‘The black and white photographs I took still astonish me today’ – MT's memories of Kozhikode

The first time I set foot on the soil of Kozhikode, I was 12 years old. Some fleeting memories of that lightning visit during my childhood still linger vividly in my mind. My father Narayanan Nair was on holiday from Ceylon and had come home. One day, he needed to visit Kozhikode for some banking matters. Until then, I had only heard about Kozhikode. The desire to see the city and its sights was already budding in my young mind. When I learned that Father was going to Kozhikode, that wish blossomed further. By some stroke of luck, or perhaps out of his kindness, Father agreed to take me along on the journey. My heart overflowed with joy.

Early the next morning, Father and I set out, reaching Pallippuram railway station from Koodallur. As dawn broke, we bought tickets to Kozhikode and boarded the train. Taking in the scenes along the way, we arrived at Kozhikode railway station. From there, we walked towards the ‘Imperial Bank’, which is now known as the State Bank of India. Father had some transactions there.

While he entered the bank, I stood outside, soaking in the sights of the city. As someone who came from a rural village, the urban scenery fascinated me. Kozhikode's streets and the cityscape of those days were very different from what they are today. Horse-drawn carriages bustled along the main streets, their bells jingling. Watching the horses trot was a delightful experience.

As I stood by the roadside in front of the bank, gazing at the passing carriages, an incident occurred. A horse pulling a carriage stepped into a waterlogged pothole on the road, splashing muddy water onto my white shirt. I stood there helplessly. When Father returned from the bank, this was the sight he witnessed.

Later that day, we returned to our village on the noon train. The city visit lasted less than half a day. How could such sights fail to captivate an ordinary child from a remote village like Koodallur? Even as I returned with these memories imprinted in my mind, I could never have imagined that Kozhikode would later become my home.

In later years, I visited Kozhikode multiple times for various reasons, including job opportunities. Eventually, in 1956, I secured a position in Mathrubhumi, making Kozhikode my permanent residence. By then, the horse-drawn carriages that once thrilled me had vanished from the streets of Kozhikode, replaced by hand-pulled rickshaws. Later still, cycle rickshaws made their appearance. Even today, amidst the vehicular congestion choking the streets, the sound of horse hooves occasionally stirs my memory.

If aerial photography technology had existed back then, an aerial view of old Kozhikode would likely have been a patchwork of tiled roofs. Most buildings were roofed with tiles in those days. During my time in Kozhikode, concrete buildings were a rarity. The first multistorey concrete building to appear was the three-storey "Imperial Hotel" at Palayam, a marvel in its time.

As time passed, towering buildings sprang up across various parts of the city. Old, tiled structures were torn down to make way for concrete complexes. The city grew larger, with its boundaries expanding. Areas once on the outskirts were absorbed into the city. The pace of life quickened, and vehicles multiplied on the streets.

During Onam and other festive occasions, the city was not as crowded as it is today. People who worked and lived in the city often travelled back to their native places to celebrate, leaving the city quieter for the locals. The celebrations were modest, confined mainly to homes, with no bustling crowds or major events on the streets. The idea of purchasing flowers for pookkalam from markets, which is common today, was unheard of then.Today, Onam has been commercialised, with "marketing" dominating the festivities. Competitions for pookkalam (flower carpets) are now a regular feature. Official and unofficial Onam celebrations include various programmes held across the city. Crowds throng the markets, and even the beaches have become venues for celebrations. Major hotels in the city prepare elaborate Onam feasts and offer them in neatly packed takeaway boxes. The people, too, have adapted their minds and lifestyles to keep up with the changing times.

Capturing photographs of people and natural scenery always intrigued me. They were experiments that maximised the possibilities of black-and-white photography. Many pictures of my relatives came to life through my camera. Though I captured several photographs of family members and others, they were not properly preserved and eventually got lost. Of all the photographs I took, only one old picture of my father survives today. There’s also a photo of my eldest brother’s daughter Shailaja from her childhood.

Despite my deep emotional connection to photography, I couldn’t continue pursuing it due to its high expenses. Buying a roll of film, taking photographs, and developing prints involved considerable costs. At that time, I couldn’t afford such expenses in my circumstances, so I reluctantly shelved my interest in photography.

I had a collection of cameras, some inherited from my elder brother and others that I acquired with great effort. I still have a few of them preserved. Some I gave away to acquaintances, particularly those who took up photography as a hobby, capturing events like weddings. Although these cameras served them for some time, the rapid advancements in photography eventually left them obsolete. Recently, someone told me that a camera I gifted them is still in good working condition, and hearing that brought me immense joy.

When colour film and later digital cameras became popular, my enthusiasm for photography diminished. Black-and-white photography required the photographer to possess significant creative skill. With the advent of digital photography, almost anyone could become a photographer, requiring no special expertise. Many classic compositions lost their relevance in this new era.

My emotional attachment to photography also began to fade. Yet, the black-and-white photos I had taken long ago still amaze me. Looking at them rekindles memories of an active and vibrant past.

The other day, photographer Punalur Rajan brought me a photo album featuring black-and-white pictures, including my works alongside those of Basheer, Thakazhi, S.K., and others. This photo collection, compiled into a book, filled me with wonder. The brilliance and timeless quality of those monochrome memory captures spoke volumes. No matter how advanced technology becomes, those old photographs that evoke nostalgia never age.