The business of making prayer beads

Koonammavu is a small village on the NH 17 a few kilometers to the north of Kochi. This village, however, is on the global business map, thanks to a cottage industry – rosary-making.People of Koonammavu proudly call their village ‘little Rome’ as it ships the prayer beads all over India and abroad. “Wherever there are Christians, there are rosaries from Koonammavu,” claims Ravi Jose Thannikot, who owns a shop that sells rosaries and other items of religious use.

Mr. Thannikot is one of Koonammavu’s many entrepreneurs who procures beads, thread and wire from parts of North India and supplies them to women in the village. The women return finished rosaries for a pay and these are sold locally or exported by him. Mr. Thannikot says around 2,000 women from Koonammavu and surrounding areas bring him finished rosaries. Twelve women are employed full-time on his staff too.

“If you’re an expert you can finish one rosary of 59 beads in under 10 minutes,” says Swapna, who works at the store and makes rosaries in her spare time too. Young girls here learn how to make rosaries from their friends at school and older siblings at a young age. Even those who don’t make rosaries for a living have learnt the craft from their friends as children. They may start making rosaries to help out at home and soon become experts. Swapna’s mother-in-law has been making rosaries for several decades now. She is an expert on the ‘thudal kettu,’ a complicated chain link usually seen in gold chains that these women complete with nothing but a wire and pliers. She gets Rs.7 for each rosary she makes with the ‘thudal kettu.’ A rosary on wire can fetch the women Rs.3.50 each and the thread rosary Rs.1.60. These sell in the market for Rs.15 or more.

The cottage industry helps women supplement the family’s income. “Those who need the money spend longer hours making rosaries. People do it according to their need,” says Mr. Thannikot. Some in the village also make rosaries as a service. These are usually handed over to the church when complete. “Rosary-making was started off by nuns here almost 150 years ago to empower local women. A lady from Kollam was brought in to teach a few women here how to make rosaries. These women taught others and now everyone here makes rosaries,” says Fr. Cherian Kuniyanthodath of the St. Joseph’s CMI monastery at Koonammavu. What started off as a cottage industry is now a big business at Koonammavu. Women from Koonammavu who married into families in other parts of the city also practice their craft there. “There are many people here who have come out of poverty and prospered in life through the business of jewelry findings,” says Fr. Kuniyanthodath. Rosaries in different materials and patterns have now in the market. Those produced in factories in China have also made their way to Koonammavu. But for thousands of women here, the prayer beads are a way to good fortune and a better life.

Walking as quickly as she could in her sequined silver high-heel boots, Electra City stalked down Bourbon Street on Sunday afternoon, heading for the start of the Southern Decadence parade. Although she was in a hurry, the drag queen couldn’t help stopping whenever someone wanted to snap a picture.

She was an obvious target for anyone with a camera, starting with her towering orange-and-pink wig and the orange and pink boas that hung from her shoulders, front and back, encircling her torso but not quite hiding her sequined mini-dress. Despite the 90-degree heat and wiltingly high humidity, she wore three pairs of black tights.

In the 15-minute procession through the French Quarter, led by flamboyantly clad grand marshals Tami Tarmac and Venus Santiago, some did their bit for drag culture by donning stunning costumes and teetering on stilettos, while others were barely costumed at all.

Most marchers were men, some of whom wore ill-advised Speedos and nothing else, but there were several groups of women. One bewigged member of the Yes Girls managed to poke fun at two groups at once – fundamentalist religious groups who had opposed the gay-themed observance in past years and overly fashion-conscious people – by carrying a giant placard reading, “God Hates Your Outfit.”

Among the conventionally clothed marchers were the members of the Pair-o’-Dice Tumblers Brass Band, who played, without a hint of irony, the Doors’ hit “People Are Strange.”

The Pussyfooters, a marching group, fit right into the extravagant sensibility of the event, with their pink and orange costumes and wigs the color of cotton candy. Unlike other participants who merely walked along the route, they danced, keeping time to a Katy Perry song that boomed out of speakers on the back of a truck.

“I love this parade,” said one member, Sharon Novak, 48, of Mandeville. “I’m glad I’m here. I’m all about crystal beads wholesale.”That was a reference to the equal-sign bit of face paint that she and many other marchers, as well as spectators, sported. It’s the logo of the Human Rights Campaign, an advocacy group supporting equal rights for gay men and lesbians that had a pop-up store on Bourbon Street.

Although the event was billed as a parade, it was more like a giant receiving line because marchers kept breaking ranks to exchange hugs and air kisses with friends along the way. Rod Lemaire, an Afro-wig-wearing New Orleans expatriate who lives in San Francisco, stopped frequently to greet old friends – people he wouldn’t have time to see because he was heading for the airport as soon as the parade ended.

But Elvira West Nile, Queen of the Damned, stopped simply because marching in golden stilettos was just too much for feet accustomed to flats.“Hear that?” she said, leaning against a lamppost. “That’s the sound of my blisters popping.”

The epicenter of the action Sunday afternoon was the intersection of Bourbon and St. Ann streets, where loud, pulsating music poured out of amplifiers from the balconies of Oz and Bourbon Pub & Parade, gay bars that are across Bourbon Street from each other.

Their balconies, as well as another one across St. Ann, were packed with people – mostly men – who tossed beads to the throngs who packed the intersection, clamoring for trinkets. Following the example of what some women do at Mardi Gras to get beads, one man lifted his T-shirt – and was rewarded with a purple necklace.Observing it all on St. Ann Street, steps away from the thickest of the crowd, was James-Michael Cox, 24, a New Orleanian who was having a fine time watching humanity and waiting for the parade to make its way to that part of the Vieux Carre.

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