Vallam Kali
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In brief
The Times of India, Aug 16 2015
The traditional snake boat race has now borrowed many elements from the IPL -rich team owners, big prize money and outside talent
Jawahar Thayankari's serpen tine 128-foot race boat, popu larly called chundan vallam in Kerala, had hissed its way to a glorious victory , finishing the 1,250-metre race in 4.36 minutes in August 2015 near Allapuzha. But when winning captain Jameskutty Jacob went up to receive the prestigious Nehru Trophy , the applause was muted. The reason -the boat had won the race on the skill and stamina of 30 migrant rowers from Manipur and Assam. All the Malayalees from the area could do was grumble about the race losing its cultural moorings.
“Jawahar won the race but the village (of Thayankari ) lost its identity ,“ says a morose Binoy Thottakat, whose boat `Ellikulam' lost in the heats. “We do not mind other states participating independently but outsiders recruited by local boat clubs? That kills the spirit of the race.“
Kerala is facing a shortage of trained rowers though it boasts a 500-km long coastline and has some of the biggest wetlands in the country. Three of the 15 participant boats this year were manned by rowers from the northeast. “Let's face it. The average Malayalee has become lazy. He would rather go to the Gulf than stick his neck out here, Jameskutty says.
There was a time when only the t r a d i t i o n a l , e n e r g e t i c b o at rhythms Thi, Thara, Thai were heard around the lake. But to make things easier for `outsiders', a terse `ek do teen' is now often used. Even the traditional singers and adikaar -the drummer who stands astride the boat --whose role is to step up the rowing with their brisk rhythm, now belt out Hindi cues on boats with crews from outside the state.
Villagers like Joseph Elamkulam, whose parish is a part of the 1,000-year-old St Mary Forane Church at Champakulam which has won many times in the past, say that inducting non-Malayalee rowers kills the local flavour of the event.Even foreign tourists come here to soak in this unique inland coastal culture, he points out, and not watch some competitive spectacle.“We need to get the new generation interested in rowing and keep the boating tradition alive, he says.
But that is easier said than done.Prosperity appears to have almost killed the traditional rowing skills of the state. “Fishermen today use motor boats to venture out into the sea.They do not have the stamina to row like they did,“ says Thottakat.
Till a few decades ago, almost every family living in the 13 villages along the labyrinthine canal networks of the Vembanad lake owned a small row-boat, a vanchi, to navigate it (the lake is about thrice the size of Mumbai). Men and women went fishing, shopping and visiting, all in their vanchis.
There was then no shortage of rowers. A lot of them were impoverished men but they were tough and competitive. But that has changed. “Outsiders are simply better trained than us in kayaking and canoeing, says veteran oarsman Josekutty, who maintains that he has no qualms about leading a bunch of northeastern rowers.
Sixty-three years ago, Jawaharlal Nehru, had on his first visit to Alapuzha, been enthralled by the beauty of the lake and its boats. In fact, he had jumped into a chundan vellam sent to receive him. It was the prime minister who had suggested the idea of an annual boat race to showcase the region's unique culture.
Thrilled by the idea, villagers who lived along the banks and tributaries of Vembanad lake, pooled funds to buy snake boats and train local rowers. There was much community pride in winning the race. The early 70s and 80s were great for the race in terms of community participation.Prosperous Christian and Nair families in the region actually went bankrupt funding boat racing.
Initially , when there was a shortage of rowers, boat clubs in the Kumarakom-Kollam belt would provide trained athletes to competing boat owners. The clubs were paid a small sum, and as a token of gratitude their names were announced along with that of the village they were helping.Good rowers actually became local icons, some passing into folklore.
Then around the early 90s, the villages found that they could no longer pay for the month-long training of the rowers from boat clubs. As the competition became tougher, the duration of the training camp was extended. Training each camp, and that means an entire team, today costs around Rs 40 lakh. “We need to provide rowers a nutritious diet of milk, eggs and meat daily .Many boat clubs even pay a good amount to the rowers after every race, says Thotakkat.
Unable to cough up that kind of money, villages started searching for sponsors who would be designated non-playing captains. Most sponsors are rich NRI businessmen with roots in the villages that they back. “The sponsor culture perhaps changed the face of the game and now we are seeing a kind of free-for-all hiring spree -like IPL games,“ says Unni K, a teacher from Kumarakom.
In fact, the village itself is getting sidelined in the race by the sponsor.The event is now packed with nouveau riche owners of expensive chundan vallams. This year, five out of the 16 snake boats in the fray were owned by rich individuals.
This did bring about one positive change -rowers started getting a better deal, and fishing families no longer crib when one of them chooses to spend a month training for the race. But it wasn't long before the money attracted migrants who stepped in to take the oars.
