around Pongal time. To embark on this journey, the goat herder needs to be aware of the climate patterns and availability of grazing resources along the route, said Kadhir. However, changing climatic conditions and increased privatisation of property is threatening the future of this sustainable lifestyle.
Wind and Rhythm: The Living Tradition of Mukavinai
P Sasikumar, a kattai koothu artist specialising in playing the Mukavinai, initiated the ‘Mukavinai Project’ to revitalise the rare instrument.
In conversation with TM Krishna, Sasikumar talks about music, theatre and public performances in communal spaces.
During the Tamil month of Aadi (July-August), a troupe of four artists, comprising two actors and two musicians playing Thaalam and Mridangam, perform acts as demanded by the people. This moving theater art form came to be known as theru koothu. Kattai koothu refers to a seasonal theater performed on a stage by a troupe of 16-18 artists during the Mahabharata Thiruvizha starting in March. The name is likely derived from the wooden (kattai) ornaments worn during performance, Sasikumar said. The name change is very recent and is tied to caste politics, he added.
The instruments used during kattai koothu performance are the Thaalam, Mridangam-Dholak, pedal-Harmonium and the Mukavinai. The Mukavinai can only be used in the context of kattai koothu.
The history of Mukavinai is not well documented, said Sasikumar. He added that during his research in the Kongu mandalam region, sources said the instrument is a modern innovation inspired by more sophisticated classical instruments, but in Kancheepuram, Sasikumar’s mentor Chandhiran informed that the instrument had been used during temple processions. Publications by TN Rajarathinam Pillai and P Sambamoorthy point towards the use of Mukavinai in smaller stages, often accompanying dance performances.
Sasikumar then identified the components of the instrument. The Mukavinai is a compact instrument made with a variety of materials ranging from timber to metal. The structure is somewhat similar to the Nadaswaram. The seevali (mouthpiece) used for the Mukavinai is traditionally repurposed from that used for Nadaswaram.
The tonal range of Mukavinai depends on its place of origin: the Kancheepuram variety has a range of four-and-a-half octaves while the Kongu variety can switch between two-and-a-half octaves and four-and-a-half octaves, Sasikumar said. He then played individual notes at different pitches and different speeds. The output can be controlled locally by blowing and physically by stopping, he added.
Sasikumar noted that the instrument has been developed for theater and that it is difficult to use it in a new context. The instrument is used during chorus in a performance, amplifying the emotions projected by the actor. Bharathi, a kattai koothu artist, performed a dialogue on stage accompanied by Sasikumar playing the Mukavinai.
Sasikumar is determined to transform Mukavinai into a contemporary instrument. The narrative impact of the instrument can be adapted to suit the carnatic style or cinematic style, but it does not fully capture the essence of the instrument, he said.
Talking about his introduction to the art form, Sasikumar said that he had joined the 'Kattai Koothu Gurukulam', established by Professor Hanne De Bruin and kattai koothu theatre artist P Rajagopal, at the age of 10. Although his family is supportive, he said that they were concerned about discrimination; he noted that the Mukavinai was often viewed as lesser than ‘proper’ classical instruments such as Nadaswaram due to limitations in expressing intricate Carnatic ragas through it, in addition to the caste factor. Although the scenario has changed in recent times, there are many challenges in sustaining this art form. Relating music and theater to communal spaces, Sasikumar said, “kalai thozhil porombokke nilathileye (art and craft in the porombokke land itself).”
Sasikumar noted that although the art form is still male-dominated and is both physically and mentally exhausting, among other significant concerns, he is looking forward to working towards the revitalisation of Mukavinai. Preserving kattai koothu, a public performance art form, requires conscious effort to maintain inclusivity. He is currently working on a research publication on Mukavinai and on kattai koothu performances and workshops.
Porombokkiyal: Challenging popular notions of science, technology and theory
"We attach certain vocabulary to knowledge and we need to change the way we perceive and receive it," said TM Krishna.
Porombokkiyal thus demands that the audience get uncomfortable with the existing structure of knowledge generation and preservation; convincing an audience that is used to understanding to get uncomfortable is impressive.
"For those whose lives are intertwined with the landscapes they come from, science is indispensable. We often don't think that there is a science going into the various professions; we think it is something that can be replicated but we don't realise how much effort is put into acquiring these specific skills," said Archanaa, referring to how 'padikkalana poi aadu maadu dhaan meikkanum' (if you don't study, you can only tend to the goats and cows) is used as a common insult in many households precisely because of people's tendency to undervalue skills gained outside institutions.
(With inputs from Archita Raghu, City Express)