Medam to Chingam: The History of Vishu and the Shift in Kerala’s Malayalam Calendar

Vishu is the Malayalam New Year and is celebrated by Malayalees in Kerala, Tulu Nadu, Mahe and other parts of the world. It falls on the first day of the month of Medam — the first month of the Solar calendar used in Malabar — signifying the solar new year as the sun moves into the zodiac sign of Aries.  In 2026, Vishu falls on Wednesday, April 15, 2026.

The word "Vishu" itself comes from Sanskrit, meaning "equal," and the festival celebrates the vernal equinox, when day and night are roughly equal in length. It marks the first day of the astronomical year and is a celebration of new beginnings, hope, and prosperity.

Vishu has both astronomical and mythological significance:

Astronomically, it marks the sun's entry into Aries, beginning a new solar cycle. It is also considered an auspicious day for farmers, as it marks the beginning of a new agricultural cycle — the belief being that a good harvest in the coming year depends on how the first day of the year goes.

Mythologically, one significance is that on this day, Lord Krishna killed the demon Narakasura, and the festival is celebrated to mark his victory. Lord Vishnu is worshipped as the "God of Time," and Krishna idols are prominently displayed during the celebrations.

A change of calendars 1201 years ago

In 825 CE, Kerala (or the region that’s now Kerala) switched to a different calendar (which is also a solar sidereal calendar) for which the first month is Chingam and New Year in this calendar (the 1st of Chingam) falls around August 17. The Kollam Era calendar is the one more widely used today for official and everyday purposes in Kerala, which is why many Malayalees also consider Chingam 1 a new year of sorts. But Vishu's roots lie in the older solar sidereal calendar where Medam comes first.

Why did Kerala (for want of a better way of describing the region that’s now Kerala) switch from one calendar to another? There are various theories.

1. The most popular theory is that in the year 825 CE, a great convention in the town of Kollam (which was called Quilon by the British, which continued until 2012) at the behest of King Kulashekhara Varman, who was the Chera king. At the convention, the Kollavarsham calendar was commenced by royal decree passed by Udayamarthanda Varma, the local ruler at whose seat (Kollam) this convention took place. According to one scholar, Kollavarsham also marked a political transition — from the reign of the Perumals to a new caste-based rule. The commencement of Kollavarsham was, in this view, a declaration of political and cultural change in Kerala.

2. A second theory (propounded by Hermann Gundert) is that Kollavarsham started as part of erecting a new Shiva Temple in Kollam, and because of the strictly local and religious background, other regions did not follow this system at first. Once the Kollam port emerged as an important trade center, however, other regions also started to follow the new calendar system.

3. A third theory links the calendar's origin to the birth of the great philosopher Adi Shankaracharya, whose birth has been dated to around 825 CE by some accounts.

4. It has also been theorised that the new era commemorated the foundation of Kollam by Maruwan Sapir Iso, leader of Persian Christian settlers and trading guilds, following the liberation of the Kingdom of Venad from Chola rule.

In any event, the rise of Kollam as a major international port played a big role in spreading the new calendar. As merchants from Persia, China, and the Arab world converged on Kollam, having a locally standardized calendar likely served practical administrative and commercial purposes.

Tamil New Year and Vishu: Any difference?

The old Malayalam calendar was the same as the current Tamil calendar, which hasn’t undergone any change since the Sangam period when records began to be kept. Both were solar sidereal calendars with the same core principles:

• Months are defined by the Sun’s transit into each sidereal zodiac sign (Rashi/Sankranti).
• The New Year begins on Mesha Sankranti (Sun entering Aries/Mesha Rashi), which marks Medam 1 in Malayalam nomenclature or Chithirai 1 in Tamil.
• This is the same astronomical event that traditionally started the year in both regions.

In most years, the Tamil New Year falls on the same day as Vishu. However, in 2026, the Tamil New Year will be celebrated on April 14^th and Vishu will be commemorated on April 15^th.  This gap of one day in 2026 highlights a practical, regional nuance rather than a fundamental calendar difference:

In 2026, the Mesha Sankranti moment occurs on Tuesday, April 14 at approximately 9:39 AM IST (exact timing varies slightly by panchang, but generally mid-morning). Tamil tradition takes the day of the Sankranti itself as the New Year, regardless of the exact hour (as long as it falls after sunrise). In current Kerala/Malayalam panchang practice, when the Mesha Sankranti moment occurs after sunrise, the festival day is the next sunrise for Vishu Kani preparations and rituals. This is not a “calendar split” between Tamil and old Malayalam systems — it’s a modern observance convention difference between Tamil Nadu’s panchangs and Kerala’s for the same underlying astronomical event.

What is a solar sidereal calendar?

Sidereal comes from the Latin word sidus, meaning “star” or “constellation.” In astronomy and timekeeping, “sidereal” refers to any measurement or cycle that is calculated relative to the fixed stars in the sky, rather than relative to the Sun or the seasons. Imagine the sky has a huge, fixed “star map” (the constellations of the zodiac). A sidereal period is the time it takes for the Sun, Moon, or a planet to return to the exact same spot against that fixed star background. This is different from tropical (or “solar-seasonal”) measurements, which are tied to the Sun’s position relative to Earth’s equator and the changing seasons (equinoxes and solstices).

A digression: What about the rest of India?

The majority of Indian communities follow lunar or lunisolar calendars. The purely solar calendars of Kerala and Tamil Nadu are an exception to the rule in India.

The main lunisolar calendars followed in India are the following:

1. Vikram Samvat is the most widely used calendar in India. It is a lunisolar calendar using twelve lunar months and an intercalary month each sidereal year. Its epoch is 57 BCE and is used across northern and western India, and is the official calendar of Nepal. Rajasthan, Gujarat, Madhya Pradesh, Uttar Pradesh, Punjab, and Himachal Pradesh all follow variants of this. The Sikh community also follows this calendar.

2. Shalivahana Shaka is popular in the Deccan region of southern India and forms the basis for India's official national calendar. It is followed in Maharashtra, Goa, Karnataka, Andhra Pradesh, and Telangana. Their new year — called Ugadi by Kannadigas and Telugus — falls on the new moon of the lunar month of Chaitra, typically in March or April.

3. Bengali Calendar is used in West Bengal and Bangladesh. It gives rise to the Bengali new year Poila Boishakh in mid-April.

4. Odia, Assamese, and Maithili calendars: It is used in Odisha, Assam, and Bihar/ Jharkhand respectively.

The Muslims follow a purely lunar calendar — the Islamic Hijri calendar — with no intercalary months to sync with the solar year, which is why Ramadan and Eid migrate through all seasons over a 33-year cycle.

Early Buddhist communities adopted the ancient Vedic calendar and Buddhist festivals continue to be scheduled according to a lunar system. Similarly, ancient Jain traditions follow the same lunisolar system as the Hindu calendar for festivals and inscriptions.

Further digression: How Lunisolar Calendars Work

The Hindu lunisolar calendar is based on lunar months corresponding to the phases of the moon. In one year, there are twelve months of 29.5 days, accounting for a total of 354 days. The shortfall means that the date of each festival moves back 11 days each year. To rectify this, an extra "leap month" — called an Adhik Maas or Purushottam Maas — is added about once every three years. This is how the calendar keeps festivals roughly anchored to the same season year after year.

Within each month there are two fortnights called pakshas ("wings"), based on the waxing and waning of the moon. The waning moon fortnight is called Krishna paksha (dark fortnight) and the waxing moon fortnight is called Shukla paksha (bright fortnight). Each half contains 15 lunar days called tithis. Some observant Hindus fast on the 11th day (Ekadashi) of each fortnight.

There's also a regional split within lunisolar systems: regions following the Amavasyanta (or Amanta) calendar conclude each month on the new moon day, followed primarily in southern and eastern India, while the Purnimanta calendar ends the month on the full moon day, followed mostly in northern and northwestern states.

Back to Kerala and Vishu: How is Vishu celebrated in Kerala?

1. Vishu Kani – The Auspicious “First Sight”

This is the heart of Vishu celebrations and the most important ritual.

• The night before Vishu, the elders of the house carefully arrange a traditional brass vessel (uruli) or tray with auspicious items symbolizing abundance.
• At dawn (often before sunrise), family members (especially children) are led blindfolded into the prayer room. They open their eyes to see the “Vishu Kani” first, ensuring the year begins with prosperity and positivity.

Typical items in a traditional Vishu Kani include:

• A lit nilavilakku (traditional oil lamp)
• Idol or picture of Lord Krishna (or Vishnu)
• Golden shower flowers (Kani Konna / Cassia fistula)
• Raw rice, coconut (split), golden cucumber, lemon, jackfruit, mango, banana
• Mirror (Aranmula kannadi or ordinary mirror)
• Coins, gold ornaments, betel leaves, arecanut
• Fresh paddy sheaves and turmeric

2. Vishu Kaineetam

After viewing the Kani, elders (usually grandparents or parents) give money or small gifts to children and younger family members. The amount traditionally ends in “1” (e.g., ₹11, ₹51, ₹101) as a symbol of good fortune. New clothes (Vishukodi) are also gifted.

3. Feasting – Vishu Kanji & Vishu Sadya

Food plays a big role:

• Morning: Many families start with Vishu Kanji (a special rice porridge) or Vishu Katta (a steamed rice cake).
• Lunch: The grand Vishu Sadya—a vegetarian feast served on a banana leaf. It includes rice, sambar, aviyal, olan, erissery, thoran, pachadi, kichadi, pappadam, and payasams (especially ada pradhaman or chakka pradhaman). Bitter-sweet dishes like mango pachadi and neem preparations symbolise life’s mixed experiences.

4. Other Traditions

Fireworks (Vishu Padakkam): Children and families burst crackers and sparklers, especially in the evening, adding joy and noise to the celebrations.

Temple Visits: Devotees flock to temples (especially Guruvayur Sri Krishna Temple, Sri Padmanabhaswamy Temple in Thiruvananthapuram, or local Krishna temples) for special poojas and to see the temple’s own Vishu Kani.

Family Time & New Beginnings: People wear new clothes, exchange greetings, and many consider it auspicious to start new ventures or make important decisions on this day.

Wishing you a prosperous Vishu filled with joy, good food, and bright beginnings! 🌼✨

Book Review: The Gypsy Goddess, by Meena Kandasamy

If you are one of those Indians who were brought up on a diet of Soviet literature, readily available in India till the early nineties, you would be forgiven for assuming that Meena Kandasamy’s debut novel The Gypsy Goddess was written by a winner of the USSR State Prize in Literature and Arts and published sometime in the late 1970s or maybe even earlier. The subject matter – the massacre of forty odd Dalit labourers and their families by henchmen employed by upper caste landlords - is definitely a topic that would have fitted in within the milieu of Soviet literature. Since Kandasamy is known to be a poet, I had expected something lyrical, but no, Kandasamy adopts the tone (and even authority) of a Soviet era prose writer as she builds a novel around the massacre that took place at a place named Kilvenmani in Tamil Nadu’s Thanjavur (earlier known as Tanjore) district in 1968. If Kandasamy’s English was anything less than blemishless and beautiful, such an affected pitch/style would have fallen flat, but no, Kandasamy carries it off and one ends up doffing one’s hat in admiration at the end of the novel, which I assume must be a slim volume, since I got through it pretty quickly on my Kindle.

Kilvenmani is a village where the poor refer to a car as “pleasure”, something poor people in Tamil Nadu did even in the 80s, if my memory serves me right. Gopalakrishna Naidu is the main tyrant in the novel. A father-figure for the landlords of Nagapattinam, this balding, middle-aged man runs the Paddy Producers’ Association and seeks to address the interests of his own class in a manner which reminded me of several characters from a collection of Soviet Armenian Short Stories I read ages ago and which I have reviewed here. As Gopalakrishna Naidu schemes and plots and fights to replace the red communist flags with the yellow flags of the Paddy Producers Association, we the readers gain a ring-side view to the bloody tussle between the proletariat and the exploitative landlords.

In chapter 5 of her novel, Kandasamy publishes a Marxist Party Pamphlet which takes stock of the situation of those times, even as it calls on the workers to unite and fight for their rights. It is an unequal fight, the DMK Party in power has done precious little for the downtrodden and the landless poor suffer extreme hardship and oppression as they seek to obtain basic living wages from the landowning class. The policemen are tools in the hands of the landlords. Kandasamy singles out stalwarts of the Dravidian movement such as Karunanidhi and even Periyar EV Ramasamy for special treatment. We are told that after coming to power with the help of the Communist parties, Karunanidhi boldly proclaimed that the Communists would be crushed with an iron fist. As for the great Periyar, Kandasamy would have us know that “he was angry (about the massacre) and he showed it. There was little else that could be done when the government was actually run by his protégé.” Finally when the Landlords are tried on the scales of Justice, the High Court judges do a better job defending the landlords than even the defence lawyers and acquit them all.

Since The Gypsy Goddess is part story, part communist commentary, one is treated to quotations from individuals like Gramsci and post-modernists such as Derrida. Most of the commentary is a Kandasamy’s monologue, but as I said earlier, she does it well and I have no complaints.

Is Kandasamy a dyed-in-the-wool-communist or is she an open-minded writer willing to consider different points of view? The character Maayi suggests that she belongs to the latter class. Maayi, we are told, is the widow of the village’s witch doctor who once tamed evil ghosts and vampires and chased away devils and demons. When I first encountered Maayi, I assumed that she would be placed under the guillotine by the brave workmen of Kilvenmani. But no, they do nothing of that sort and one sees Maayi comfort the survivors of the massacre.

There were a few things I wishes Kandasamy had done differently. I would have liked to get to know atleast one of the victims much better, at least as well as I got to know Gopalakrishna Naidu. At times, I did wish Kandasamy would get on with the story and stop pontificating, but then, the story of the massacre could have been written in two pages and the pithy annotations make this novel what it is.

Once again, let me reiterate that Kandasamy writes exceedingly well. When describing the fire that wiped out so many innocent lives trapped in an enclosed space, Kandasamy says that “Born without eyes, the fire had used its feet to move. Lacking the forgiveness of water, it had burnt them with blindness and bitterness. So, that morning, the cheri did not carry the roses-and-marigolds smell of death. Only the coppery sick- sweet smell of charred flesh: a smell like nothing else, a smell that was almost a taste, a smell that was meant to be smuggled to the grave. Through the smoke clouds that hung heavier than mist, the police van returned to Kilvenmani to fetch the dead.” Since the official death toll was forty two, the two small babies who were charred to death were “habeas corpses”, Kandasamy proposes. As for the survivors of the massacre, “the police, in love with variety, generously give everyone multiple sections of the Indian Penal Code.”

Why the title The Gypsy Goddess? No, I am not going to play spoilsport and give that one away. When you have this book in your hands, you’ll find the answer in Kandasamy’s second chapter.

How does it all end? Does Kandasamy offer the victims even a semblance of justice or does she leave them waiting for a Communist dawn to receive reparations? Remember, this is ultimately a work of fiction and the author does have some freedom in this regard. Go on all of you, whether you are champagne socialists like me or genuine communists or someone just trying to make sense of the extreme poverty one sees in India, rush out and buy this book and read it to find out if the Kilvenmani massacre victims receive some form of closure from Kandasamy.