Kakoor Kalavayil: A Race Against Time Photojournalism is more than capturing moments; it’s about preserving traditions, questioning change, and documenting the pulse of society. My recent assignment at Kakoor Kalavayil, the vibrant agricultural festival once synonymous with the cattle race, was a reminder of how time reshapes culture. I remember the first time I photographed this event years ago. The festival ground, a vast stretch of paddy fields, would transform into a battleground where farmers and their prized bulls thundered through the slush. These weren’t just races; they were a celebration of Kerala’s agrarian spirit, an event where farmers, drenched in mud and sweat, took pride in their animals’ strength and agility. Some came from distant villages, having prepared for months, their bulls adorned with bells and garlands, their eyes glistening with excitement. The air would be thick with the scent of wet earth, the roars of the crowd, and the rhythmic splashes of hooves against waterlogged fields. But then, the world changed. Protests emerged, questioning the ethics of these races. Animal lovers raised concerns, and soon, the law stepped in. Cattle races were banned, leaving a void in the festival that had defined generations. The fields, once alive with the power of bulls charging forward, fell silent. This year, on March 8, I returned to Kakoor Kalavayil with my camera, expecting a familiar sense of nostalgia. What I saw instead was a different kind of race—one fueled not by muscle but by technology. RC (remote-controlled) cars zipped across the very fields where bulls once sprinted. Kids and enthusiasts cheered as these machines skidded through the mud, their tires throwing up the same splashes that hooves once did. It was thrilling, a spectacle of modernity, and yet, a pang of sadness settled in my chest. Was this progress? Had we truly preserved the spirit of the festival, or had we replaced a piece of our heritage with something less organic, less connected to the land? The cattle race had its flaws, no doubt. But for the farmers, it was never just a race—it was a tradition, a showcase of their bond with the land and the animals they raised with devotion. Now, those same fields bore witness to machines instead of life. As I stood there, camera in hand, I realized photojournalism isn’t just about freezing moments in time—it’s about asking questions. How do we balance tradition and ethics? Can modernity truly replace the raw, earthy essence of our past? Where do we go from here? I don’t have the answers, but my photographs from that day tell a story—a story of change, loss, and adaptation. Perhaps, like Kakoor Kalavayil itself, we must continue to evolve while ensuring we don’t erase the past entirely. Because in the end, festivals are not just about what happens in the fields; they are about the emotions they stir within us.
