I am sorry Ayyappa/Naan ulla vantha ennappa/bhayam kaatti adakkivaykka/pazhaya kalam allappa
(Rough translation: I am sorry Lord Ayyappa. What will happen if I enter (your abode)? It’s no old times when we can be cowed down with fear.)
When Isaivani performed to the song (Thaadikkaran pethi aka Periyar’s granddaughter) on New Year Eve at the Vaanam Arts Festival in Chennai, never did she or her band mates on the stage foresee that a day later, two women were about to make history by scaling Sabarimala, which had been for long forbidden for women. And when they did, the video song became viral, for two reasons – the lyrics and the audience reaction. Unlike the regular audience at music shows, the video saw most of them, instead of banging their heads or swaying to the music, keenly listening to the fierce lyrics and introspecting as the song progressed.
“We do not want people to hear and forget; we want them to introspect,” says Tenma, the leader, arranger, composer and producer of The Casteless Collective, explaining the mission of their band, which he cofounded with filmmaker Pa. Ranjith. “Together, we make music to fight oppression. In this world of forced labels, we choose to remain casteless and bring about a level-playing field. Through our political songs accompanied by beautiful music, we tell horrific stories,” he adds.
Arivarasu Kalainesan, the band’s lyricist, adds, “In Tamil, there are no songs about many crucial matters, like a woman’s preferences in life, liberalism, reservation or casteism. Our songs are about the unsung and the unnoticed people and issues. Yes, we and our songs are political.” True to the words are the 16 songs the band has brought out. The Bhim rap and Quota song discuss reservation, while the rest touch upon manual scavenging, landless farmers, voting, patriarchy, caste killings, Gaja cyclone, untouchability, Dalit identity, gender politics and human rights.
Featuring Tamil Nadu’s indigenous street and folk music, The Casteless Collective takes the voice of the oppressed to a global platform by fusing original gaana (street songs), rap, hip-hop and rock and including folk instruments like tavil, parai, satti and kattai (associated with funeral) to the ensemble of dholak, guitar and drums. The 19-member band was formed a year ago when Pa. Ranjith, who wanted to create political consciousness through music, met Tenma, the founder of Madras Records, a space for independent artistes. When two persons who believe in politicisation of art joined hands, everything slowly fell into place and The Casteless Collective was born.
The members were chosen through auditions among oppari (funeral) singers, folk song writers, tribal musicians and transgender singers. “Our members hail from various backgrounds – our drummer Manu Krishnan is from Kerala, our guitarist is from Punjab, our rapper Abhishek Kurme is from Mumbai… We want to undo labels of caste and of academics from music,” explains Tenma, who started off as a funeral singer in Chennai during his school and college days, went on to become a guitarist, got trained in Hindustani music, learned music production in London and finally groomed musicians from various strata.
All the band members hail from interesting backgrounds. Muthu, the singer, is a school dropout and used to clean sewers until he became an autorickshaw driver and later, an oppari singer, who earned Rs 2000 for an eight-hour non-stop performance at funerals. Abhishek Kurme, the beatboxer, and rappers Tony Sebastian and Rajesh Radhakrishnan hail from the slums of Dharavi in Mumbai. Manu Krishnan, a drummer with over 10 years experience at Metal performances, and Saheb Singh, a guitarist with Indie, Carnatic rock and jazz bands, joined the Collective to be part of a large political music ensemble. Others are Chellamuthu, the self-taught singer, composer and song writer, Gautham, the funeral singer, and Isaivani, the band’s only female singer and the impeccable voice behind the Thaadikkaran pethi and Beef song.
Lyricist Arivarasu, who is also a singer and rapper, grew up in a household without television. He grew up reading Marx, Periyar and Ambedkar and during his engineering college days, used to pen songs and sing about liberty and equality. Now the content manager and principle songwriter of the Collective, Arivu is committed to fight for a caste-free system and discrimination-free world.
He says, “It’s a world of hypocrisy – a woman who, in popular songs, is depicted as a goddess, is killed for making a choice about her life. Thaadikkaran pethi is a song in a feminist viewpoint– of a woman’s preferences about job, life partner and the dress she wears. It’s a liberal anthem where the woman speaks her mind. Our songs discuss the ignored facts – the thousands of manual scavengers whose average lifespan is 40 years as they die every day in drainages; those landless farmers who are never there on the list of any government benefits and live in poverty; the IIT washrooms where wash basins are reserved for vegetarians; the common men who speak loud about oppression and discriminate their sisters at their homes…”. Choosing the name ‘Casteless’ is no denial of the facts either. “We are well-aware that caste exists, but it will be erased in the long run. It’s an era of cultural renaissance; look at the movies and music made these days. Art and culture has started addressing the stark realities,” says Arivu.
Tenma knows it’s not easy though. “People love to listen to our songs that directly address the oppressor. Our shows have 7,000 to 8,000-strong audience, but though they brood over the lyrics, it takes time to sink in. Change is definitely on the way.”
As the band, dressed in blue suits and blazers, vigorously performs their gaana songs on the stage with an image of a suit-sporting Ambedkar in the background, the audience enjoys the music, questioning in their head the bare facts screaming at their face. Over the past year, they have performed three big concerts. Their venture titled Roots focuses on finding artistes and traditional musicians from the grassroots; their regular weekly venture Therukkural sees the band performing on the streets. As Arivu puts it, “If you need to convey a message, you don’t need a stage or a mic. If you don’t have a path, make it!”
