“I just want to blow the lid off this patronage”: Rupesh Kumar

Sruthi Herbert converses with film maker Rupesh Kumar on his new documentary 'Don't be our fathers'. Watch its promo here:

Sruthi Herbert: 'Don't be our fathers' is your latest documentary set in your village in Kerala, Peringeel. This being your native village, the process of making this documentary must also be an intense personal experience for you. Tell us more about it.

Rupesh Kumar: First of all, I am not dealing with Peringeel as a village – I am not talking about it as a village. I don't like to read it as a village. A village is always marked by caste. From an upper caste and communist point of view, Peringeel is a Harijan Colony. When I interviewed a comrade for my previous documentary, he asked about Peringeel – 'Isn't it a small colony?' He was reading the people there as Harijans. I want to bring to it the terminology of a 'Dalit land' – because I want to break the concepts of both the village and the colony.

But I did not grow up here. My father and his previous generations lived here. But there is something that draws me here, and that is the land here, this river, the attachment to the people. During my childhood, we would come and stay here during our summer holidays. The crabs here, this river and life around the river, there was always this 'pull' that Peringeel had on me. At some point, I realized that 'this is Peringeel'. There was a history of the people in Peringeel and this, I felt, had to be recorded. So naturally, I wanted to preserve their memories, and have it taken to the next generations. So I went about collecting these memories, and when I edited it, it became my first documentary.

This land is where I have my roots, this is not where I grew up. I grew up in another Dalit 'colony'. But my grandparents were here, and I had attachments to the people here. Later, this attachment transformed into a sort of political attachment. This political movie arises from the political reading of that attachment.

Sruthi: So you don't see the making of this movie as a personal experience alone. You have a political reading of your own personal experiences...

Rupesh: Actually, I see this as a Dalit political reading of my personal experiences. Peringeel which is full of my personal experiences is translated into a Dalit political text. What is different is that, while many directors call their readings 'Dalit', they are behind the camera. But I stand in front of the camera too – and thus reveal my personal and political identity. This is very important.

Sruthi: Recently there have been a few documentaries from the Dalit perspective. Do you think they all have this problem of the directors not facing the camera to reveal their identity?

Rupesh: The problem of the director not coming to the front is that when documentaries have been made on Dalit issues, many patronizing characters are inserted into them. Whether that is Dalit cinema or mainstream cinema, there is a clear detachment and this is even 'manipulative'. For example, in Stalin's documentary, he shows some scenes where he is asking questions behind the camera - do we have caste here? In the Indian context, this question is irrelevant; it is the last question that should be asked. So when this question is asked, another question too arises: what is the location of the director who is behind the camera?

The camera becomes an equipment to pose questions and the people who experience caste become 'victimized', to have the responsibility of answering these questions. So, the Dalit people in India have answered this long ago, and assert themselves in huge debates, even today. In many of the colonies, even amongst the uneducated Indian society, there are huge explosions in the personal spaces against these daily experiences of caste. These are never reported or documented.

But in this scenario, going with a camera and asking them whether there is caste is, in my view, untouchability using the camera. Many of the cinematic texts that the savarna filmmakers make are like this. Another important point is that there are many environmental documentaries – they talk about the nature, river, hills etc., They ignore the Dalit experiences that are closely associated with the environment.

Also, I don't have to talk about caste in cinema here: it has been discussed elsewhere. But in my view when we make a documentary, it is important to see who is addressing these issues. If this is a savarna, then from which point of view is their camera and direction? Also, who is talking about the marginalized in their films? How much political identity and compassion is there? In my documentaries, my identity and experiences as a 'Dalit' is asserted in this documentary.

Sruthi: The name of your documentary, 'Don't be our fathers' – this is a bold statement, and is an outright rejection of the patronage that the Dalits experience. This patronage is something that we don't talk much about in Kerala. Can you elaborate on this patronage that you are rejecting?

Rupesh: This patronage is of two types. The first is in our own personal life. I want to negate it. It is personally experienced, but thrust upon us in many forms from multiple places outside us. This patronage can be because of poverty, caste, or many other reasons. I am addressing the caste character of this patronage. In Kannur especially, which is a communist stronghold, there is a strong experience of this patronage. This is experienced in many sites- the student organizations, in educational campuses and in political parties.

Secondly, in a place like Peringeel – the communist people and organizations outside Peringeel who decide what should happen in Peringeel – they view us from outside and decide what kind of development should happen here, and think that they have the responsibility to help us out of our situation into this 'development'. Worse of all is that they will just dole out advice to us. They will love us, hug us and then advise us. This is caste. I am not talking only of communist parties. It works outside the party too. In BJP, in Congress, in the educational institutes in Kannur, in campuses in Kannur, in temples, in the clubs in Kannur, in the libraries in Kannur, inside the colonies, and in the interaction of the colonies with the outside world. So what I am saying is that this patronizing is present in many elements of society, outside our own personal experiences.

And that is what I reject by saying 'Don't be our fathers'. By saying this, I just want to blow the lid off this patronage.

Sruthi: Now in this documentary, there is a focus on the labour of the Dalits – the labour involved in catching crabs, prawns. How do you see the connections between labour and patronage that is extended to the Dalits?

Rupesh: The life in these Dalit lands has been problematized by many – as if the life is very sad and miserable. If you see the visual sequences that deal with lives in colonies – be it documentaries, news programmes or in movies – they show a lot of suffering, as if this is a very pathetic life. Or these are shown as breeding places of violence, and the characters from the colonies as villains. So what I am trying to break is that even as these things are there in 'colony' life, the reason why this so-called development is not happening in the colonies is because of the savarna political thinking that rules these places. In places like Peringeel, they fight and assert physically and mentally, engage in labour, and live beautifully. Most of the jobs they do here include fine skills. For example, the process of catching crabs. There is a lot of beauty in how they do it – this is also an aesthetic process. I have tried to show that too.

Sruthi: Yes, this is shown in the documentary beautifully.

Rupesh: Yes, it's the same with catching prawns. This is a tough job. Many times they do it after their main occupations. But they enjoy doing this. This tough life and the daily livelihood struggle are because of the political powers that be. We should portray that as pathetic, and the people as resilient. We should see their lives as a joyful assertion.

Sruthi: So in that sense, you are trying to portray this labour as the opposite of the patronage that is extended to the people in the colonies...

Rupesh: Yes, definitely. We don't need the patronage that stems from the understanding that 'colony life' and 'Dalit life' are hell! They are struggling, but we don't want the sympathetic gaze. Similarly, there is this saying in Kerala – 'to behave like in the fish market' – and this has very negative connotations, and I consider this even racist. So I just want to show that for the fish to be in the fish market there are these highly skilled, risky and aesthetic processes that are involved.

Sruthi: You also mention the educational institutions in the documentary and show the experience of caste there. Could you tell us how Dalits are saying 'Don't be our fathers' in educational institutions? Are they even able to say it and assert themselves in all instances?

Rupesh: In India, Dalits are saying 'Don't be our fathers' for quite some time now. Ambedkar was the one who said it with the constitution. I am not delving into it now. In these times, many Dalits have now attained good education; some of them have good jobs abroad, and are living a good life. This is one way of rejecting the patronage. Also, as I show in the documentary, when Dalit students experience caste in educational institutes, they explode in their personal spaces. It doesn't come out, but they are agitated and are angry with the caste powers in the campuses, schools, students' bodies and so on. The political reactions against these are happening in personal spaces, and therefore are not reported. But what I am stating is that caste is instilled in the minds of kids in schools even today – it is still very much present, and that we Dalits recognize that this process is happening. That is what I want to show.

Sruthi: This movie then is not merely about the patronage, but about the lived experience of caste. In Kerala, caste is not something people want to discuss. In that context, how is the response to this documentary?

Rupesh: Well, I have sent this to many people in Kerala. We have had several screenings. The usual reactions have been that this is breaking the largely theoretical nature of the documentaries that deal with caste. Also, this is a stylish cinematic documenting. It also has powerful cinematic visuals. Also, like you said, the savarna spaces in Kerala are scared of discussing this. They have just set it aside, because they know that they will have to address their own savarna selves if they discuss this. When I did my first documentary in 2007, and till now, I have experienced the same thing.

But the Dalit spaces outside Kerala, in universities and others have celebrated this, and have accepted and discussed this. In many discussions, participants said that this movie gave them a lot of energy.

Sruthi: So maybe you got some critical comments – were they discouraging or encouraging? And particularly, how has the savarna response to this been?

Rupesh: Actually, my experience with this documentary was that there were no casteist or discouraging comments. Even the critical comments from friends were encouraging, to point towards more powerful possibilities... But the biggest casteist negative reaction that I had was that there were no comments! There was total silence from the savarnas!

Sruthi: So this is my last question: These are the times when the articulations on caste are charting new territories, by using the new technologies and more secular spaces that we have at our disposal – especially the visual media and online platforms. As a Dalit filmmaker, how do you perceive these changes?

Rupesh: We have to look at secular spaces critically, and maybe that can be a different discussion. As you know, in the Indian visual media, the Dalit spaces are very limited. More than 80% of decisions taken from the editorial positions in the Indian media are made by savarnas. We hardly find Dalits in the newsrooms and in the print media. There has been a very negative sympathetic depiction of Dalit lives. In the Media Scan program of Media One, the same issue was presented. But even in this channel, the presence of Dalits is very less. Many of us Dalits assert through the online media – like You Tube, and social media like Facebook. So we have been able to utilize these possibilities. But when we engage with our identities on all these spaces, we have been violently attacked. Under the secular guise, we have been viciously attacked. But there are many powerful counter-assertions. So when we do these, and there are so many of us in many parts of India and the world, there is a lot of power.

Sruthi: Is there anything else that you have to add?

Rupesh: Yes, there should be a deeper analysis of colonies in Kerala. There are many colonies in marshlands, hilltops and other isolated spots. And yes, I have tried to show the attractiveness of black bodies which many visual texts do not show. Also, the music video in the movie - I have penned the lyrics, and it has been composed by Ajith Kumar A S. This is probably the first music video that is fully done by Dalits. So, I have tried to make a stylish movie that shows patronage through my viewpoint. I just want to blow the lid off this patronage. This is a start. There may be many ways of viewing and interpreting this visual text. I want to kick-start the process. This is most importantly, a record, for other people to examine and interpret too.  

~

'Don't be our fathers' is a buddhaneverleeps production. Its director Rupesh Kumar is a documentary filmmaker who views his 'visual texts as political tools against caste discrimination'. The discourses created by his documentaries have 'triggered international debates against caste, racial and gender discrimination'.

This is the music video of the film:

The music for the film was composed by Ajith Kumar A S, musician and filmmaker.  

~ Caste in cinema and music: the Kerala experience ~ A S Ajith Kumar

~ Caste in cinema and music: the Kerala experience ~

A S Ajith Kumar talks to Dalit Camera
 

Dalit Camera: Through Un-Touchable Eyes

This is the first part of an interview with A S Ajith Kumar, writer, musician and filmmaker based in Trivandrum. The interview was conducted by Radhika Pai and Gopika Nangia after the release of Ajith's documentary 3D Stereo Caste, a few months ago.  

(Transcribed and translated by Sudeep K S)

Caste in Cinema

In Kerala, a lot is being written about Dalit history, Dalit studies and caste in general. But the debate on caste is yet to make its presence felt in the visual media like cinema. How to bring the question of caste to the movies, to the screen, is a big challenge.

We have been writing for a long time. Over time we have understood how to write about caste. Dalits and Adivasis face various kinds of discrimination in various places, and we are more or less able to write about it. But we are still not able to talk about caste in media like cinema.

Caste is very prominent in the mainstream films – no matter whether it is 'art', 'commercial' or 'parallel'. It may not be very obvious that it is caste playing there. For instance consider this character in the film 'Aryan'. The hero (Mohanlal) tells a Dalit police officer that it is his inferiority complex that is the problem. Now we understand that it is an issue related to the politics of reservations. When a Dalit officer comes into a top position, it becomes an issue for the upper-castes in multiple ways. This attitude causes clashes in society. We can see many such characters.

In Malayalam films, the lead characters are almost always either from a middle class Nair family, or Syrian Christian. If you talk of complexion, the hero and heroine are fair and it is the trouble-makers who are dark. The thugs are dark-skinned, with some odd features – usually a Muslim or a Dalit. As I said the casteism may not be very obvious, it may appear like something else. It is not like the caste atrocities, seen usually. Even when there is a depiction of caste atrocities, it is shown as something done by some bad guys, and not as a problem with the system. Recently there was this film 'Celluloid' in Malayalam. It talks about caste. But if we take a close look, caste is not presented as a problem in the existing system. Tactfully they have placed it as a problem of the 'old times'. 'Those days there was caste, not now'. Thus it ends up merely as a critique against some casteists of the past, by the liberal upper-castes of today. They think that their ancestors have done this, but we are against it. By doing it, they are trying to establish that they have become casteless. Similarly the film says that there are vestiges of caste in some people in the modern times. That is only the 'vestiges', there is no caste left in the system. As if casteism remains in certain people, like the character that resembles writer Malayattoor Ramakrishnan in the film.

This way there is a very liberal approach on the question of caste today. Most of the Nairs and Syrian Christians are now 'against caste', and they think they are beyond caste. They will talk against the casteism of yesteryears. Or against the casteism that 'still exists' in other states- 'In Bihar, in other north Indian villages, in Tamil Nadu'. As if in Kerala there is no caste in the public space now. Especially, for the upper castes!. Those who talk caste, those who have caste, are now the subalterns, the Dalits and Adivasis! There is such a shift. Thus the discussions on caste in Kerala have  become quite complex.

It reflects in the films also. There have been extremely stereotyped Dalit characters till recently in films, and now there are some films that claim to criticize casteism, in a certain manner. Even in Celluloid, the baggage of caste is on the character of P K Rosy. She appears as a symbol of caste. J C Daniel has no caste, nobody else has any caste. And in the contemporary times, there are some people who still carry the vestiges of caste. But the 'person of caste' is P K Rosy. This is the status of caste in Malayalam films.

Caste appears in art films also. Here also it may appear disguised. In films of people like Adoor Gopalakrishnan – he follows the style similar to what MT did in Malayalam literature. Most of his films are about the crisis of the nair self. That way there is not much difference between art films and commercial films. If at all there is some change, it is in the commercial films. Because it has different kinds of viewers, and there is an interaction happening. Cinema is not always an expression of power from the top. There is an intervention from the audience as well. In art films, usually there is no such interaction allowed. They say we sit and watch the art cinema, some people 'understand' it, some would need a training to understand it etc. But in the popular films there is space for such an intervention. The audience also has a role in the production of a film and in the discourse it creates. So there are some changes happening because of that. That is probably why people like Kalabhavan Mani are coming into this field.

Still not many Dalits are entering Malayalam cinema field. Even in the discussions around cinema, we usually avoid talking about how caste works in the cinema industry. Most of the discussions on caste move around more simple issues like absence of Dalits in Malayalam cinema: as camera-persons, as directors – on the technical side. That is indeed an issue. At the same time caste works in the entire discourse of cinema, and we need to understand the complex ways in which it operates.

Challenges in addressing caste through cinema

Even now caste gets depicted in such a liberal, casual manner in Malayalam films - to make a film that criticizes the caste prevalent in our society becomes a challenge in itself. It is a crisis of sorts. One reason is this liberal approach itself, in mainstream films. Another problem is with the language of cinema, for the Dalits.

It works in different ways –firstly, few Dalits come into the technical side of Malayalam film industry. There are many issues related to the making of a film. Second, it needs to be studied how to bring the question of caste into the medium of cinema. It is not only about the making, we also need to learn how to watch those issues in the language of cinema. We need to develop that culture of 'seeing caste' also. It is different from reading caste that we have already developed to some extent. We haven't been able to develop that culture of a Dalit cinema. Many are now trying to do documentaries and films on caste. It is still in its infancy, but we are in the process of learning. Rupesh Kumar has tried to do some documentaries about caste; there was a film on Chengara land struggle by Shibi Peter ... There are such attempts in various fields. Recently there was a feature film, Papilio Buddha. I have some critical observations about that film but it is important that such films are also coming out. I think Papilio Buddha does not address the challenges of 'filming caste'.

It is in this context that I am making my film. I also face this question, how to bring caste in a film. That involves a crisis of making a film in a place like Kerala that is considered to be progressive. Caste is not so much visible here. It is easy to write that there is casteism in so and so act. But showing it in films is difficult.

It is relatively easy to show torture. But other forms of caste discrimination that exist within the system, within the educational institutions etc may not be quite visible. Of course there is the visible form also -- recently when a Dalit officer retired, there was a purification ritual performed in his office. But there are a lot of instances where it is not so visible. It is a challenge how such things could be brought to the screen. In general, the films that talk of Dalit issues in India mostly picturise atrocities or torture. They do not address this challenge, of how to bring out the 'invisible' casteism through the medium of cinema.

Secondly, this documentary is about music. In music, caste works in a very different manner.

Caste in Music

In some places there are Dalits who perform traditional drums. Some of them face bans because they did not perform in some function. I have read about such a ban that happened in Karnataka. There are such bans in Kerala also, but in a different way. The ideas of music itself have a hierarchy within. There are several categories like "classical", "folk" etc. There are various factors that work in forming these categories, such as caste and gender. Another division is on the basis of sound levels itself. Loud instruments are considered 'Asuravadyam' and softer ones that sound like a soft chanting of mantras, are considered more respectable and are called 'Devavadyam'. The loud voice is often connected with the 'lower' castes. Thus the sound levels also have its politics.

In this film I have covered Chenda (a traditional drum of Kerala), cinematic dance and Nadan Pattu (folk music - literally, 'local song').

In Chenda itself caste works in many ways. One, there are different kinds of Chenda -- the Vadakkan (Northern) Chenda and the Thekkan (Southern) Chenda. The southern Chenda is associated with Melams (percussion harmony) like Singarimelam. The northern Chenda is associated with Pancharimelam, Pandimelam etc. Singarimelam is considered lowest among these.Pancharimelam is superior. In places like youth festivals and school festivals, there is an unwritten rule that the top grades goes only to those who do Pancharimelam. I have addressed this issue in the film.

Singarimelam as I said is at the bottom end of the hierarchy. There was a Thalamaholsavam (a festival of rhythms) in Thiruvananthapuram sometime back. The festival showcased various Melams from Kerala, including Pancharimelam andPanchavadyam. They also included Melams connected to some Muslim art forms also. But the Singarimelam did not find a place there. When I asked the organizers, they said they included Singarimelam in a procession held as part of the inaugural ceremonies on the first day; hence they did not want to repeat it. Note that the procession was held on the road. That is where the Singarimelam belongs, in the "public space". Not inside the 'holy' premises of a Thalamaholsavam. That is the kind of division.

Similarly one Chenda has two sides, the left side and the right side. One of them produces a louder voice. Inside the temple walls, the louder (Asura) side drumming is allowed, but not during the pujas. It is the softer (Deva) side that is used during the puja.

The caste of the drummer is also an issue. The "lower" castes are not allowed to perform inside a temple. This is also not a written rule; it is a rule that is enforced with the help of the senior performers. Kalamandalam Chandran, featured in this film, is a drummer who was 'kept aside' several times like this. He has been in this field for 36 years. Even then he faces this discrimination, just because he is a Dalit. ("Within the last five years, the caste system has become worse in the field of art, especially in Panchavadyam", says Chandran).

About Nadan Pattu -- that term itself is problematic. It literally means 'local' music, like 'foreign' vs 'local'. I don't know how 'folk' gets translated as 'Nadan'. It could be to mean that this form of music lacks sophistication (eg. Foreign liquor and Local/Country liquor).

There is a hierarchy in this division, just like caste hierarchy. "Classical" is considered the highest form. Carnatic music is called 'Classical' music. Then there is 'light music' called 'Lalithasamgeetham' (literally means 'Simple music)'. It means it is not complex. As if it is created by removing the complexities from the Carnatic music. This 'light music' has its own history. It was created by the All India Radio. 'Nadan Pattu' or folk music is placed even below.

It is not just the classification that is problematic, there is also a belief that all this should fall within certain limits. The classical music is believed to have remained the same for several years. But that is not the case really -- there have been many changes. Like Changes brought about by technology -- eg. how it changed with the arrival of microphones, or with the entry of women into the field.. It has never stayed stuck at one place. The concept of 'classical' itself is borrowed from the west.

The 'folk' music also suffers from many such stereotypical notions constructed about it. It is mostly created by those who do folklore studies. Some techniques, some particular types of music, are 'allowed'. Rather than as a musical expression, they see 'folk music' more as just a cultural identity. They associate each type of music with a particular community. This music is considered as a 'cultural mark' of that community. The 'classical music', in contrast, escapes markings and it is for "everyone".

In folk we have 'Paraya folk', 'Pulaya folk' etc, and the attempt is always to freeze it in a particular period in time. It is supposed to have been the music of the particular community in a particular time in the past. It is considered as not relevant in the contemporary world. The folk performers also follow this belief to some extent, choosing 'old' and 'traditional' songs. This has to change. Without fixing music to a particular 'caste' or time, the 'folk' has to evolve as a new musical expression. These are specific musical languages, which are very relevant in contemporary society. I don't think there is anything wrong in using modern instruments like synthesizer in folk music.

Many folk singers, like Praseetha shown in the film, have been trying in this manner to change folk music into an art of the modern times. They use new instruments, wear modern attire and thus break many stereotypes attached to 'folk' music. Sometimes they wear traditional outfits as well, but that is more as a part of the strategy of marketing it, making the 'folk' a product saleable in the market.

There are affordability issues about synthesizers and computers. Most Dalits cannot afford it. But technology helps us come out of the rigid classifications; change the ideas about sound itself. The folk music becomes more contemporary by the use of modern instruments like this, moving it from a place where it is kept frozen. I have also been trying this -- I have tried to make some songs this way. They use new kinds of language, a mix of languages. All Dalits do not share the same lifestyle. Some live in colonies, some go to colleges; there are some who lead a middle class life. I have been trying to make music that communicates these different Dalit lives. I have done 2-3 such songs. I have tried instruments different from the traditional ones. This creates a new kind of music that does not fit into the traditional vs modern classifications. It travels back and forth, and the border becomes narrow. Thus the identity does not get frozen, and the music moves into new dynamics.

Then the film talks about the body -- the relation between the body and music. I think it is characteristic of 'classical' music to control the body. There is a Navaratri Mandapam in Thiruvananthapuram. The concerts there are organized by the palace, it comes under the palace. What is special about this place is, one, only Hindus are allowed to enter the concerts, and two, there are some customs that one has to follow. Men (only men were allowed till recently) are not allowed to wear shirts, they wear only a Mundu. While listening to the concert, one is not supposed to clap or make any kind of noise. Everyone should enter at the scheduled beginning time itself, and cannot leave the concert before it ends. There are many strict rules like this. These rules are designed to control the body. Not allowed to move, not allowed to clap – this control is characteristic of a 'superior' kind of music, music that is considered to be high in the caste hierarchy.

The textbooks on Carnatic music also say that good musicians should not make unnecessary body movements. This marks a division between the body (Shareeram) and the voice (Shaareeram). They say that voice is more important, and the body should not be given importance. If you look at the music reality shows on TV, there are performance rounds and melody rounds. There also there is a clear division between the body and the music.

But in the domain of popular music – e.g. in folk songs, Ganamela et al – the singers themselves turn as dancers. They often come down to the audience from the stage. Praseetha for instance carries her chordless mic to the audience and makes them sing along. The audience also get up and dance to these songs. There is such an active interaction.

There are two-three things in this – one, this changes the very idea of a stage. It does not remain an authentic space that is reserved for the performer. Usually in high music the audience is a passive entity who does not have any agency, or their agency is limited to tapping their hands. But in these popular music spaces they sing and dance along, there is such participation. They also have the freedom to hoot. They have more agency, and I think there is more democracy in it.

Cultural Assertion by Dalits

There hasn't been a cultural assertion from the Dalits as part of any political decision in Kerala. If we take a closer look, there is a cultural assertion taking place. For example, for last 20-30 years the Nadan Pattu or folk songs have been a trend in Kerala. That can be considered a cultural assertion.

I think the development of Nadan Pattu as a branch of music can be linked to the Dalit political movements since the 1980s. There are many Nadan Pattu groups in different villages of Kerala, and they have developed along with the Dalit movements. Technology has also played a major role in it - for instance the audio cassettes. That is how this cultural assertion has shaped up. They do not talk direct politics. Most of these performances happen in Dalit spaces, in programmes organized by Dalit groups. Now it is changing, they are making their presence felt in more 'public' spaces also. There is a 'capturing of public space' involved in it.

When we usually talk about cultural assertions in Kerala, we talk about KPAC and their songs and plays. They are part of a secular, liberal discourse of the Nairs of Kerala. In most of the KPAC plays, Dalits are not the central characters. They primarily reflect the crisis of the Nair self. Their songs are also a symbol of various crises of the Nairs of that time - both in lyrics as well as in the music. It has developed in a certain manner.

If we take the famous song 'Ponnarivalambiliyil..' for instance, it is addressing a Dalit woman. The agency is not on her. It is the Nair self talking to a Dalit. There are several crisis situations they faced in those times. The music was done by G Devarajan. Their dilemma was to make a music form. One, it should not be completely based on Carnatic music, and it should not be completely 'folk' either. It has to take a middle path, solving these two 'issues'.

Two, the 'Malayali' self of those times is the Nair self itself. KPAC was trying to develop that Malayali self. We could say those were among the first Malayalam songs. Before that it was mostly Tamil songs or Malayalam songs with Tamil tunes in the theatre in Kerala, it was an influence of the Tamil drama companies in Kerala. Even in Malayalam films either Tamil tunes or tunes of Hindi film songs were used. ONV (who wrote lyrics for KPAC drama songs) has written about the struggle to create a 'Malayalam music' during that time. Devarajan was among those who tried to create an identity and style for "Malayalam" music that is free from the Tamil influence. A Malayali self was also taking shape at that time. Malayali memorial etc also presented a Nair self. 'Malayali' and 'Nair' carried nearly the same meaning, as it was Nairs who were considered Malayali in general. People like ONV Kurup and Thoppil Bhasi in KPAC were also part of this 'project' of developing a liberal Nair self. They tried to imagine it to be a Malayali self. In music, this involved getting rid of the Tamil accent and doing away with the Tamil tunes.

Coming back to Ponnarivalambiliyil, G Devarajan composed the song in raga Shankarabharanam. Apparently he removed the classical complexities of the raga and made it simple. This solved the first crisis I mentioned. It couldn't have remained completely Carnatic, as that music belongs to an elite class. Here the song had to address a Dalit character who does not fit into that class. At the same time the song couldn't be completely Nadan either – the folk songs lack the sophistication. The song was written in the Kurathi mattu (a folk style associated with the Kurava community), which is then brought into the order of raga Shankarabharanam. Thus it gets 'elevated' from its original position. There are several such issues.

The point we were discussing is that it is KPAC plays and songs that is considered as a symbol of a revolutionary cultural resistance, but it was primarily the crisis of the Nair self it dealt with. There were a lot of struggles and resistances against feudalism going on in Kerala during that time, and most of the big names in KPAC were from these very feudal families. Their works had their origin in their consciousness of guilt. Most of the Communist leaders were also from the dominant castes. This is what they could do – when the resistances against the caste dominance gained strength, they had to align themselves with the Dalits in that struggle rather than remain on the oppressors' side. It was a liberal approach which has it base in their feeling of guilt. It did not have the political content to question the caste system. It could only serve to solve the crisis of their self.

The Dalit cultural assertion that came alive along with the movements of 1980s through new kinds of folk songs is different from that kind of a cultural assertion. They do not stick to the rules of 'pure' folk music set by the folklore scholars. Most of these groups have not got their songs from their ancestors. Many groups have developed without such possibilities. Audio cassettes have helped them in this regard. If I take an example, cultural groups like 'Dynamic Action' used to perform on stages and also release cassettes of their programmes. People like C J Kuttappan, Kumarakam Basu and Johnson were part of it. They were folk performers and friends, and worked together for this group. Their audio cassettes reached many Dalit households, they had a good reach. Many Dalit singers learned to sing folk songs listening to these cassettes. Many singers have told me that they learned singing listening to C J Kuttappan on their cassette player. This is how the trend developed.

Similarly there are many folk songs that are available on You Tube now. They are on a rise as part of a political awareness. There are possibilities that this opens up – a group from Kollam could sing the same song as that of a group from, say, Palakkad. They may have learnt from the same cassettes, or from the same song on the internet. There is a new Dalit awareness developing here, and this cultural exchange is also part of it. What is interesting about these Nadan Pattu groups is that they are not necessarily songs of their own community. The same group sings the songs of Parayas, Pulayas and that of Adivasis. Or even folk songs from West Bengal or Chhattisgarh. This results in a new kind of Dalit identity development. Beyond one's caste or tribe, it defines a larger 'Dalit community'. It is a political identity, and it is getting developed through these cultural activities. This is a Dalit assertion in the cultural field.

Another outcome of these assertions is that it is creating vibes in the 'general' cultural and music space as well. Folk songs are now enjoyed not only by the Dalits. It has its space in colleges and public spaces, and people from other communities also enjoy it. Even in films, earlier, folk songs used to appear outside the main narrative. It was not the central characters who sang those songs – there would be a boatman, or a mad person or a drunkard who sings it. I remember a mad character by Nedumudi Venu singing a folk song, in the film Aaravam if I remember right. Sometimes the hero also sings it, but not when he is in his senses. Like the drunk hero singing in the film Kazhcha. They sing only when they are outside their Savarna space, in the older films. But now things are changing. Folk songs have gained some respectability. It is now ok for people from other (dominant) communities also to sing those songs. Remya Nambeesan was seen singing such a song in a recent Malayalam film. This brings about a change in the general cultural space. So there are changes occurring in two ways – one as an assertion of a Dalit identity and the other, the cracks that it creates in the general cultural space.