Weavers of Alappuzha
The coconut tree is synonymous with Kerala and is an inseparable part of its culture. These trees not only dominate the Indian state’s every horizon, but are also utilised widely in its cuisine and exported products. Furthermore, the word Kerala translates as Land of Coconut, from Malayalam the state’s native language - kera, which means coconut and alam, which means land.
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Although the Alappuzha district is most famous for its backwaters, it is also home to Kerala’s largest Cottage Industry: the production of Coir. Made from coconut husks, coir is a highly durable and ecological material used to make mats, brushes and mattresses. Coir has been made in the region for centuries, but it wasn’t until 1859 that the first factory was established. Opened by James Darragh, an Irish American, this factory was the first of its kind in India and it kickstarted the opening of factories all over the country by both European and native entrepreneurs.
By the 1960’s, Alappuzha had established itself as the Coir Industry capital of India, producing 75% of all of Kerala’s coir products, which were sold all over Europe. In 2006, the Coir Industry employed over a million people, however, since COVID-19 the industry has taken a huge hit; international buys have become cautious, general demand has shrunk and smaller companies have struggled to stay afloat.
Coming to Alappuzha, my mission was to document the remaining traditional coir workshops before they disappear.
Alappuzha, India July 2022
Vadakkepullampalli Coir Factory
The first process in coir production is to separate the fibre from the coconut husks. This factory buys discarded husks in bulk for ½ rupee each (160 for $1), which are loaded onto a conveyor belt and into a defibering machine. The broken up husk material is then collected and typically sold on to farmers, while the fibres are collected, dried in the sun and brought back inside to be spun into rope. Traditionally, this process is done without machinery, but this factory owns several automatic spinning devices which speed up the process.
This is Santosh (below), a stalwart employee of Vadakkepullampalli Coir Factory, seen here inside a coir processing drum removing fibres caught in the mechanism. Santosh has been working here for over 25 years and knows every process and machine inside out.
Uzhuva Co-operative Society
This co-operative practices more traditional methods of coir rope production, with only the use of small motors to speed up the winding. Once the ladies have removed the impurities by hand, they wrap up a bunch of fibres to their waist and form a short rope. The rope is then wound around a motorised hook at the end of the building, which spins while the ladies backwards teasing out the fibre. Kanaka, wearing a red tiled saree, was very patient with me as I photographed her about her business. I thanked her and her friends with money for afterwork snacks.
Kannan Coir Works
When I arrived at this factory, the workers were busy fulfilling domestic orders of cricket mats. Their process started with the winding up of processed coir rope, a task allotted to the women.
Next, the rope is fed through wooden warping machines, which are either turned by a small motor or by hand (seen here at the nearby Kalavamkodam Society factory).
Depending on the product, the coir is sometimes dyed in plastic vats, before it is hand wound onto bobbins.
Manyan, pictured below, is one of those people I will never forget. He worked his loom with pride, holding himself like a statue and just as quietly, as he barely spoke a word to anyone all day. He smiled with his eyes and at 74 years old (which he wrote out for me in the sand), looked like he had lived a great but hard life, one I wished I could have asked him about.
These looms, like all machinery, need to be lubricated. Here, the weavers use animal fat which they apply with a brush made of bound grass or raw coir fibres.
Below are the weavers of Kannan Coir and Kalavamkodam Society hard at work.
Sadly, with a drastic drop in demand for Coir based products, the future of small workshops hangs by a threat. The lion’s share of the industry’s orders are fulfilled by the large factories in the area, resulting in abandoned rows of traditional handlooms left to rot.
I spoke to the son of the owner of Kannan Coir Works, who predicted the total closure of all small workshops by 2030. For now at least, these men and women have jobs to support their families; hopefully they will be able to adapt with the times and brace themselves for the twilight of their industry.
