Kerala’s everyday heritage heroes

At a time when the state’s diverse heritage, shaped by centuries of oceanic trade and cross-cultural exchange, is under threat — from modernisation, migration, natural disasters — citizens are banding together to make a difference

One of the first things Siraj Abrari, the khateeb of Moideen Palli in Kannur, Kerala, suggests when you visit the 18th-century mosque is to climb to the top of a minaret and take in the view. From 72 feet up, with the Arabian Sea and Mappila Bay spread out before you, the Arakkal dynasty’s palace to the left, and the European-built St. Angelo Fort to the right, you are surrounded by centuries of history.

Anyone can visit the mosque, as long as it’s not prayer time. It doesn’t matter if you’re a man or a woman, or what your religion is — an unusual practice for a Sunni mosque in the Malabar region. Until just a few years ago, visiting the teal-painted mosque — with its Dutch-inspired arched doors, French floor tiles, Arabic hexagonal cone-topped minarets, and slanted roofs typical of the state — was limited to devotees. Women were strictly not allowed.

Much of the credit for this change in attitude goes to heritage activists such as Muhammed Shihad, 34, the founder of Kannur City Heritage Foundation. The engineering professional had moved back home from Delhi in 2018 and discovered that “people were forgetting their history and heritage” — he was referring to Kannur’s historical significance as a major medieval trade centre, the seat of the ancient Mushaka kings, the only Muslim dynasty in Kerala, and a military hub for Europeans.

While he started off with the most obvious, “promoting local food”, he soon began online and offline documentation, awareness campaigns to showcase Kannur’s heritage, and heritage tours. Shihad has mentored around half a dozen young storytellers who guide visitors to obscure spots and hidden gems, such as the carving on a wall behind the Arakkal Palace that reads ‘Let Britain Perish’ — etched by an unknown hand during the Quit India Movement.

Kannur City Heritage Foundation is one of many grassroots movements working to preserve Kerala’s unique cultural landscape. In a state where the population density is double the national average, and where rising land prices threaten historical buildings and heritage sites, such initiatives are much needed. “Kerala is famous for some things — its backwaters, for example — which dominate tourist brochures. But there is also a Kerala of the little stories: the small rituals, the temples, [sacred] groves, and mosques in which different castes and communities play roles,” explains historian Manu S. Pillai. “Much of this is being lost precisely because it has not received attention. Heritage groups and even individual efforts are now slowly correcting this. By drawing attention to these lesser known places and sites, they are helping create new value for them, and, through this, protecting and preserving them.”

In Desamangalam, a small village on the southern bank of the Bharathapuzha river in Thrissur district, Sivanarayanan Mossari, 55, a master coppersmith, wakes up at 6 a.m. every day to begin work in his modest workshop next to his house. Surrounded by moulds, chisels, and hammers, he talks to me as he melts copper and tin in a crucible to craft an uruli — a traditional wide-mouthed, shallow cookware. “Twenty years ago, I almost left this trade due to lack of work,” he says, wiping the sweat from his brow with a thorthu (thin cotton towel). But Vayali, a local collective, offered him support. “They helped me set up my workshop and connected me to experiential tourism networks. Now, people from all over the world visit, my reputation has grown, and I make a good living.”

Vayali began as a group of folk musicians passionate about preserving the oral traditions of the Bharathapuzha region. Over time, their mission expanded to include the revival of local crafts. “We realised these craftsmen needed more than just exposure; they needed a lifeline,” says Vinod M. Nambiar, Vayali’s executive director. Nambiar, a soft-spoken man in his mid-40s, is not the typical image of a heritage activist. A software engineer by profession, he splits his time between Kochi and his village, and often travels to remote areas to work directly with artisans.