As you pass through the forested areas of Kerala, you may notice hundreds of tall, thin trees with small semi-circular taps. These are rubber trees, and their sap is one of Kerala’s biggest natural resources. Where does all this rubber go? In the years of Indira Ghandi, there was a concerted effort in India to curb the population. One of those initiatives was the production of male contraceptives – i.e. condoms. In 1966, the Hindustan Latex Factory was constructed in Trivandrum, and became the largest producer of condoms for India. In 2007, it was the largest producer of condoms in the world! Having found this information (and its aesthetics) more than interesting, my classmate Julia had the wonderful idea to film the inner workings of the factory.
Our auto rickshaw pulled up to the front of the factory compound, fortified by tall fences and guarded by government security. We were skeptical about getting inside, as we had not informed anyone of our visit. The guard gave us two official looking badges and told us to go to HR. The air conditioning overwhelmed me as I stepped inside. It’s interesting how offices can be so cushy while working areas are so -- well, not. We continued to the HR office where a young woman tried to convince us that it is only possible to see the factory with written consent from our universities and the factory manager. Julia wasn’t having it, so finally they let us meet with the manager. After waiting around for him to get out of a “very important meeting,” the young woman escorted us up to his even more air-conditioned office. It was bigger than my apartment.
“What is it exactly you want to do?” He asked, condescendingly.
“We just wanted to see your factory, and maybe get some video of the aesthetics of the machines. The factory name would not be mentioned.” Julia assured him.
“Can I see a business card?”
“We don’t have any with us.”
“Well, we need to see a card. You should have one if you are a professional.”
“I have my student card. That’s all I brought with me,” her voice edging toward annoyance.
He proceeded to write down our school information and Student ID numbers. What was he going to do with those anyway?
“Video is out of the question, because information might leak to our competitors.”
Competitors??
“But you can have a tour. Usually you have to have a written request from your University, so I am doing you a favor.”
After they confiscated our phones and video equipment the wonderful tour of the condom factory began! We felt like we had entered Willy Wonka’s. First: the production of the condom. The smell of melting latex in giant vats filled our nostrils. Two long conveyer belts of condom-shaped metal molds were dipped into various-colored liquid latex, cooled, and dipped again. Finally, a solution was added and the condom shot down into a cylindrical revolving drying chamber. As the young woman engineer showed us all the stages with utmost seriousness, Julia and I tried desperately not to laugh.
After production, the condoms are tested for strength, durability and shelf life. Our next tour guide gave us some great looking blue hairnets and led us into the testing facility. Lined up along the wall were what looked like hotel ice machines with water-filled condoms hanging in rows. A man stood in front of them squeezing each one, testing for holes or defects. On the machine was a sign that read, “Two testing methods: Pull and squeeze or twist and squeeze.” Julia and I looked at each other, baffled by the surreal situation. In the next room we saw a man with earplugs on. A loud pop caught us off guard. Several plexi-glass compartments about 3 square feet in area stood against the wall. Inside each one, a condom was being blown up like a balloon. “Once they reach full capacity they explode. Our condoms can withstand more than double what our competitors can,” the tour guide proudly informed us as another popped. The transparent compartments were covered with the colorful remnants of debilitated condoms.
The last portion of our tour was the packaging department. Here, the sounds of industrial India were at their finest. Men and women factory workers supervised precisely engineered machines that rolled, separated, and packed the condoms. “This is where any extra flavors and the lubricant is added,” the young man in charge of the floor told us with a straight face. He also told us that the condoms produced for export to other countries were longer in length than those produced for the Indian government. Luckily, Julia realized that her sound recording device was still in her purse, and she got most of this audio on tape.
The most surreal aspect of our tour was that this factory of sexual products exists in possibly one of the most conservative states in India. In a society that doesn’t teach sex education, carefully censors sex in media, and considers going outside in a sleeveless top indecent exposure, this factory is a bit of a conundrum to me. I guess contradictions exist everywhere, and I am happy to say in this case, it was an amusing one.
Malayalam Words
Maram = Tree
Thozhil saala = Factory
Baranakoodam= Government
Anuvadikkuka = to permit, allow
Thozhilaali = Worker
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