
Kerala culture: contribution and crisis Premium
The Hindu
In every index of social development, Kerala stands at the forefront among Indian States. Yet we must not forget that the State also leads in unemployment, in alcohol consumption, in mental morbidity, and in suicide rates associated with these issues.
In every index of social development — life expectancy, literacy, public health, environmental awareness, women’s education, housing, transportation, and sanitation — Kerala stands at the forefront among Indian States. Yet we must not forget that the State also leads in unemployment among the educated, in alcohol consumption, in mental morbidity, and in suicide rates associated with these issues. So, we have reasons both to take pride in ourselves and to be self-critical.
Let us first consider what Kerala has to offer the rest of India. The foremost among these offerings, beyond question, is our tradition of religious harmony and universality — the very soul of our culture. Until quite recently, Kerala was praised as a living example of communal amity. Festivals like Onam, accepted and celebrated by the whole State, are striking proofs of this inclusiveness. The situation is no different with Thrissur Pooram and other such festivities. There are few places in India where people of different faiths live so closely together and invite one another to weddings and celebrations.
From our architecture to our dance and music, the imprint of multiple religions is evident. The skyline of Kerala is woven together with the domes of temples, the minarets of mosques, and the Gothic steeples of churches. The nalukettu and ettukettu houses — traditional wooden mansions — were built alike by Hindus and Muslims. Even today, art forms like Thiruvathirakali and Mohiniyattam, Mappilappattu and Oppana, Kolkkali and Duffmuttu and Margamkali — all continue to share a common stage in youth festivals. Classical dances like Kathakali and Ottan Thullal evolved not as sectarian arts but as collective cultural expressions.
It was in the festival grounds of Kerala that progressive ideas often spread — through storytelling, theatre, and public performance. The very prose of Malayalam was shaped through Bible translations; the first dictionary, grammar, and travelogues in the language were the works of Christian missionaries. Writers like Moyinkutty Vaidyar and T. Ubaid enriched mainstream Malayalam with an Arabic-infused literary dialect. Even though Buddhism, Jainism, and Judaism no longer have living communities in Kerala, their philosophical and literary contributions continue to flow through our artistic landscape. Added to this are the influences of Mahatma Gandhi and Karl Marx.
Our writers were never divided along religious lines. Even the sectarian tendencies of cultural organisations never decisively affected artistic or literary value. Malayalam itself — an amalgam of many languages including Sanskrit, Tamil, Arabic, French, Dutch, Portuguese, and English — stands as a symbol of our deep-rooted pan-nationalism. Malayalam language has been a unifying force that transcends religious, regional, and political divisions, holding Kerala together across centuries. Our language and culture grew through commercial and cultural exchanges with distant lands. This gave our civilization an openness — a cosmopolitan character that few other Indian regions share. We have embraced masterpieces from other languages in India and abroad as if they were our own, and such manifold influences have kept our literature and thought continually modern.
As Octavio Paz once said of Latin America, in Kerala too, progressive ideas — beyond particular political parties — have become integral to our worldview and the very language of our politics. Another remarkable contribution of Kerala is our innate sense of rebellion. This is visible not just in modern history — from the Coonan Cross Oath to the Malayali Memorial — but also in our myths. The legend behind Onam itself embodies protest: unlike other regions where Vishnu is worshipped, here we celebrate the return of the Asura king Mahabali, who was pushed down into the underworld by Vishnu’s avatar, Vamana. People deck their homes with flowers and feasts to welcome back a fallen asura — that is the spirit of Kerala. (It should be noted that certain reactionary groups today try to redefine Onam as “Vamana Puja.”)

The highlight of every edition of the Whitefield Art Collective is the Kala Car, an exhibit that showcases the creative and artistic prowess of art students. Over the years, this clever play on words has titled vehicles that have either been rescued from the scrap yard or sponsored or auctioned or all of the above.












