Ghosts of the darkroom: the custodians of Thiruvananthapuram’s collective memory

In a sun-drenched corner of East Fort, the air no longer carries the sharp, vinegary sting of fixer chemicals. But for the men who have spent half a century behind the viewfinder, the ghosts of the darkroom still linger. As the world celebrates the bicentennial (200th anniversary) of the first permanent photograph, Thiruvananthapuram’s veteran lensmen—the quiet guardians of our collective memory—reflect on a craft that has moved from a rare miracle to a digital heartbeat.

The alchemy of the darkroom

At Paramount Studios, managing director V. Suresh remembers the “holy” ritual of the 1950s. Founded by his father, N. Velayudhan, the studio became a rite of passage for every graduate in Kerala. “We were the ‘gown and hood’ people,” he smiles. He recalls late nights spent with his family, washing film in running water, their hands stained by the alchemy of the trade.

Mr. Suresh’s own “moment of development” came during his college days. When a professional photographer fell ill, his father sent him to cover a high-profile engagement. “When my father saw the prints, he was proud. That was the day I knew—this is my life.” From capturing the poise of Indira Gandhi and Rajiv Gandhi to the grit of Dhirubhai Ambani, Mr. Suresh has seen the city’s heart change.

Today, his studio uses artificial intelligence (AI) to heal torn memories, yet his philosophy remains rooted in the human spirit: “A photographer needs commanding power and confidence. To me, photography is just happiness.”

The magic of glass and salt

A few streets away at Ravi Studio, 75-year-old Sukumaran Nair sits amidst the echoes of 55 years of service. He began in the era of glass plates—fragile, heavy, and unforgiving. “I never imagined a world without film,” he admits. He once thought colour was a fad that would never replace the dignity of black-and-white.

Mr. Nair, who once captured the ethereal presence of Mother Teresa, has spent five decades framing the “evolution” of school life. He has watched generations of children grow up through his lens, their fashions shifting from stiff pleats to Gen Z trends. While he laments that the ubiquitous mobile phone has made the professional photographer “unseen,” he insists that this craft requires a blend of theory and practical knowledge.

The colour revolution

At Babas Studio, established in 1956, Jayashankar Balu recalls its origins at the Putharikandam Maidan exhibitions. “People had to wait so long for prints back then; we opened at East Fort just to bridge that gap.” In the 1980s, Mr. Balu helped pioneer the colour revolution in the city, turning the “miracle of colour” into a reality for the common man.

His beloved Nikon FM-2 sits as a testament to an era of precision. “We used to take 100 portraits a day in the 1970s; now we are lucky to get 25,” he says, noting the generational divide between the millennial’s love for a hardbound album and Gen Z’s thirst for soft copies. To him, AI is a welcome tool, but only if guided by a “human touch.”

As the 200th anniversary of the first photograph passes, these veterans remain our city’s living archives. They are the men who taught us how to stand still, how to smile, and—most importantly—how to be remembered.

(The writer interned at The Hindu, Thiruvananthapuram).