Songs of the Sisterhood

‘I am upset with God
Who doesn’t do favours
I am rebellious
And don’t follow any laws’

THESE LYRICS ARE chanted by Saniya Mistri Qaiyumuddin aka Saniya MQ a Mumbai-based rapper. Dressed in a hijab and the daughter of an autorickshaw driver, Saniya MQ has amassed over 15,000 followers on Instagram with her rhyth­mic and catchy songs that rail against patriarchy and inequality.

It has always been ‘Songs About Jane’ (the title of Maroon 5’s 2002 album). Seldom songs from Jane’s point of view. But young musicians like Saniya MQ are changing that stanza by stanza, song by song. Rap and hip-hop lyrics are conven­tionally male-centric and celebrate male exploits. But young women rappers are using that same space to assert their identity. They are rapping about mental health and menstrual health, equal rights and equal space. Their videos, like their lyrics, are nonapologetic and even brazen. They’ve faced online (and offline) hate for this, but they have also built their fan base. These artists are now perform­ing at some of India’s most prestigious music events. Mumbai and LA-based rapper Raja Kumari played at VH1 Super­sonic in 2018, and NH7 Weekender Pune in 2021. Bengaluru-based rapper Siri Narayan, or SIRI, played at Lollap­alooza’s India debut edition in 2023. Shillong rapper Meba Ofilia made her Lollapalooza India debut in 2024. Pratika Prabhune, from Mumbai, per­formed at NH7 Weekender Pune 2022 with her all-women crew, Wild Wild Women. Eighteen-year-old Saniya MQ says, “Rap, just like Bollywood, was just about the objectification of women. I hated it.” Diss tracks (songs where the primary purpose is to verbally attack someone else, usually another artist) that came to India with Raftaar and Emiway Bantai in 2013, piqued her interest. If people could diss each other via music, any topic was on the table. So, Saniya started rapping about things she didn’t hear much of. In her song ‘Ladke’ she chants; “Kyu ladke ro nahi sakte/ Jazbaat dabe hue rakhke/ Kyu kehte ho ‘tu ladka hai chup ho kar sab seh le’ (Why can’t boys cry/Why must they hide their feelings/Why are they told to stay quiet and tolerate everything).” By asking why men cannot cry she firmly turns her lens on them, and away from machoism.

Mumbai’s Pratika Prabhune was jotting down lyrics when she was 13, as part of a metal band Chronic Phobia. Knowing that it wasn’t a sustainable career choice financially, she started working in music events and man­agement. The pandemic gave her the opportunity to stay at home for days at a stretch and she got the chance to dive into what she’d loved since school but never had time for—rapping.

Thirty-year-old Pratika says she was tired of male rappers writing about fancy cars and “three chicks sitting and waiting for him.” She adds, “Panjabi MC, Juggy D and Honey Singh were rappers whose lyrics make you cringe because of their ‘she’s waiting for me’ and ‘I treat her the way I want to’ lyrics. Their songs have lyrics with offensive or blatant ob­jectification of women.” She’d grown up seeing patriarchy playing out at home, where her grandmother never hesitated to whack her, while she never raised a finger against her brother who was seven years older. Her 2023 EP ‘Growing Up’ begins at home. In the title track she raps, “I always thought the world was a beautiful place…/ But then, a boy mo­lested me when I was 4, it was the first time. / The second time when I was 8 at Essel World / A House of Mirrors turned into a House of Horrors for a little girl.” In the chorus her pitch rises as she sings, “What does it take for you to leave me alone?” Her songs carry trigger warnings given their graphic content. But she is never a victim in them, and instead turns her troubled past into a tool of protest.

These young rappers are channelling their childhood hurt into anger. They draw from experiences to sing of injustices. Kodaikanal rapper Irfana Hameed, 28, was told by an uncle to not wear shorts around men when she was seven. Irfana, who has written poetry since her childhood says, “In India, girls experience a bias even when they don’t know what it means.

Restrictions on what you wear, how you should behave etc kick in as you grow up.” She picked up the spoken word and started rapping while pursuing interna­tional politics and a minor in sociology in Canada in the mid-2010s. She came back to India in 2019 to work as a lawyer, but that never happened. Her family has often nudged her to consider a ‘real career’ because her music and attitude make her conservative extended family nervous. “It gave them a shock, but I didn’t back down. There’s always some gossip and all, but you ignore it,” Irfana says.

Rapper Daiaphi Lamare who goes by the name Reble, grew up in Nongbah in Meghalaya’s West Jaintia Hills, had a female teacher tell her and a class full of 16-year-olds that girls aren’t as smart as boys. She provides a fitting response to the teacher by rapping, in her Freeverse session song with Beast Inside Beats, “I’m putting NE on the frame / got seven gritty sisters… / Got the speed of Usain Bolt / B***h I’m running the game / I got the high volts / I’m like a bullet train.” Similarly Saniya MQ’s song ‘Naari’, talks about the changes you observe while growing up as a girl in any Indian household with boys. She laments about being stopped from play­ing outside with the rest of the children, while boys are free to roam around. Saniya, a resident of Govandi Slums, Mumbai, calls out the unfair education system, in her song ‘Shaher’ (December 2023), where girls from slum areas are not allowed to study after Class 8.

“Music isn’t just a career. It’s giving me a voice. If we see all music as enter­tainment, then who will educate?” asks Saniya MQ, who was recording songs on her mother’s phone when she was in Class 10. She’s currently also pursuing her second year of media studies at NG Acharya College in Chembur.

Ashwini Hiremath, 28, who goes by the name of Krantinaari, from Mumbai, chose her moniker (and the name of her debut song) in 2018 for the sole purpose of representing women as changemakers. The video of ‘Krantinaari (Revolutionary Woman)’ opens with her standing in the centre of a group of 30-odd Rajasthani women, who look into the camera with pride and daring. In it she raps in Hindi, “She is holding strong / even when their mindset is old, rusted and useless. Come on increase your IQ and evolve… Your game is done / There wouldn’t be any slavery / She’s not your maid / She is ready to walk alongside.” Her song urges women to gather, as solidarity can bring about revolution.

If Krantinaari writes about women upturning unfair systems, she also writes about women’s health. In the 2024 video of ‘PCOS: Mat Le Stress’ she raps about the many burdens of the hormonal disorder which leads to women having irregular periods and other health issues. Hiremath had firsthand experience of being misdiagnosed and not getting proper medical treatment for this. The condition also carries the stigma of in­fertility, which adds to its burden. In her song she assures women that this health condition should not come to define them. She raps, “Don’t blame defame rename / it’s just another phase / Women stay strong, you are amaze.”

Krantinaari, who started writing when she was bullied at 16 on the basketball court because of her ‘weak’ English, used her words to build her confidence. She had a corporate stint in Hyderabad, which she quit in 2018 to give music a shot. She picked her moniker because, “Only men are looked at as freedom fighters or in any heroic portrayal,” she says, adding, “The thing about change is, if you start with a group of even 20 people in India’s billion-plus population, and have an impact on their lives, that’s a spark right there.”

Because of her unapologetic music, Krantinaari has been denied work and has even received abusive threats and sexist comments. But this has not stopped her. “People wouldn’t give me work because they doubted my ability because of my gender. Or they believed I was not in it to do it as seriously as a man would. When you don’t have a com­munity that trusts you, how will you go through the process and pave a path to success? Even today, most female artists have to look sexually appealing or be a part of songs about their body. It’s still just limited to that. Why? Because you have materialised a woman’s identity, and it’s a conditioning so deep that you can’t break it. So, taking a stand is the least you can do. Fear is the one that is helping the patriarchy grow. We need to remove the fear from men that women will become superior and men will lose authority, and the fear in women to speak up.”

IN INDIA MUSIC by women is often seen as a ‘hobby’. It is assumed that post marriage they will quit this ‘time pass’. Svetha Yallapragada Rao, professionally known as Raja Kumari, sings about female agency and self-suffi­ciency. In her 2018 song, ‘I Did It’ she raps, “I did it, i did it / I di-, i did it all by myself / I remember what they said, ah / Tried to tell me that it can’t be done / Can’t take it from me when it’s self-made..” The song is a retort to a manager who once told her she wouldn’t get anywhere in life. A dec­ade ago, when Raja Kumari, first started out there would often be no women in a room full of men. That has now changed, thanks to multiple fan clubs. She says, “For me it wasn’t just rapping but de­veloping a safe space where women are powerful. If me standing up for myself allows other women to take up space and use me as reference, then why not? Over the years, I realised that I can’t be the only female on a festival’s roster. And I no longer am. There’s not just one seat/spot that all the women have to fight for. If we believe that, we are feeding into the patri­archy. You have to be adamant because people can’t conceptualise a woman in that role of power,” she says.

Irfana Hameed became the first female artist to be signed by the Def Jam Recordings India label in 2023. As a child she learned traditional Carnat­ic vocal and veena, but her introduction to hip-hop happened in Class 5 when she heard Eminem. In Irfana’s 2023 single, ‘Sheila’, shirtless men dance, upturning the conventional narrative of the male gaze on female bodies. The 28-year-old yoga instructor says, “You have to lead by example, because women have been objectified and sexu­alised by artists so much that it’s now a problem that women are marketing and talking about their sexuality. The fight back is real in India, which is so conserv­ative. People leave comments and even rape threats about how I’m looking too sexy. What’s vulgar for a woman is seen as sexy for men,” says Irfana.

But change is coming. For the first time in her Spotify history, Pratika has more women (60 per cent) listening to her than men. She’s had men come up to her and tell her that her lyrics made them uncomfortable. “Which is exactly why I wrote it. To make the men under­stand what it’s like to be on the receiving end of the bias and objectification.”

“Men are willing to look at us now but they still need to listen to us. Which will only happen through collabs,” says Raja Kumari, who just released her first Punjabi song, ‘In Love’, with Guru Randhawa. “People are not listening when I speak in English. That’s why I am trying Punjabi,” she says with a laugh. “But it was so healing because it was just a man talking about his love for a woman. Not about him, his gang and his cars or whatever. Or any lyrics that make you raise an eyebrow, which is so common in this genre!” There is one thing women can do to win equality: love themselves. “Because the biggest revolutionary thing a woman can do is to love herself in a place where society keeps telling women that it’s not okay to love your­self,” says Raja Kumari.

feminismIrfana HameedKrantinaarimusicPratika PrabhuneRaja KumarirappersSaniya MQsisterhood