By Srimoyee Chowdhury 27 August 2025
In Chunkankadai, Tamil Nadu, clay pots are more than kitchenware. They carry memory, faith, and identity passed down through generations.
Shaped by heritage Selvam grew up watching his father at the wheel. “If the fire burns too fast, the pot breaks. If we give it time, it becomes strong — like us.” Around him, life still moves to the rhythm of the wheel. Clay from ponds, stories from elders — every pot begins with soil and memory.
Carried through time The potters here belong to the Velar community, “those of the earth.” Their lineage is tied to creation myths that made pottery sacred.
But time has changed things. “There was a time every house had a wheel,” Selvam says. “Now maybe 10 or 12 are active. The rest? They’ve gone.”
Yet devotion still keeps them going. From Kalashapooja to Pongala, temple rituals across the south depend on Chunkankadai’s clay vessels.
Work of the hands That journey begins in the ponds. “We know which pond gives which clay,” says Kannan. “That knowledge is inherited — you learn it with your hands.”
Inside homes, wheels spin steadily. “We don’t plan much,” Selvam smiles. “Our hands remember the shape.” Every curve, every wobble, made by hand.
Then comes fire. At Rajathi’s kiln, the pots are hardened slowly. “We start low, like cooking on a small flame. If we rush, the pots crack.”
Holding on It is never one person alone. Families share the work, children help during festivals. Some pots travel to Kerala, others stay in local homes. Still, challenges remain. Younger generations leave for city jobs, and cheap steel and plastic flood the market, pushing clay to the margins.
“This isn’t just a job,” says Rajathi. “It’s our way of speaking without words. Some things must come from the earth — and from us.”
As Selvam reflects, “Slow things stay. Fast things come and go.” In Chunkankadai, every pot is proof that patience still has a place.