*Photographer K.R. Sunil at the exhibition venue in Mattacherry. Photo credits: Murali Thummarukudy.*

By V.K. Karthika

The Arithmetic of Compassion website and the research that serves as the foundation for the website are devoted to the idea that understanding the psychology of compassion will better enable communicators in various media to articulate the vulnerability of individuals and communities facing various kinds of social and environmental crises. In presenting and explaining photographer K.R. Sunil’s extraordinary photographs of climate-change-affected people from Kerala, India, V.K. Karthika from the National Institute of Technology-Trichy has revealed the multiple layers of vulnerability resulting from such biospheric change: ecological vulnerability, human vulnerability, and the vulnerability of the very modes of communication practiced by the people in the photographs, all of whom are artists. In depicting individual artists, sometimes with their families, posing near homes destroyed by the rising sea, Dr. Karthika vividly demonstrates how photography can break through the psychic numbing caused by abstract data about actual or predicted changes in sea levels, resulting from global warming. These photos show, in living color, the results of global warming. As Dr. Karthika suggests, the challenge is to move from the individual scale of the lives depicted in each photograph to the broader issue of global warming, the effects of which are devastating on a much larger scale. The photographs and the article below also issue a challenge to viewers and readers: “What shall we do?” It is not enough simply to gasp at the beauty of these images and wonder why the people featured in the photographs are wearing such elaborate costumes while standing ankle-deep in flood waters. Like Dr. Karthika, we are inspired to push back against the feeling of pseudoinefficacy and ask, “[A]re we going to discourse this further?” In other words, might such poignant images inspire us to raise our own voices to express alarm about the precarity of people and cultures in distant places (and potentially our own precarity)? [Prefatory Note by Scott Slovic]

*Chavittu Nadakam artist George Vadakkeparambil. Photo& Text Credits: K.R. Sunil*
73 year old George has acted in 40 Chavittu Nadakams. Despite his ill health he performed on stage till the age of 65. Now he is disheartened that as a passionate artist he has never been recognised by the society. The climate change after the Tsunami of 2004 negatively affected his life and he had to leave his house which gets inundated during the high tides.

Art does not only engage its audience in aesthetic meaning making. When the artists express the ways in which they experience the world and their social realities, they are expressing their vulnerability. Being vulnerable in one’s own art and giving visibility to such vulnerability in art are profound ways of divulgence because through this process, the art mediates between the artists and their audience, especially when both parties have a shared value system. But what happens when the art itself is vulnerable? What if the artists struggle to find a balance between being artists and being humans?

This short essay chiefly attempts to engage with these two questions by examining a recent photo series by K. R. Sunil, a photographer from Kodungallur (the new name of the old city of Muziris in Kerala, India) at the exhibition ‘Sea: A Boiling Vessel’ presented by the Aazhi Archives (The Ocean Archive) and curated by Riyas Komu at KashiHallegua House in Mattancherry in the South Indian state Kerala. K. R. Sunil’s photo series titled “Chavittu Nadakam: Storytellers of the Seashore” captures the everyday, mundane reality of the Chavittu Nadakam artists in a coastal village named Chellanam in Kerala.

Sunil’s earlier projects Vanishing life-worlds and Manchukkar: The Seafarers of Malabar are based on the lives at the seashore. Chronicle of Disappearance focuses on the vulnerability of nature and critical ecological crisis owing to the disappearance of water-bodies in the ecosystem. Addressing the drastic climate change and the resultant coastal erosions that lead people to seek refuge elsewhere, he curated The Home series which presented disturbing images of habitats destroyed by the sea. His current project exhibited at Mattancherry illustrates the process of the initiation of a possible exodus of the climate change refugees.

The Chavittu Nadakam artists posed for Sunil’s photographs in front of their homes costumed in their characters’ attires which are gaudy, rich and colourful establishing a stark contrast with the artists’ everyday reality and vulnerability. Their backdrop in the photograph shows the dilapidated living conditions they are subjected to. The vulnerability of these fellow- beings and the uncertainty that permeates their lives are well-shot by Sunil in this project.

*Chavittu Nadakam artist Alphonsa. Photo and Text Credits: K.R. Sunil*
Alphonsa from a very young age was interested in Chavittu Nadakam as she grew up seeing her relatives performing it. As none from the family front supported her passion to pursue this art form, she tried to commit suicide. Knowing this, a renowned Chavittu Nadakam artist and now a cine star Moly Kannamali introduced her to the stage. She has acted in many dramas and performed on many stages. When her children grew up, got married and moved away to better living spaces, the widowed Alphonsa continued to live in the same hut all alone. Her hut is made of plastic sheets and never provides even any illusions of safety. Contaminated water floods the hut and during such nights of high tide, she stays awake on the cot.

Chavittu Nadakam: The Vulnerable Art

To understand the precarity that Sunil documents through this series, it is important to be acquainted with the nature of this musical dance-drama Chavittu Nadakam and its current status in the cultural fabric of Kerala. This art form germinated in the colonial Kerala with the arrival of the Latin Christian Portuguese missionaries in Cochin in the 15th century. Modelled on European opera, Chavittu Nadakam combined several elements from the Indian temple art forms like Kathakali, Koodiyattam, Kalarippayatt and Yakshagana. Synod of Diamper of 1599 popularly known as Udayamperoor Sunnahados, the ecclesiastical council that created rules and norms for the Mar Thoma Christians (St.Thomas Christians) in Kerala, insisted on the eviction of temple art forms from the church premises. Till then, as part of the Christian festivities, Hindu art forms were performed. The Synod insisted on the development and promotion of Christian art that facilitated faith- building among the common folk. Thus, along with a few other art forms, Chavittu Nadakam also came to the lore. The plot of this dance drama adopts episodes from the history of Greek and Roman empires and the miracle themes of the catholic church. The lives of the royal heroes and heroines are enacted with the accompaniment of physical vigour, loud drum beats and music. The characters appear in bright, rich, colourful costumes and flashy jewellery.

Chavittu Nadakam was performed by the Latin Catholics (Dalit Christians) who were the fisherfolk living in tune with the sea on the shorelines of Kerala. The sea always was an integral part of these artists who toiled hard to earn and sustain their livelihood. For these artists from Chellanam, Sunil says in an interview, that Chavittu Nadakam was a way to liberate themselves, to forget the troublesome life that they have and the unkind realities of their personal lives. When other artists from the northern part of Kerala adapts the modern trends, the artists from Chellanam still practise Chavittu Nadakam in its traditional flavour with supreme authenticity.

Sunil says that they are assertive and they take pride in singing and acting spontaneously, ‘shouting out’ the dialogues and tapping their feet with extraordinary rigour and vigour. For the few hours they occupy the stage, they metamorphose as the emperors, empresses, gods and goddesses who perform humanly impossible deeds. Sunil states that many of the artists underline that this performance for them is a “compensation for the lacks” that they have in their real life. Thus, for them, performing Chavittu Nadakam is cathartic. When they enact the miraculous deeds of the characters they transform into, they are actually forgetting their vulnerability and precarious reality. When their own economic and social welfare is threatened by the rough sea, or by the changing government policies or developmental agenda, for a few hours on stage they become the privileged kings, queens, gods and goddesses. The gap between their precarious actuality and the ‘privileged’ artistry is what Sunil tries to foreground through his pictures.

*Chavittu Nadakam artist Antony alias Raja Antony. Photo and Text Credits: K.R. Sunil*
76-year-old Antony alias Raja Antony (King Antony) performed first on stage when he was 16. As he enacted the role of the King on several stages, he was nicknamed as Raja Antony. Chavittu Nadakam is close to his heart and he believes that this art defines him and adds value to his existence. A victim of climate change, his house constantly gets inundated by the contaminated water that rushes in during high tides. He still works as a daily wage labourer.

Artistic means of an alternate reality

For these Latin Catholic Chavittu Nadakam artists, art is not a luxury. It is a necessity so that at least for a brief period they secure the society’s validation and appreciation which cannot be expected when they are engaged in their occupation as fisherfolk. Contending with the contradictions of being the humans they are and the artists they become for a brief period, they endeavour to survive the socio-cultural precarity they are subjugated to.

In Sunil’s series, other than the fisherfolk there are daily wage workers too who struggle to make both ends meet. Sunil archives the hardships of the artists through the pictures by establishing a sharp contrast with the characters they happily ‘become’ on stage for the performance. Sunil (in a personal conversation) talks about how he first came across the artists from Chellanam and recollects that

It was a coincidental meeting. I went to Gothuruth, which used to be the hub of this art form, to watch Chavittu Nadakam. I befriended the make-up man Somanath and used to converse with him about the artists, about his own profession as an artist and things related to these performances. One day, with all good intentions, this man told me not to come the very next day as he would be extremely busy with some “dark skinned artists who require extra make-up”. I was curious and I went there the next day. Thus, I saw this group of artists from Chellanam. They were very different from others. They were cheerful, loud and I could see that they were there to enjoy the art.

This made Sunil stay back to watch their fabulous performance where they marked their artistic identity with cheer, rigour and vigour. Sunil iterates that they were different from all other performers and they were enjoying every moment of the performance as if they were living the lives of those characters whom they represented.

Sunil confirms that their dark skins needed extra coats of make- up to appear as the fair skinned Kings and Queens. This transformation is also a way of responding to the caste- based subjectivity that is yet another prejudice these artists as humans need to battle with. Sunil states that Chavittu Nadakam provides these artists with undulating confidence and pride. Therefore, art for them is therapeutic as it enables them to immune themselves from at least some of the several sociocultural biases.

In fact, Chavittu Nadakam is vulnerable to the changes that the society witnesses now. Although there are some academies that promote Chavittu Nadakam, very few performances are staged in the elaborate, traditional pattern. Although it was performed for 6 hours initially, the duration is now reduced to 1 hour. The revival of this art form can be a transient phenomenon as very few practitioners are willing to take responsibility to sustain this art form. An art form that became the identity marker for the fisher folk and a religious minority in Kerala now scuffles to make its presence in the cultural map of Kerala. Sunil’s documentation is a positive move to bring this possible artistic extinction to the forefront along with the vulnerable social circumstances of the artists.

*Chavittu Nadakam artist Silosh and his family. Photo and Text Credits: K.R. Sunil*
35 year old Silosh learned Chavittu Nadakam from his uncle. Although he was not interested in his studies, Silosh managed to learn all the Tamil-Malayalam ‘chuvadi’ (stanza) from his trainer. He has performed on more than fifty stages. During high tides, his hut is flooded. During several such nights, Silesh along with wife and children stay awake on the cot till the water level drops down.

Climate change and the existential angst

Climate change is yet another crucial point that Sunil emphasises in his series. The artistic agency of the Chavittu Nadakam performers being threatened by the precarious condition of the environment is the crux of Sunil’s exhibition. Water/ the sea functions as the provider for these fisherfolk and they share a very nuanced bond with the nature. However, in the public imaginary, it becomes very ‘natural’ for the fisherfolk to have a flooded home where the ‘giver’ takes away the little comfort that they have in the form of their homes. Derelict houses and the muddy water with contaminants and debris make these artists’ lives difficult. Sunil’s photographs problematise the ‘naturalisation’ of the vulnerability of these artists.

The census of 2011 reveals that there are 3446 houses in Chellanam. Chellanam is situated 18 kilometres South to the Cochin Port. This place is bordered by the Arabian sea at its West and the Lake Vembanadu to its East. With the population density of 1838 persons per square kilometre, Chellanam has an area of 812 hectares (Ameerudheen, 2021). Major occupation of the inhabitants of this coastal village is fishing. People also work as masons, carpenters and domestic workers. These people are regular victims of tornados and the rough sea. At nights, the tides inundate their habitats and they struggle till the water level settles down. About 15000 people live in the 17.5 kilometres coastal stretch in Chellanam and most of the households are affected by the high tide. Sunil says that when he went to photograph one of the Chavittu Nadakam performers, Silesh, for this series, the performer and his whole family was deep asleep thanks to the high tide that kept all of them awake the previous night. At present in Chellanam there are about 200 Chavittu Nadakam performers. Sunil through his visits to the artists’ place understood that some of them who play the roles of Charlemagne or Alexander the Great or St. Sebastian live in such tumbledown homes where, like in the Coleridgean case, they have water everywhere around them but they struggle for clean water to drink. Sunil began to work for this series in 2015 and he states that many of those houses that are seen in the photographs are either ravaged by the sea or deserted by the owners as they sought refuge elsewhere. Only two houses remain occupied and they still fight with the rising water-level every night. These precarious conditions of the artists, who ‘live’ on stage as warriors and gods, made Sunil photograph them in front of their own ‘palaces’ which are being destroyed by the sea.

*Chavittu Nadakam artist T.J. Xavier and his wife. Photo and Text Credits: K.R. Sunil*
Xavier lives in an isolated island which is a serene place with canopies and fresh air. But the flood of 2018 inundated his house and he lost all the costumes and props that his ancestors and himself made for Chavittu Nadakam. In the recent years, it is clear that the sea level is rising and most of the time the island is flooded. During the times of flood, Xavier and family takes shelter elsewhere away from the island. Even though he knows that the water level will steadily increase, he is not willing to leave the island and his home which beholds fond memories of his dear ones.

Nature’s Precarity

Here, when we see the artists as victims of climate change or nature as villainous, we must not ignore nature’s precarity or vulnerability caused by the hyper-consumerist, unethical human interventions that trigger the climate change. What we experience as the undesirable effects of climate change, be it floods, landslides, torrential rains or unbearable heat, are all the side-effects of the unethical and consumerist mode of human interactions with nature. As Dilip Menon states in one of his recent speeches, the sea gives and it has the power to take back what it gives. The nature provides but it reaches a saturation point where it reacts to the unkindness it receives from the humans who it caters its resources to.

When a highly consumerist, capitalist society blindly continues the exploitation of nature, ironically, the repercussions are always felt first by the marginalised and the underprivileged segment of the society. In this particular context, the fisherfolk live in tune with the nature, depending on the sea for their livelihood. They read the sea and the sky. They structure their lives as per the norms of nature they understand or based on that ‘natural’ wisdom their ancestors had handed over to them. They believe and live in their own myths that shaped their identity. Now, the ‘natural’ reflex of an injured nature inflicts harm on them though they are not the exact segment of the population that stimulate climate change through ruthless abuse of the nature. Ecological concerns of these underprivileged Dalit Christian Chavittu Nadakam artists are limited to their immediate habitat.

Sunil underscores that many of these uneducated artists are unaware of the reasons for their predicament. They say that “bhoomi irikkukayanu” (the land is sitting down) to describe the phenomenon of coastal erosion and inundation resulting from the rising sea levels. They are unaware of the bizarre consequences of an impending ecological disaster. When development in the government’s policy-making and implementation demands displacement and uprooting of the inhabitants of the related ecosystem, the vulnerability of these humans remains undocumented.

*Chavittu Nadakam artist Thankachan popularly known as Manthri Thankachan (Minister Thankachan). Photo and Text Credits: K.R. Sunil*
The 62-year-old Thankachan began his stage performances at the age of 18. He is extremely passionate about Chavittu Nadakam. A fisherman who was compelled to desert his tiny house which used to get flooded during the high tides, he now lives far away from his own house with the memories of several generations.

Ecoprecarity, trans-scalarity and artistic agency

Sunil attempts to trace the precarious living conditions of these fisherfolk by showcasing the alternate reality they endeavour to enjoy in their artistic attire. In fact, the play of multiple identities (as artists, as fisherfolk, as vulnerable humans) in the backdrop of a natural calamity, which has become an everyday reality for these artists, is inscribed poignantly in the photos. Sunil validates his choice of photography as his mode to address social/humanitarian issues by highlighting the power of photographs in imaging the stark reality without losing its objectivity. Subjectivity, for him, triggers his artistic agency to present the images compactly and comprehensively. A trained and qualified sculptor, Sunil turned into photography owing to its magnitude in bracketing the de facto reality while the photograph is triggered by the vibrance of a subjective thought. Sunil’s art of photography focusses here on the pixelated lives of the artists/humans and zooms in to the hard reality that they battle with.

The only site that provides these vulnerable humans the agency or at least the possibility of imagining the progression towards a higher power structure is the art that they practice. When Chavittu Nadakam as an art form does not get enough stages and the art itself is dying, an element of these people’s cultural identity is also on the verge of extinction. To be noticed by the people on whose calculator the arithmetic of compassion gets keyed in only when destruction happens in large numbers, should these artists/humans be not discoursed further?

Sunil’s attempt to document their precarious predicament through the photographs is orienting itself towards activating what Scott Slovic (citing his interview with photographer Chris Jordan in the book Numbers and Nerves) termed as a trans-scalar imaginary in the social schema whereby the art assists in training its audience to rationalise the ‘count’ of the affected people more cognitively and empathetically. As Pramod K. Nayar (2019 a) argues

Texts communicating the possibility of eco-disaster and the future of mankind and other lifeforms, often offer extrapolations, some bizarre, of today’s science or lifestyle of human cultural practices (such as urbanism, hyperconsumption) in order to warn us that if we continue to live like this, the world will one day look like that. These literary and cultural texts replicate today’s world, so that it is at once recognizable and strange. (p.27)

In fact, Sunil’s photographs foreground an “ecodystopian” (Nayar, 2019 b) picture of the shoreline lives at Chellanam which serves as a warning about the looming slow violence- the sea devouring the land. The Chief of Disaster Risk Reduction in the UN Environment Programme Murali Thummarukudy points out that the climate changes result in rising sea levels and will certainly erase these artists’ habitats (and of course the houses of others who live on the shorelines) very soon. The photographs clearly communicate this reality to the viewing public. If we as spectators or readers access the message, how long do we sustain the empathy? When the artist plays with the power of singularity and transacts the vulnerability of a larger social sect, are we going to discourse this further? Instead of discussing an evangelical mission to redeem the art what we need to do is to discuss the ways in which democratic spaces for performance can be facilitated while we safeguard these artists’ ecosystem and their habitats by addressing the larger question of climate change. We must foreground the discussion on nature’s precarity- an offshoot of the human villainy- and to probe ways in which individually and collectively we engage in saving the planet. If remedies or solutions for the climate change consequences have to be found, there is an immediate need to bring the issue into the social consciousness and imaginary. If one thinks that it is impossible to respond to the looming ecological disaster because an individual cannot bring in substantial changes, one must remember what Edward Everett Hale said

I am only one, but still I am one. I cannot do everything, but still I can do something. And because I cannot do everything, I will not refuse to do the something that I can do.

When humanity is in crisis, it is important for every discipline to devote itself to interrogate the issue and to find solutions. What K.R. Sunil highlights through this exhibition is the imperative need to address the multiple crises that are clearly decipherable but are ignored by the myopic public. Sunil demonstrated how he could react and respond using photography as an affective medium.

What shall we do?

About the Author

V.K. Karthika teaches English at National Institute of Technology (NIT) Tiruchirappalli, India. Interested in cultural criticism and philosophy of education, her work focuses on communicative peace and sustainable development goals. Her articles on vulnerability in art forms have been published print and online media.

NOTES

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Photographing Vulnerability: Trans-scalar Articulations of Precarity from the Shorelines of Kerala

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