Editorial Team
Publication Date
July 19, 2024
Vijayatharsiny Thinesh, GPJ Sri Lanka
Prabakaran Sugantika, left, and her colleague, Jeyabalan Vijayagouri, soak sambu grass to soften it before they weave it into a mat in Jaffna. Despite a government initiative to promote traditional mat weaving, the industry is dying out.
JAFFNA, SRI LANKA — The aromas of coconut oil and sambu grass, which smells a little like roasted corn, suffuse Ratnam Srikanthan’s house. The 53-year-old busily cracks open coconut shells and pries out the pulp to dry. Just behind his house is his coconut oil mill, where he grinds the flesh to extract the oil. The droning of the mill is the predominant sound coming out of this house these days. An old piece of cloth now covers the loom that Ratnam and his forebears once used to produce traditional grass mats. A heap of cattail grass lies in a corner of the room.
Almost two decades ago, Ramavil village in Jaffna district, where Ratnam lives, had more than 20 families who wove and sold grass mats. The faint sound of the loom would emanate throughout the day from several houses in the village. But today, Ratnam is the last in his family and among the few who practice this craft. The business wasn’t sustainable, so he started producing coconut oil four years ago, but he still weaves intermittently because he is emotionally invested in the craft. “My business has been like this for 10 years now,” Ratnam sighs. “But I will do this until I die.”
Till about 2000, when people visited this village, Ratnam says, “they didn’t need to check the address of our village. If they would see heaps of this grass, they would understand that this is the village.” The mats were a part of the village’s identity.
In Jaffna district, grass-mat production, a traditional industry predominantly practiced by the minority Tamils, is now on the verge of extinction, says Selvaratnam Vanajaa, director of the Northern Province’s Department of Industries. The cattail grass still grows in abundance in the marshes, but those familiar with the industry say there are no longer takers for the job.
Only 20 families in five districts (Jaffna, Kilinochchi, Mullaitivu, Vavuniya and Mannar) in Northern Province are still involved in this business, says Pathmanathan Raghavan, industries promotion officer in the Northern Province’s Department of Industries.
Disappearing Tamil identity markers
Grass mats have been an intrinsic part of the Sri Lankan life. They are used to sleep on, as pandhi mats to seat dinner guests, or as thadukku mats for oiling newborn babies in the morning sun.
Ratnam learned mat manufacturing at the age of 8. Pointing to the loom in his house, he says, “This loom tells the story of our heritage. This loom is at least 75 years old.”
When he remembers his youth, an inexplicable longing animates his features. “Our people would bring sambu grass and put it to dry on the bank of the railroad. The smell of fresh grass would linger on for two or three days.”
Now, he says, there is no business.
Till 2010, Ratnam had three mat-weaving looms and six workers. Now, he only runs one of the looms occasionally. By 2014, he says, the decline seemed inevitable.
Paramu Pushparatnam, a retired history professor at the University of Jaffna, says that all traditional industries of the Tamil community and various markers of their cultural identity are gradually disappearing. He says these mats can still be seen in most temples and some marriage houses. Pushparatnam attributes the decline to globalization and easy access to beautiful, quality consumer goods, along with an abundance of plastic products, at cheaper prices. “The quality and income of local handicrafts are low, and they are unable to compete with the modern world,” Pushparatnam says.
The Northern Province’s Department of Industries is responsible for maintaining traditional industries, and they say they are doing their bit. “We have been promoting the production of this product and providing assistance to the workers to continue in this industry,” Raghavan says. The government helps by providing facilities like sheds and procuring loom equipment on a contract basis, in addition to providing loans for obtaining raw material and procuring sewing machines at subsidized rates. However, Raghavan says, it’s time the workers change with the changing times.
Hereditary professions used to flourish, but now, with increasing education, he says, a son doesn’t necessarily want to do the same job as the father.
Behind the loom
Ratnam’s two sons have no interest in this profession and only help out of concern for their father. “Today, everyone wants higher studies, government jobs, or wants to go abroad,” Ratnam says. “No one likes this job. My children just help in between. They have no patience.”
The work requires three workers simultaneously, two to arrange the grass on both sides while weaving the mat and one to weave. Ratnam says that it takes at least half an hour to weave a mat, and 15 to 20 mats can be made in a day. “In the 2000s, we paid 2 [Sri Lankan] rupees per person to weave a mat. Now, people ask for 1,500 to 2,000 [5 to 7 United States dollars] as daily wage,” he says.
In the last two decades, Ratnam says, the prices of narrow-leaf cattail grass, yarn and dye have tripled. Till 2000, a grass mat could sell for 30 rupees (10 cents). Now, they sell for between 600 to 1,000 rupees (2 to 3 dollars) each. Sri Lanka’s recent economic crisis has also affected mat production, among many other trades. “Profit from this,” Ratnam says, “is not enough.”
The hobbyists
As those who have been making mats for generations move on, women from outside the traditional profession have taken it up as an income-generating hobby.
Vijayanirmalan Yokeshwary, 54, from Jaffna district’s Meesalai has made mats from home with her two sisters for three years. Vijayanirmalan went as a laborer to the homes of mat manufacturers when she was young, so she was familiar with the industry. “Instead of sitting idle,” she says, “I am doing it in my free time after completing the housework.”
Vijayanirmalan, a mother of two, says her children haven’t learned the business and aren’t interested in it. Her 21-year-old son, Vijayanirmalan Luxshan, wants to go abroad. “I have no patience to do my mother’s work,” he says. “The income from this job is low.”
But that hasn’t stopped others. Prabakaran Sugantika, 36, from Nallur, Jaffna, started making mats with her husband during the coronavirus pandemic, and what started as a hobby has become a business. Sugantika exports her mats to Colombo, Kandy, Batticaloa and more, and earns between 20,000 and 25,000 rupees (66 and 83 dollars) per month. She says the government provides necessary materials and hosts exhibitions to encourage her.
“Even though the income is low,” she says, “we have the desire to promote local production in our country.”
Vijayatharsiny Thinesh is a Global Press Journal reporter based in Jaffna, Sri Lanka.
TRANSLATION NOTE
Lohith Kumar, GPJ, translated this article from Tamil.
