Future of the past

A. SRIVATHSAN

What happens to traditional structures like tharavads and their everyday significance when the cultural ecology itself is changing?

The tharavads have been affected by the changes in the joint family system and inheritance laws.

PHOTO: A. SRIVATHSAN

WILL IT SURVIVE INTACT? The Koodali tharavad near Kannur.

THE deep verandah of the house looks inviting and the history of its architecture is impressive. Raja Kaimal of the Thainadam family built this traditional Kerala mansion or tharavad about 120 years ago. Green lawns foreground this building and the coconut trees make a pretty backdrop. If you were looking for lush mountains and mellifluous Malayalam to complete the picture, you will not find them. How will a lane along the Chennai East Coast road have a mountain? That would be asking for an instant geographical miracle. Welcome to the Green Meadows, the "authentic" Kerala resort in Chennai. Chennai's ECR or East Coast Road is a place filled with many such make-believe places. Here tharavads comfortably rub shoulders with dolphin parks and other heritage mélanges.

Lock, stock and barrel

Transplanting tharavads from their original location to another picturesque tourist destination is now common. Increasingly, resorts in Kerala are giving up their modern box buildings and prefer to recreate old tharavads in their sites. Some of the resorts have bought the entire tharavad, dismantled them, shipped the parts and reassembled them in their sites. The tharavads may have earlier been part of a hill or in the middle of the field, but they are now set in new idyllic settings, especially in places that overlook a water body. It is not just architecture; cuisine, arts and ayurveda are all combined to create a wholesome experience and are delivered in a platter. Some resorts go a step further. Tourists who wish to perform marriages in traditional Kerala style, for a fee, can get a priest, thali and the necessary ambience. This can be a fantasy, even a farce, but a themed environment seems to work, attracts and offers an experience that can be consumed conveniently. Kerala could be God's own country but unless experiences are put in a menu card and uncertainties ironed out, many tourists might not venture into the lesser-known geographies.

The other side

It would be easy to rush and be critical about these projects and resorts. One may even tend to dismiss them as cardboard places and fantasies, but the other side of the reality is of equal concern.

Vannam Veedu (name changed) in Ponnani is a Muslim tharavad. It is difficult to locate it since the surrounding buildings lock it. A narrow passage leads you to the tharavad. Traces of a sprawling garden are still visible. What remains now is only a parcel of land; the rest has been apportioned and sold. The tharavad itself is divided into two portions. A wall separates one family from the other. Amir (name changed) and his family occupy the smaller portion of the tharavad and the house is unkempt. Cloth strings run across the hall, which have beautiful decorative stuccowork. The doors are made of solid wood and pleasing. There are three rooms with large cots and boxes and objects spill over. The kitchen is small and his old mother still tends to it. There are no fancy cutleries. The excessively sweet orange juice is served in a plain glass cup. Above the wooden bench in the veranda are rows of wooden rafters that exhibit a high quality craftsmanship. Though Amir may desire to perpetuate his family memory and legacy, his income will never allow him to dream of any pristine conservation effort. It looks even a simple whitewash is difficult to meet. Amir may not hesitate to sell the tharavad or the wood in it if he gets an impressive offer.

A different story

Koodali Thazhathu Veedu is a different story. This beautiful old Nair tharavad is located about 25 km from Kannur. Built in the 17th century, this tharavad is the house of the Nambiars — a group of upper caste Nair community. Behind the two-storeyed building in the front, there is an old nalukettu, a courtyard house with interconnected blocks on its four sides. In this nalukettu there is a room dedicated to the goddess, two small bedrooms and kitchen. There is a kalari where martial art was practised, kottams or temples and kavus in the garden. The old grain store that doubled as an office has been converted into living quarters and the karanavar or the head of the family, who is usually the most senior male member, lives in the first floor.

Beautiful complex

This large complex is beautiful. There is hardly anyone except the karanavar's small family. The guesthouse or bungalow as it is called is dusty and looks as if it has not received any guests for long. The kitchen awaits a large function or a gathering. The outhouse meant for servants is dilapidated. The Koodali tharavad struggles to hold some of its practices together to give the buildings their meaning. The temples and kavus are regularly worshipped. But the kalari is no more active. Every year in January, this family hosts a large theyyam festival. Theyyam is an old ritual dance and in Koodali as many as 13 theyyams or spirits are evoked. When the theyyam gets over, the crowd disperses and the relatives leave. The tharavad wears its usual forlorn look.

There are very few like K.T. Sudhakaran who live in a modern house in Koodali and attends to the tharavad at Kalliyad, a place near Koodali. He worked as a headmaster in a local school for years and continues to teach there even after retirement. The rest of the family has dispersed. As long as the family stayed together, inheritance and maintenance were not major issues. The tharavad is inherited through a complex matrilineal system. But they have been affected by the changes in the joint family system and inheritance laws. Some are caught in the legal web and properties are wantonly neglected.

Success story

Ishaq and his Bangla Tharavad in Tellichery present another picture. The land around this Muslim tharavad has been sold. His big car is parked at the entrance and through his busy phone he manages his business. The entrance verandah is well polished and in the first floor all the glass light fixtures are well kept. The coloured glass panes of the window are attractively presented. Many memorabilia including a cricket scorebook dated 1949 are displayed. Ishaq is an active member of the local cricket board and the pictures of all important cricketers who have visited Tellichery adorn the walls. Pandals are put up in the front and a family ceremony and lunch are on the way. Recently the whole family gathered for their 250th year reunion. Hundreds of family members had come down for the function. Many hands must have leafed through the photo albums and score books. The tharavad functions like a part museum and part memory chamber. The past is presented as part of the memory and memories are regularly added, updated, narrated and lived. Not many tharavads have a person like Ishaq and the energy to keep the place alive.

The future

Alienation of traditional buildings from their everyday significance concerns us. But on the other side there are issues of plenitude of heritage buildings, social changes and poverty that make their existence difficult. In this context, how does one conserve the tharavads, put them in use and still keep them in-situ? Tharavads like Koodali may survive and remind us of the social use of the building. A new resort may spring up nearby and another tharavad would have been shipped and integrated into the tourist economy. May be both worlds will coexist.