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Disrupting Boundaries of Politics in Kerala

Jenson Joseph ( teaches at the Symbiosis Centre for Media and Communication, Symbiosis International University, Hinjewadi, Pune.


By invoking the controversy around the March 2018 cover of the conservative Malayalam magazine Grihalakshmi, it is argued that there are certain paradigmatic shifts in how the imagined extents and limits of politics seem to be at the centre of a set of transformations in the dominant practices of media today. These practices have come to be shaped by a mode of imagining politics and politicisation as incessant and boundless, and as desirably so. 

An earlier draft of this article was presented at the Department of Humanities and Social Sciences, Indian Institute of Technology Bombay, in September 2017, where I got very useful suggestions for which I am indebted to the respondents. I also thank India Foundation for the Arts, Bengaluru, for a generous fund without which it would not have been possible for me to take up part of the research that has gone into this article.

No one in Kerala would have expected the popular conservative Malayalam magazine Grihalakshmi to deviate from its staple business of catering to its constituency of homebound readers. Yet, it created a storm with its March 2018 cover featuring a model posing as breastfeeding a baby, not bothering to cover her breasts, instead throwing a loaded look straight at the reader, as the accompanying caption read, “Mothers tell Kerala: don’t stare; we need to breastfeed.”1 The dust settled on the controversy only months later, when the Kerala High Court, in June 2018, rejected a charge of obscenity against the magazine, saying “obscenity lies in the eyes of the beholder.”

What was the magazine’s gamble when it decided to let go of the long-standing marketing mantra—“we are a home magazine; we don’t do politics”—that sustained its niche readership so successfully until then? In fact, Grihalakshmi’s March 2018 cover is historical in the sense that it joyously flung the diligent partitioning of readership territory—into “pro-political/public” and “non- political/domestic”—that Kerala’s commercial print media institutions had so far cultivated and monetised. After all, it is this split between the public and private that sustained the business logic of the magazine’s parent publishing company Mathrubhoomi Publications bringing out Grihalakshmi for women readers on the one hand, and Mathrubhoomi Weekly for literature and political debates on the other. This approach is similar to the business logic of the competing Malayala Manorama that maintains a similar demarcation of target readers by publishing the glossy Vanitha and Manorama Weekly for lighter reading, and Bhashaposhini for discussions of literature and public affairs. Seen in this light, one could say that the controversial cover is not about particular politics “sexual/gender/corporeal politics” or “media politics,” for example, as the ongoing discussions seem to have taken it to be), but about politics as such.

The question to be asked is this: What about the contemporary moment that prompted Grihalakshmi to let politics breach into its territory? In other words, what prompted a hitherto non-political home magazine to embrace politics and consider such a move as acceptable and desirable? To find an answer, we need to historicise the notions that we have come to rely on to imagine and set boundaries for politics, and the ways in which those notions have determined our media practices.

In the subsequent sections, the article outlines a heavily condensed history of how we have, until recent decades, conceived the breadth and boundaries of politics’ mediation of our world primarily through modalities of translating them into spatial terms. We have designated conceptual and quasi-physical spaces where the intervention of politics is warranted and sought, while trying to preserve certain others as spaces that should be kept away from politics. This history compresses the decades-long history of conceiving politicisation from the vantage point of its boundaries, a mode that reflected on our relation to media and the corresponding predominant aesthetic forms, until the 1980s–90s. To conclude, I argue for an understanding of the contemporary practices of the media as shaped by a mode of imagining politics and politicisation as immediate, incessant and boundless, and desirably so.

Historical Links

Media historians in India have pointed out that the early entrepreneurs of media technologies in India like print, photography and cinema, brought a political edge to their practices even when they did not mean to put media technologies to political use in a conscious way. Their efforts were partially the result of colonial rulers (and later, the nationalist elite) struggling to comprehend the peculiar modes in which media forms were put to popular use, deviating majorly from normative ideas about “their proper use.” On other occasions, it resulted from plain anxieties about the uncertain outcomes of exposing the natives to mass media and granting them access to media technologies. This paranoia about the always-present potential political edge of the natives’ mass media practices resulted in the first censorship rules in India acquiring its specific characteristic. Early censorship rules were meant to control the circulation rather than the content of media. For instance, in the case of cinema, film historian Ashish Rajadhyaksha sums up the colonial regime’s anxieties about the potential political edge of any film made in India in these words,

It began to appear as though all Indian films, in their very existence, were liable to be viewed by paranoid censors as potentially swadeshi, and therefore possessed of subversive content. (Rajadhyaksha 2016: 18)

The schizophrenic relation that the censor boards and monitors maintain with media practices in general even today suggests that the colonial paranoia has been inherited in its entirety by the nationalist elite after independence.

Thus, a close link has always been in operation between policies on mass media and our receptiveness to, or apprehensions about, politicisation in general. The evident capabilities of modern media technologies to mediate the world for us, by altering our sensorium, made the field of media practice a provocative domain to displace our anxieties about allowing politics’ mediation of our given worlds. Setting certain boundaries for the reach of one was in effect a matter of deliberating on the thresholds of the other.

Contestations over the expanse that can be afforded to media technologies in mediating the world for us were important modalities through which a consensus on the extent to which we should subject ourselves to modern politics would be reached upon.

Politics and Its Boundaries

What does it mean to talk about drawing boundaries for the reach of politics? Moreover, knowing very well that different sets of people, ranging from the coloniser to the nationalist movement, from the peasant to the priest, the right and the left, will operate with their own interests in fixing boundaries for the reach of politics in one’s life as well as in the lives of others when possible, how do we talk about the modalities of drawing boundaries in general?

At an abstract level, what lies at the heart of any desire to imagine boundaries for the reach of politics is the idea that politics is something that mediates and alters the given essence of that which is subjected to politicisation. And the desire to set boundaries for politics is consequently the desire to keep certain domains of one’s lifeworld outside politics, unmediated by it, which in turn is driven by the aspiration to retain the essence of one’s “given life” as uncontaminated as possible. Such desires are universal and not peculiar to conservatives who fight for the status quo. I shall demonstrate this by quoting at length from an essay that K Saraswathiyamma, one among the early Indian feminist writers, wrote about life and politics. Saraswathiyamma, after all, was someone who put herself right in the middle of the churning of those decades, showing discernible enthusiasm towards its gambles. She wrote in an undated essay titled “Life in My View,” most probably written during the 1960s,

When I say life is a struggle, essentially I am echoing an age-old wisdom about life, but by invoking my own experiences. Life is a struggle with no respite, because—unlike in group hunting—one has to struggle all alone. Moments of peace can be signs of an impending conflict. The most difficult part is protecting oneself from guerrilla warfare. Seeking another’s protection would be cowardice; worse, it can eventually lead to fiercer clashes.

One has to fight, consciously or unconsciously. When that is the case, it is better to opt to fight, as a conscious choice. That way, even if one might not win all of them, one will not have to surrender unconditionally, I feel.

In the blissful days of our childhood, life is like a celebration that sweeps us away, but later it metamorphoses into a fierce struggle —not merely physical but mental; not merely material but spiritual as well. Once initiated into learning, adolescence prides itself on having gained the key to a wondrous world, until the unfurling scrolls of knowledge and the harsh, burning light of civilization usher it into a universe of melancholy.

As we ascend on the wings of the faculties of thinking, the simplicity and lightness of life are gradually lost. (Saraswathiyamma 2013a: 834–35)2

Those who are familiar with Saraswathiyamma’s fiction writing—her forte—would easily point out that she could not have written it out of any nostalgia for an idyllic life rejecting modernity and the politicisation of life it demands. In fact, in one of her stories, Saraswathiyamma sums up her motto of life, disguised in the words of a character, in her signature style in the following words

We are born into this marvelous world, full of bowers and woods, colleges and cinema halls, so that we can enjoy life. (“Ramani,” undated, reproduced in Saraswathiyamma 2013b: 84)

Thus, what is reflected in the first passage is indeed not a rejection of politics or modernity’s mediation of our lives as fatal to life. Rather, it tells of the acute awareness about an imminent loss in politics—here it is politicising oneself in order to try to negotiate a fuller life by rejecting the given conventions of the time. It is an overwhelming sense that politicisation can transform life from its natural and given form into something simultaneously melancholic and modern, but something we nevertheless cannot prepare ourselves adequately for.

One way of minimising the traumatic outcomes of subjecting our worlds to processes of politics was to try to reach a collective consensus on keeping certain domains out of the reach of politics’ mediation, a solution that allowed for controlled reform and modernisation while leaving adequate space for accommodating the apprehensions about them. Partha Chatterjee (1993) has shown us one aspect of the hold of politics in his discussion on the modes in which the nationalist movement engaged selectively with Western modernity through operating a split between an inner domain of cultural essence, kept outside the reach of modernisation, and an outer domain of politics open to normative modernity’s reforms. If we try to rework Chatterjee’s formulation by bringing within the scope of the analysis not only the nationalist movement but also the universal concerns about the stakes of subjecting one’s given life to politicisation, what formulation will that offer us? We will, then, have to modify the framework slightly, conceding that we experimented with a set of different modalities, often simultaneously, to fix the domains and boundaries of politicisation.

The point that I want to foreground will perhaps come through if I invoke the example of two popular catchphrases in Malayalam about politicisation, both of which are rarely invoked at present. The first example is the title of a 1929 play written by V T Bhattathiripad (2013[1929]) From the Kitchen to the Stage, one that was adopted as such as a slogan for progressive politics ever since. One of the high points in the play, which works with the familiar theme of the reform of Brahmin community practices, is when the educated protagonist invites the colonial/modern law’s intervention in stopping an archaic community practice particularly oppressive to its women. I would argue that the title of the play stuck as one of the most reiterated mottos of public politics in general for two reasons. First, it invokes an appealing binary between the public, as the domain of modern politics into which one needs to migrate in order to be a political being, and the domestic as that which is (left) mostly unmediated by politics. Second, the choice of the word “stage” in the title to denote the public political domain that one migrates to from one’s private/domestic zones, contains in it the strong predominant sense about politics as a site where one performs.

My second example will illustrate an important dimension to the widely-held perception about the realm of public politics as the performative terrain. Until a few decades back, a notice used to be seen commonly in public places in Kerala, such as toddy bars, men’s salons and tea shops, which would read, “Do not discuss politics here,” a diktat exhorting the entrants to leave politics outside before stepping in. I do not want to mystify this practice; indeed, it was
primarily a matter of the proprietors taking precautions to avoid untoward incidents as they go about with their business. However, I suggest an additional way of comprehending this, considering this notice is most commonly written on the walls inside country liquor bars, a place where people, mostly working class men, would go to after a day’s business, “to be oneself.” This diktat barring the entry of politics indicates an acute awareness of what politics can do to the self—that it alters something in us, aspects of which one should perhaps retain, attend to, and indulge in, from time to time. This wariness about politics and politicisation of life has been central in prompting and determining attempts to set boundaries for the extents and reach of politics’ mediation of our worlds.

Thus, even as we would experiment with a range of modalities of migrating from given existence to political being, one aspect was common to them all: they all approached the idea of engaging with politics from the vantage point of conceiving the end of politics or the closing limits of politicisation. There were a few modes that did not work with the commonly invoked duality of home as unmediated private versus public as the political terrain. For example, Sree Narayana Guru in Kerala would propose a complex framework that displaced the opposition between the latent real human essence versus the fallen politics of false differentiations, onto a binary of the soul and the body, both of which needed realisation and redemption through collective action, in the path to the formation of the self (Kumar 2016). In contrast, the binary of “the private home” versus “the political public”—a far more accessible modality of conceiving politicisation and its limits—is the one that the nationalist movement operationalised and which, in Kerala’s context, left politics adopted with certain modifications. This modality, significantly, follows the ancient Greek distinction between natural life and a particular form of life, one with political rights. Repeated invocations of the latter modality and its binary in Indian political history have given “the home” various statuses, sometimes contradictory and at other times complimentary.

First, home corresponds to the domain one has to step out of, in order to enter into a political existence. For instance, Aristotle suggests that the household is the domain that sustains natural life, as opposed to a more privileged “good life”—bios politikos—that comes from participation in the polis.

Second, home (and one’s private life) is where one could get back to, from time to time, where one can be oneself. This aspect has crucial implications especially for a political context like that in Kerala where the domain of parliamentary politics is essentially a negotiating table on to which agents of disparate interests bring their specific community loci as well as normative ideas of a larger universal public at the same time. Consequently, home, the household and one’s privacy are then domains that are kept outside the realm of politicisation, in a desirable way.

Third, taking together these two statuses that home is afforded as a result of the operation of the binary we discussed above, we see the idea of home emerging and consolidating as central to broader consensus on the patterns and tempo of politicisation, as well as certain ideas about sheer life outside politics. The normative order of politics in post-independence India has been one of “mobilisation-representation-retreat,” in which public politics of interest negotiations would take place primarily between men of different communities in spaces and institutions like political party meetings, trade unions, religious or community gatherings, and so on. If we take the pattern of elections every five years as symptomatic of this, one could argue that the long intermediate period of “retreat from politics” has been the vantage point from where we have imagined the tempo of normative politics after independence.

Politics, Home and Mediation

Let us now turn to the media. Much of our practices of mass media technologies, the discourse around them, as well as the governmental policies relating to them, were primarily informed by the felt need to correspond, on the one hand, to this controlled tempo and rhythm in normative politics, and to the sedimented ideas about home as the threshold where politics’ mediation ends, on the other hand. It is also pertinent to note that which specific media forms and the attendant aesthetics are allowed entry into our homes, has remained a vigilantly policed matter until now.

After independence, following a long period of intense politicisation, and negotiations with the demands of “home,” home, in certain ways, began to be taken up again as a meaningful site from where one could re-engage with the world, and thus remediate politics. If the nationalist movement, and in the case of Kerala the left movement, offered us a view of the world, compressing it in one particular way by choosing certain aspects of life for elaboration and intervention—at the expense of discarding many details and dimensions of life and the world—we soon began a new exercise of decompressing that world, seeking a re-enchanted relation to it. It is much more than a story of political resistances, although the nation state’s monopoly over mediating the world for us was precisely one thing that got crucially challenged here, with the space of the home emerging as the site of crafting the tools of re-enchantment. Mass media were the primary mediating tools in this story of re-enchantment with the world and its sublime details, with the unattended dimensions of our lives and desires. The brief period of Radio Ceylon’s glorious popularity among households in India during the 1950s is an early indication of this paradigm; a classic case of the dissent that erupted from among radio listeners in India against the state’s monopoly over mediation (see also Punathambekar 2010).

Similarly, photography historian Christopher Pinney (2004), while discussing the proliferation of mass printed images of Hindu gods and less celebrated icons of the nationalist struggle like Bhagat Singh among lower caste households in India, has argued for a visual history that engages with such practices as part of the embodied and performative politics seeking to constitute one’s own worlds in their homes. The popularity that cheap pulp magazines enjoyed among housebound women would tell a story similar to these remediated practices as well. Marginal, yet widespread, mass media consumption practices like these hint at the combination of the domestic space and access to emerging media technologies as gradually producing a new locus of withdrawing from/resisting the state’s mediation of one’s worlds. However, such new habits were not presented within the frames of political right or struggle—which is why politics had to be read into them. In other words, these “home-based” media practices seeking a remediation and re-enchantment outside the frames of public politics as well as those of the state’s mediation, worked along the commonly held notions about the thresholds of home as where politics’ reach ends, and where one’s own/private realm begins.

Different Critiques

Let me narrow down to the context of Kerala to anchor the rest of the narrative I am constructing here. The widespread disillusionment with the hegemonic left in Kerala and its chosen modalities of politicisation, which foreclosed all modes of relating to the world other than the sanctioned ones, had started manifesting in a range of responses from the late 1950s. One of the disaffections with the left followed from the attempts of different discontented sections to critique the elevation of the public domain as the privileged site of politics. Therefore, the private and the associated domains were left outside the reaches of any meaningful restructuring and were relegated as unproductive. This indeed could be considered the crux of the critique that feminism, the Dalit movement and queer politics mounted against the exclusionary regimes of the left in Kerala and that of the nation state. These critiques, in other words, have exposed how this conceptual split between the public domain (as the terrain of politics) and the domestic (as that which is kept away from politics) has effectively been used as an ideological defence of the status quo against demands for radical social reforms and modernisation.

Simultaneously, a new investment in the idea of the domestic as a productive site for political and creative projects begins to emerge, in alignment with the emerging prevalent sentiment that “public politics” has deteriorated as an irredeemably corrupt domain. Initially, these ideas began to appear in loose articulations. For example, in an article that she wrote for Grihalakshmi in 1983, the renowned writer Lalitambika Antarjanam contemplates the idea of reimagining the nation, but with home as its locus. Here, I should remind my readers that Antarjanam had, in 1976, written the well-known novel Agnisakshi—set in colonial Kerala and based on the writer’s own experiences. In this novel, the female protagonist seeks, in the domain of public politics, a sense of purpose and fulfilment that the domestic sphere failed to offer her. In an interesting contrast, in her Grihalakshmi article titled “Home and the Country,” Antarjanam (1983) wrote,

We are only in the early stages of realizing that the boundaries of home are simultaneously expanding in certain ways and shrinking in other ways. Independent India, through its elections and socio-economic transformations, is progressively bringing about changes in people’s mindsets. However, we seem to have lost the discretionary abilities to decide who should do what and when. In fact, what does such discretion mean? The changing circumstances might alter our conceptions about those too.

But home, taken as an abstract idea, belongs to women. The happiness called children is hers as well. And the imagined nation, after all, is composed of these two [the home and the children]. We must nurture the awareness that that our home is our nation and our nation is our home. And the foundations of this awareness can be laid only from our homes.(emphasis added)

Such loose articulations were to acquire the dimension of a manifesto for the political reclamation of the domestic sphere in someone like Sarah Joseph, one of the most influential feminist writers from the region. To Joseph, reclaiming the home, both from patriarchy’s hold over it as well as from the public politics’ destructive advancements, is equally about seeking a new locus of relating to the world and moulding a counter-political terrain from where ethical solidarities could be forged. These ambitions come to the fore sharply when Joseph (2010: 33) writes,

Our homes should become the democratic site devoid of hierarchies where healthy compassionate human collectives thrive, where individuals can fully realize their creative potentials. To simply hold up the view that existing structures of our families are divine will only lead to the destruction of families in severer ways than it has happened in capitalist societies. [On the other hand], destroying one form of human collective should only be so that it paves way to the emergence of a better human collective. History shows us that the changes in the economic structure have transformed family structures. The passing of the feudal era has resulted in the destruction of palatial homes. Today, urbanisation has led to the disappearance of homes with a small courtyard. From such structures of homes, we move into flats designed as secure havens for individuals. It is difficult to see what form of family the processes of globalization will leave us with, but let us not forget that we have the right to determine its structure by standing in solidarity with the oppressed. (emphasis author’s)

Home, for Joseph, is less of a lost domain of nostalgic goodness and more of a much-assaulted site of otherwise what could have been; she imagines home as perhaps the only site of “the collective” that we ought to/could rebuild on our own, in an ethically and politically responsible manner. In her world, home can be built by insulating it from the destructive, masculinised politics of the outer world, forging solidarity with the oppressed. In doing so, the world gains in general as well. In short, home emerges as the new locus of reimagining politics as ethicality, and life as uncontaminated by corrupt politics. Thus, home’s status as the unmediated sphere gradually begins to attain certain strong positive undertones in popular imagination, offering itself as an alternative productive site from where to seek fuller life again and re-enchant the world anew, outside of the corrupt terrains of masculinised politics (and thus, not necessarily “politically”).

New Media

Gradually, home, through the decades of peak globalisation, begins to metamorphose into private labs of high resolution media systems promising to take us closer and faithfully to the “real-ness” of things of the world and of ourselves, complementing the strong positive connotations that it had begun attaining. Beginning in the 1980s, the traffic of modern media technologies—innovated and assembled in the global centres of technological modernity—to India offered us tools with which to circumvent the possessive control over mediating the world that the state had reserved for itself. Furthermore, a new desire to transcend mediation as such begins to take hold, following from an awareness that our dependence on the available mediating structures keeps us from knowing the “real thing,” one ironic result of which is an unappeasable quest for more advanced media(ting) tools promising better resolution and fidelity.

Cultural anthropologist Mattijs van de Port (2011), in his essay on the human tendency to seek imminence, discusses two routes mostly taken to achieve it. In the first mode, the medium is naturalised to the extent that it is no longer experienced as a medium. He cites the mirror as the best example of a naturalised medium, “a medium that is no longer experienced as such” (van de Port 2011: 76). Pointing at the paradox in considering our mirror image as ourselves, he says the mirror, despite qualifying as a medium (in the sense that it is a carrier of information) has been understood as a “truth-telling” device. It simply invisibilises itself even as it mediates, producing the illusion that what it shows us is the real thing itself. The second mode is one in which the mediation process is flauntingly revealed and highlighted for what it is, which he says, produces its own sensations of immediacy. Transparency, not mystification, is the keyword here in the latter mode, in which revealing the involvement of the human hand is the road to immediacy (van de Port 2011: 84–85).

Would it be possible for us to understand the latter route to imminence as central to the new media ecology we inhabit today, effectively displacing the hitherto investment in (the apparatus-effacing) realism, with a new breed of (objects-oriented) realism that promises direct access to things through an aesthetics of de-mediation? Take the case of the “plexiglass design aesthetic” of news studios in private satellite television across the world (van de Port 2011). The functioning news desk is displayed against the background of the news anchor separated by a transparent wall, letting the viewers see for themselves journalists and technicians moving around in the studio, sitting in front of computer screens, and so on, as if the producer wants us to see the processes of image production. What else do the material and performative dimensions of such design aesthetic work with, other than the logic of transparency that exposes, rather than hiding, “the human hand”? The foregrounding of the mediating act reiterates a stronger sense of an unmediated real.

If we project these two routes to imminence onto the two media regimes we are familiar with, what formulations will that leave us with? If hiding the involvement of the human hand was indeed the (hidden) politics of the regime of “the old media,” of which cinema is so paradigmatic, do contemporary media’s revealing of the human hand result in a corresponding revelation of politics, or does it inaugurate a new media politics in which politics is being played out as a play of mere perspectives? If the new media aesthetics of flaunting the human hand is so appealing that we rely on them to access zones of immediacy and imminence, does it push the domain of the real out of politics? If the foregrounding of mediation simulates im-mediacy, does the playing out of politics induce a sense of accessing the real through a bypassing of politics? Conversely, have aspects of our new media practices prompted us to let go completely of the older split between public as the domain for politics, and home as that which should rather be kept unmediated by politics? And have they resulted in an emergent strong notion that engaging with politics from one’s privacy is re-engaging with oneself and the world “outside of politics,” and thus as liberating, that is, liberating one’s desires as well as the world from various ideologies that seek to compress it in one way or the other?

If we are slanted towards a “yes” to the questions above, we could agree on one final proposition that I would like to put forth for consideration. The arrival of satellite television in India by the mid-1990s, and various post-broadcast social media forms we use from our privacy, in combination with the redeemed status of home as the new locus of re-enchantment, brings a crucial shift in popular notions about politics and its boundaries, introducing a new pattern, rhythm and tempo to practising politics, radically different from the ones that the declining mode of public politics had instituted. The predominant mode of politics today, to which new media tools, social media forms and television debates are central, inaugurates a new relation towards given life and politicisation, one of conceiving politics as boundless, and as desirably so. The most spectacular display of this turn in Kerala was when prime-time television debate became the key site from which the question of women’s entry to Sabarimala temple was politicised, both by the left and the right equally. If we have not managed to identify a productive mode of intervening in the debate on the recent Sabarimala controversy, it is precisely because we have not made sense of certain shifts in popular media practices as introducing a radical transformation in how we relate to politics and the limits of politicisation today. Grihalakshmi’s March 2018 cover is the outcome of even the traditional print media industry attempting to monetise this shift from public politics to politicisation of the self, a shift that renders boundaries for politics redundant.


1 See Gopinathan (2018) in Ladies Finger web magazine for an account of the range of political positions articulated on social media around the cover photo.

2 All translations, including this, are mine.


Antarjanam, Lalitambika (1983): “Home and the Country,” Grihalakshmi, March, pp 33–36.

Bhattathiripad, V T (1929/2013): Adukkalayil Ninnu Arangathekku (From the Kitchen to the Stage), Kottayam: DC Books.

Chatterjee, Partha (1993): Nationalist Thought and the Colonial World, Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press.

Gopinathan, Sharanya (2018): “Why So Much Outrage Over the Grihalakshmi-Gilu Joseph Breastfeeding Mag Cover?,” Ladies Finger, 2 March,

Joseph, Sarah (2010): Essays by Sarah Joseph, Kozhikode: Lipi Books.

Kumar, Udaya (2016): Writing the First Person: Literature, History and Autobiography in Modern Kerala, Ranikhet and Shimla: Permanent Black, Indian Institute of Advanced Studies and Ashoka University.

Pinney, Christopher (2004): Photos of the Gods: The Printed Image and Political Struggle in India, New Delhi: Oxford University Press.

Punathambekar, Aswin (2010): “Ameen Sayani and Radio Ceylon: Notes towards a History of Broadcasting and Bombay Cinema,” BioScope: South Asian Screen Studies, Vol 1, No 2, pp 189–97.

Rajadhyaksha, Ashish (2016): Indian Cinema: A Very Short Introduction, UK: Oxford University Press.

Saraswathiamma, K (2013a): “Jeevitham Ente Nottathil” (Life in My View), K Saraswathiamma, K Saraswathiammayude Kathakal Sampoornam, Kottayam: DC Books, pp 834–37.

— (2013b): “Ramani,” K Saraswathiammayude Kathakal Sampoornam, Kottayam: DC Books, pp 65–84.

van de Port, M (2011): “(Not) Made by the Human Hand: Media Consciousness and Immediacy in the Cultural Production of the Real,” Social Anthropology, Vol 19, No 1, pp 74–89.

Updated On : 30th Aug, 2019


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