from the music video Enjoy Enjaami

​‘Enjoy Enjaami’ celebrates the lives of our common ancestors, which preceded oppressive socio-economic institutions such as capital, caste, race, gender, nation, private property and so on. The song transports us to a time when humanity was at its harmonious best, without being muddled by oppressive hierarchies the world sees today.

- Karthik Raja Karuppusamy

​Arivu’s 'Enjoy Enjaami' Is a Journey in
Discovering Roots and Celebrating Equality

To understand the political subtext in the lines of 'Enjoy Enjaami',
we have to delve into the life and craft of its lyricist, Arivu.

by Karthik Raja Karuppusamy in The Wire

The hypnotic tune of ‘Cuckoo Cuckoo’ is breaking the internet, crossing 100 million views on YouTube. Never before has an indie Tamil music project become a global sensation, amassing so much popular and critical acclaim. Sung by Arivu and Dhee, with music composed by Santhosh Narayanan, it’s the first song from A.R. Rahman’s brand new label, Maajja.

To understand the political subtext in the lines of ‘Enjoy Enjaami’, we have to delve into the life and craft of its lyricist, Arivu. The song’s lyrical fabric is weaved by Arivu’s experience, particularly him being the grandson of Valliamma. Arivu’s grandmother worked as a landless migrant labourer, whose ancestors were forcefully transported to Sri Lanka to work in the tea estates. Later, some of those migrant labourers were forcefully repatriated to India. One such migrant was Valliamma.

Elaborating on his maternal lineage, Arivu says, “Our family went to Sri Lanka 200 years ago to work as landless labourers in the tea estates. They returned to India 60 years ago, after the Sirima-Shastri Pact. My grandmother couldn’t even say goodbye to her sisters. To this day, we don’t know if they are alive.”

Either by a stroke of luck or by the design of destiny, rapper Arivu got a professional assignment that provided him with the opportunity to visit Sri Lanka. During that trip, he went on a journey to find his roots – his estranged maternal family line. It turned out to be a spiritual and emotional rediscovery, during which the creative kernel of ‘Enjoy Enjaami’ took shape.

‘Enjoy Enjaami’ celebrates the lives of our common ancestors, which preceded oppressive socio-economic institutions such as capital, caste, race, gender, nation, private property and so on. The song transports us to a time when humanity was at its harmonious best, without being muddled by oppressive hierarchies the world sees today.

A brief survey of Arivu’s craft reveals that a vision of dignified human life and an egalitarian world is at the core of lyrics. For this purpose, he often looks to the work and life of Dr B.R. Ambedkar, one of the greatest philosophers, civil rights activists and statesmen of the 20th century. Arivu has written rap numbers like ‘Jai Bhim Anthem’, ‘Jai Bhim Thalaimurai’ and ‘Onru Ser’, which recount Ambedkar’s struggles and victories against the hierarchical caste order. Even in his commercial hit numbers like ‘Vaathi Raid’ in the Vijay-starrer Master, Arivu has strategically weaved in lines like ‘Karpi, ondru ser (Educate and organise)’, the very motto spelt out by Ambedkar for the liberation of oppressed communities.

Similarly, in ‘Enjoy Enjaami’ too, Arivu paid tribute to Mahad Satyagrah of March 1927, spearheaded by Ambedkar to assert the rights of the Mahar community to drink water from the lake. Ambedkar questioned why the ‘untouchables’ were prohibited from accessing water, whereas the ‘birds and beasts’ were allowed to drink from the lake. Arivu’s lyrics – “The lakes and ponds belong to the dogs, foxes and cats too” – echo the egalitarian vision that Ambedkar fought for.

In taking us through the journey of the evolution of early human civilisation, ‘Enjoy Enjaami’, at least for a split second, makes one recalibrate one’s role in space and time, in the larger scheme of the universe. The song poses a challenge to the self-importance we give ourselves and our assumed superior identities, by juxtaposing this with the common heritage of humanity during the time of our ancestors.

The land guarded by my ancestors
The devotee that dances
The earth rotates around
And the rooster crows
Its excretions fertilised the forests
Its turned into our country
Then our home too

An assortment of singing techniques bring out the depths of the song. While Dhee’s voice is amazing, Arivu proves to be a veritable powerhouse of different vocals. Further, he’s a multi-genre artist who can write and perform rap, folk, Gaana and Oppari, to name a few genres. Oppari occupies a special place in Arivu’s heart and he considers it to be the Indian form of hip-hop.

Through the lines of Oppari curated by late pavalar Mugil, Arivu expresses the troubles of the generations of landless labourers who have toiled to create profitable tea estates and skyscrapers, but do not own any land for themselves. In this instance, Oppari, which is popularly considered a mourning art, was deployed as a cry of resistance by showing that a labourer toiled hard but couldn’t enjoy the fruits of her labour.

One could not help but juxtapose this with Krishna’s famous dictum from the Bhagavat Gita: ‘Do your work, don’t expect the fruits of your labour.’ Arivu’s placement of Oppari could be seen as a cultural counter-narrative, expressing the desires and disquietude of the marginalised masses as opposed to the hegemonic narratives propagated by the elites.

I planted five trees
Nurtured a beautiful garden
My garden is flourishing
Yet my throat remains dry

Despite being enrolled in an engineering college, Arivu was penning poetry, performing mimicry, writing lyrics, singing songs and showcasing his craft wherever he got the opportunity. Even back in those days, he was entrepreneurial enough to build a band from scratch with the support of his friends and was performing at various events. He barely made any money from these gigs, but he invested whatever he earned to record his songs professionally in studios. In the nascent days of YouTube, Arivu circulated his songs to a small circle of his friends and acquaintances by email.

Coming across director Pa. Ranjith’s speeches substantially influenced Arivu’s priorities as an artist. After the release of Attakathi in 2012, Arivu was increasingly attracted to the radical intellectual and political questions raised by Pa. Ranjith on public platforms. The egalitarian socio-political vision expounded by the director served as a guiding light for Arivu on using his art to give voice to the struggles of the oppressed and marginalised.

A crucial milestone in his life was when Arivu auditioned for the band Casteless Collective, and was selected. He not only had the camaraderie of fellow musicians, but also access to a massive platform to showcase his lyrical and singing talents. This opportunity, he says, forced him to push his creative energies to its limits. He has tapped into his reading as well as the collective experience of the society we live in to craft the lyrics we hear in various Casteless Collective songs: Jai Bhim Anthem (sung by Arivu), Quota (sung by Muthu) and Beef Song (sung by Isai Vani).

The ‘Jai Bhim Anthem’ rap is a biography of Ambedkar, who fought to recover the dignity of the oppressed masses. It recounts the dark history of social oppression and how Ambedkar played a decisive role in challenging caste hierarchies. ‘Quota Song’ is a poignant yet defiant narrative of the historical and intellectual reasoning behind why reservations exist. Taking its strength from the lived experiences of historically oppressed communities, ‘Quota Song’ challenges the vicious propaganda of the upper castes against the legitimacy and fairness of reservations in education and employment. It emphasises reservation as a right of the historically marginalised rather than the charity of the state, a lesson which, unfortunately, even the hundred-year legacy of the Dravidian movement couldn’t drive home.

Alongside working with the Casteless Collective, Arivu has released numerous independent songs. His track ‘Anti-Indian’ challenges the jingoistic nationalism that’s sweeping the country by raising counter-questions through his rap on the responsibility of the state for its citizens’ welfare. It was much appreciated for its lyrics that exposed the fault lines in the seductive rhetoric of nationalism peddled by the Hindutva forces. ‘Kallamouni’ slams privileged liberals who are notorious for their selective outrage and calculated silences. It hits on this class of political mercenaries and armchair philosophers who use political outrage for their selfish ends instead of fighting against all forms of injustice and oppression.

‘Sanda Seivom’ has become the protest anthem of the anti-Citizenship (Amendment) Act protests and questions the state’s motives. One of his recent songs, ‘Enga Nilam Enga’, written for the short film Soru directed by Tamil Prabhakaran, articulates the pains of the farmers and the politics involved in appropriating farmers’ labour. This song also highlights the concerns of the farmers’ protests that continue to rock the nation’s capital. Despite being busy writing for movie projects like Sarpatta Parambarai, Kadaisi Vivasayi, Jagamae Thanthiram, Doctor, etc., Arivu continues to speak truth to power through his independent music projects.
​
Arivu’s oeuvre, at its core, touches the lives of the oppressed and marginalised. At times it celebrates and soothes them; in other instances, it thunders as their voice against injustice. When quizzed about the inspiration for ‘Enjoy Enjaami’, Arivu categorical states that it is not merely a product of his individual genius, rather it’s an artistic effort to see himself as an extension of the generations that preceded him. The true roots of ‘Enjoy Enjaami’ can be traced back to the untold and uncountable pasts that have been lived by oppressed communities. In more than one way, we need more Arivus to both celebrate the beauty and critique the injustices of our collective humanity.

Karthik Raja Karuppusamy is a doctoral candidate at the Centre for Political Studies at Jawaharlal Nehru University, New Delhi. He is currently co-editing The Shudras: Vision for a New Path with Kancha Ilaiah Shepherd for Penguin Publications.

Dalit Rap Is India’s New Musical Vanguard

Musician Sumeet Samos on how Dalit music has helped
mobilize against caste violence and institutional discrimination

BY SUMEET SAMOS IN MUSIC , OPINION | 22 MAR 21
in Frieze arts magazine

‘Unlike our ancestors, we won’t remain calm!’ declare Chennai-based hip-hop group The Casteless Collective in their hit single ‘Quota’ (2018). The song went viral thanks to its sharp criticism of India’s caste system, which is often used to humiliate and harass lower-caste Dalits. That same year, I wrote and released the track ‘Ladai Seekh Le’ (Keep Resisting), which names the infamous ‘honour’ massacres of Dalits by higher-caste Hindus – Bathani Tola (1996), Karamchedu (1985), Laxmanpur Bathe (1997) and Tsunduru (1991) – as well as those Dalit university students who took their own lives after being bullied by their higher-caste peers. The opening lines of ‘Ladai Seekh Le’ are: ‘From the time I was born, you stamped me with the tag of a criminal. Provoked by this, I asked you why there have been thousands of castes for centuries, why there are these highs and lows among humans. You have the answers, but you remain silent because you are the culprits. The worth of my existence can be heard in your caste abuses while your midnight freedoms turn our caste neighbourhoods to ashes.’ 
 
Ours is an anti-caste rap. It is steeped in the history of large-scale Dalit mobilizations against caste violence, institutional discrimination and anti-Dalit policy. It commemorates crucial events in Dalit history. Paying tribute to anti-caste personalities, it addresses social stereotypes while also demanding equality and respect. Recently, two significant shifts occurred in the Indian rap scene. The first was the move from underground to mainstream around 2016, largely driven by the speed at which independently produced music videos could be distributed. The second was an increase in the genre’s popularity beyond a few major metropolitan areas. Outside of Bombay, for instance, gully rap became popularized by the release of the 2019 Bollywood movie Gully Boy, as well as by the launch of new record labels like Azadi Records, Gully Gang, IncInk and Kalamkaar. ‘Hip-Hop Homeland’ (2016–ongoing), a web docuseries on 101 India, has further expanded the genre’s reach across digital media. Brands such as Budweiser, Pepsi and Red Bull have begun to capitalize on the music’s popularity by incorporating rappers into their ads, some of whom now have more than a million followers on social media. In 2019, MTV launched India’s first rap reality-television show, MTV Hustle. 
 
Popularity is not the only metric of success, of course. When these musicians claim to speak hard-hitting truths, how often do they address the issues that are most relevant to Dalit people? True anti-caste rappers – such as Arivu (a founding member of The Casteless Collective), Harish Kamble, Rap Toli and myself, who have voiced our opinions about caste in our lyrics – have experienced the system’s numbing effects first-hand. Despite the rise in popularity of the genre, there are still striking differences between the crowds that anti-caste rap and mainstream commercial rap cater to and the venues in which they are performed. The former is usually staged at protest sites in Dalit localities with the intention of mobilizing the crowds to collective action, while the latter mostly caters to clubs and festivals with the sole aim of entertainment.
 
Until Arivu and I started addressing these themes in the mid-2010s, the hip-hop scene in India was largely oblivious to anti-caste discourse. Since our lyrics directly criticized Indian society, mainstream platforms would rarely endorse our performances. However, two events in 2016 prompted countrywide mobilizations calling for justice against the violence and institutional discrimination suffered daily by Dalits: the suicide of research scholar Rohith Vemula in Hyderabad and the flogging of several youths in Una, Gujarat. These tragedies pushed anti-caste rap to the fore and, within a short time, we acquired a substantial audience of a newly politicized Dalit youth, for whom our songs hold huge significance.
 
It’s still rare for mainstream rappers with a broader audience to discuss caste, however. While they may make the odd veiled allusion to casteism as one of a number of social problems, they fear the reaction of Indian society as a whole, whose socio-cultural institutions are largely governed by the higher castes. But it’s time the entire rap community began to openly address the caste system and help permanently dismantle India’s most deep-rooted and destructive social issue.
 
This article first appeared in frieze issue 217 with the headline ‘Sound and Fury’.
​

The Casteless Collective

The Casteless Collective is a “protest music ensemble” - a group of “socially and musically diverse” artists from Chennai brought together with the particular intent of making music that speaks truth to power and brings issues of caste discrimination and inequality to the fore. - from website Poetly (https://poetly.substack.com/p/jai-bhim-anthem-the-casteless-collective)
​

Anti-Caste Hip Hop

A Process Appreciation
​

The music video Enjoy Enjaami has been seen by more than four million viewers.  Its genre? Try anti-caste hip hop.
​
There was a time not long ago in the West when protest music was primarily sing-along music accompanied by guitars.  If you live in the United States, think of Bob Dylan and Joan Baez, or Pete Seeger and Phil Ochs.  This kind of protest music still exists. See, for example, Let Love Be Your Guide: The Music of Dan and Claudia Zanes.

But in many ways sing-along, guitar accompanied protest music has been replaced by music videos and hip-hop.  Enjoy Enjammi is an example from South Asia, illustrating the fact that hip-hop, born in the West, has now spread throughout the world as the music of emplowerment.  

Enjoy Enjaami speaks to ethnic Tamils with ties to Sri Lanka; to people throughout South Asia who want to understand the legacy of colonialism and the rule of privileged classes; and to people in different parts of the world who want to think about, and struggle with, similar issues.  Of course, videos alone cannot create a better world.  But they can carry at least three important powers: communication, mobilization, and support.  They can communicate protests against oppression and hopes for a better world; they can mobilize people to live from that hope help realize it; and they can offer support to people who share the hope and who form digital music communities.  

The process movement shares the hope but lacks the videos.  It has not yet caught up to hip-hop, except through the work of its hip-hop musician, Jon Gill.  The movement itself is a network of people from different parts of the world who act out of four hopes: (1) that people can find personal wholeness in whatever circumstances they find themselves, (2) that they can help build and live in whole or compassionate communities that are just, sustainable, and joyful, (3) that they can help build and enjoy the fruits of ecological civilizations where people live in harmony with the natural world, (4) that that they  can approximate these civilizations with help from non-mechanistic, holistic ways of thinking that integrate science, art, ethics, and spirituality.  

Enjoy Enjaami illustrates the four hopes in musical form, with special focus on the hope for compassionate communities, free of caste and discrimination, and ecological civilizations in which people live with respect and care for the community of life, cognizant that we humans are nested within, and part of, a larger web of life. 

The land guarded by my ancestors
The devotee that dances
The earth rotates around
And the rooster crows
Its excretions fertilised the forests
Its turned into our country
Then our home too

The video itself is an illustration of holistic thinking in musical and choreographic form.  As such, it functions as what the philosopher Whitehead calls a lure for feeling.  Of course, some will receive the lure quite casually, as mere entertainment.  But some - we can hope many - will receive it seriously, weaving its message into the fabric of their lives, helping build compassionate communities in South Asia and other parts of the world.  This is the promise, the hope, of caste-free hip hop.  Can the process movement catch up with it?

I don't know.  What I know is that those of us in the movement can appreciate it, celebrate it, learn from it, be transformed by its message and spirit, and grow in our realization that, without freedom from caste and coming to grips with the legacy of colonialism, there can be no ecological civilization,

- Jay McDaniel, October 31, 2021

---

Enjoy Enjaami: The Rise of
Political Messaging in Tamil Music

​
Posted by Krishni Satchi
​September 22, 2021
​
in Glimpse from the Globe: Development & Human Rights
​Politics and Governance, South and Southeast Asia
​

LOS ANGELES — The newly released Tamil song, “Enjoy Enjaami,” has taken the South Asian music scene by storm. Sung by Sri Lankan-Australian singer Dhee and Indian rapper Arivu, the song has touched audiences across India. As of September, the accompanying music video has reached over 300 million views — an unprecedented reach in the Tamil music world. 
​
It is the first of many songs in a musical project sponsored by Oscar award-winner A.R. Rahman. While the song has seemingly resonated with people across the world, it features a political message specific to ethnic Tamils with ties to Sri Lanka. This is not the first time that politics has been a focal point of Tamil music. In fact, the artistry of Sri Lankan Tamil musicians across the diaspora has always been shaped by their political perspectives. 

Incorporating pop, hip hop and traditional South Asian musical elements, “Enjoy Enjaami” describes the beauty of a pre-caste egalitarian society, but also tells the story of ancestral labor. Written by Arivu, the rapper featured on the song, the lyrical narrative references his family of landless labourers who were forced to move from India to Sri Lanka in the 1800s. After the liberation of Sri Lanka from British rule, the Sirima-Shastri Pact was signed in 1964. This pact split Tamils from India into two groups: those who obtained Sri Lankan citizenship and those who were repatriated into India. Part of the latter, Arivu’s grandmother was required to leave her sisters and move back to India, a country she had never lived in before. 

In “Enjoy Enjaami,” Arivu describes the loss felt by those like her after nurturing their communities for generations, writing: “My garden is flourishing / Yet my throat remains dry.” Throughout the song, the connection between land, nature and the people are highlighted. To contrast both pre-colonial and post-colonial life, the political tone of the song is explicit and critical.

Arivu, who identifies simply as Tamil, is part of a new generation of so-called “anti-caste” hip hop artists. As a member of a popular band called the Casteless Collective, he has consistently explored themes in his previous songs, such as egalitarianism, oppression and education. His music celebrates popular activists such as anti-caste philosopher Dr. B.R. Ambedkar and uses political lyrics such as “Educate and organize.” 

The rapper also expertly weaves different musical genres into these messages. At the end of “Enjoy Enjaami,” for example, his voice transitions from a steady rap to a lamenting wail as he sings “Bitter Gourd in my canopy / It has left us seeds / Left by our mother and father.” This style of singing is called Oppari, and was historically practiced during periods of mourning in Tamil Nadu, India. In an analysis by The Wire, the usage of this vocal form is described as a “cultural counter-narrative,” contrasting the discontentment of common people with the mainstream narrative of the privileged within South Asia. With this inclusion, Arivu has fully embraced his political label, describing his work as an extension of previous generations.

Interestingly, this attitude is evident throughout the scene of Tamil musicians from Sri Lanka. The most famous example of this is Mathangi “Maya” Arulpragasam, also known as M.I.A. While M.I.A gained celebrity status with her song “Paper Planes,” and her reference in a Nicki Minaj verse as the “bad b-tch from Sri Lanka,” she also captivated Tamil audiences with her passionate advocacy. As a London-born diasporic Sri Lankan-Tamil, she spent the majority of her mainstream career calling for international intervention in the human rights abuses perpetrated against Tamil civilians during the Sri Lankan Civil War. 

The origins of the civil war between the Sinhalese and Tamil ethnic groups in Sri Lanka can be traced back to British colonialism. During this period, economic disadvantages within minority Tamil communities led them to search for educational opportunities. Simultaneously, British authorities placed more schools in Tamil dominated regions, allowing them access to a higher quality of education. As time progressed, Tamils acquired disproportionate representation within professions of higher status, causing animosity to brew between the Sinhalese and Tamils.  

After Sri Lanka’s independence in 1948, the majority Sinhalese government began to pass policies that left out Tamils and other minority groups. As tensions rose throughout the 20th century, the Liberation Tigers of Tamil Eelam (LTTE) rose to power as a prominent militia group with the intention of re-establishing Tamil rights and power. 

In 1983, the war officially began with riots against Tamils that extended across the country. Inspired by the guerilla warfare of Che Guevarra, the LTTE engaged in violence commonly used by terrorist groups: bombings, assassinations of world leaders, and suicide attacks, to name a few. Throughout the conflict, the Sri Lankan government also engaged in what the United Nations has labeled as human rights violations, including the murder of innocent civilians and the torture and rape of prisoners. In the last months of the war, which ended in 2009, it is said that more than 40,000 civilians were killed. 

Today, while the LTTE no longer exists, the Sri Lankan government continues to mistreat Tamils without accountability, inching closer to an Sinhalese-controlled authoritarian regime. The grim reality of Tamils goes unnoticed in the international sphere, despite the best efforts of M.I.A and other artists to draw attention.

Tamil politics was at the forefront of M.I.A’s discography when she was an active musician; even in the hit “Paper Planes,” she inserts gunshots ringing in the chorus, a symbol of refugees like herself fleeing violence. Her debut album, Arular, was named after a secret code her father used with Tamil political groups fighting for liberation in Sri Lanka. Arular contains explicit themes of Sri Lankan resistance. For example, the song “Galang” references the need for marginalized groups to keep a low profile due to targeting by the government. 

All of M.I.A’s albums are littered with references to these heavy topics shaped by her identity. From her rhetoric and consistent activism, it is clear that she sees the involvement of political themes within her music as a necessary instinct. In an interview with the Atlantic, she said: “If I lived in the land of marshmallows with unicorns flying around, that is what my art would be about. But unfortunately, what I know is what I know.” 

Several other Sri Lankan diasporic artists have also discussed how they grapple with their diasporic identity and the politics of their native country. Sri Lankan-Canadian artist Shan Vincent de Paul, who has also released multiple songs as a part of A.R. Rahman’s ‘maaja’ project, revealed how observing the war from Canada was a privilege that left him with extreme guilt. Other Sri Lankan diaspora artists, such as Elsz and Rolex Rasathy, have echoed these sentiments. These musicians see their art as a pivotal form of expression and a way to wrestle with these conflicting feelings. 

Historically, music has proven itself to be both a source of inspiration and a threat. During the war, a beloved commentator and actress named Isaipriya sang in Tamil musicals to show her fervent support for the LTTE. She reportedly died in conflict in 2009. In a video obtained by VICE, her naked dead body is shown while a Sri Lankan soldier asks to rape her again. 

Since the end of the war in 2009, the government has played both Tamil and Sinhalese versions of the national anthem in an attempt to promote “ethnic harmony.” However, in 2020, the newly elected President Rajapaksa, unpopular amongst minority Tamils, scrapped the Tamil anthem at an Independence Day celebration. Clearly, the Sri Lankan government recognizes the power of music, purposefully harnessing it to send messages across the island.

Today, an era has arrived in which Tamil artists across the diaspora are on center stage and ready to represent Sri Lankan politics at an international level. While listening to messaging from these diasporic artists may seem like a last priority, the global nature of their art has the potential to reach the largest audience. These artists sample Western musical styles, are co-signed by award-winning industry professionals and sing not only in Tamil but also in English.

The world is also more receptive to the political messages they transmit. When M.I.A engaged in activism back in the 2000s, the world was not at the height of global activism. Now, with the rise of digital media, it is. 

For anyone who is an avid music fan, it is time to pay close attention to these diasporic artists. Perhaps, the world will soon realize that South Asian music consists of more than just pop Bollywood movie tracks.
​​