Folk goes Feminist

“I love all those great ‘f’ words—feminism, folk music,” said Ani DiFranco, an American singer-songwriter and a folk musician, in a 2003 interview. A champion of women’s rights, DiFranco is known for interweaving her feminist activism in rock anthems. But many folk songs haven’t aged well. How then should one keep traditional folk music relevant?  DiFranco has a possible solution, she is reinventing folk music and giving it a feminist twist to keep up with the gender politics of our times, thereby bringing both ‘f’ words together.

Back home in India, we have a few DiFrancos of our own—female musicians who are defying convention, one folk song at a time. For the sake of simplicity, one can divide them into groups. First are artists who use the same composition and lyrics as the original folk song while introducing a few lines of new lyrics to give the number a feminist twist.  The second group create fresh songs with feminist lyrics but retain some elements, such as the instruments or beats of the original folk number.

Playback singer Sireesha Bhagavatula, the voice behind the Netflix film Qala’s song ‘Ghodey pe Sawaar’, belongs to the latter group. ‘Ghodey pe Sawaar’ is a sharp critique of old school Bollywood films, which normalised stalking and passed off the hero or the male lead’s inappropriate behaviour as ‘romance’. Song-writer Amit Trivedi has used the accordion to the beats of a galloping horse—a hat tip to OP Nayyar’s use of trotting horse in ‘Piya Piya Piya Mera Jiya Pukare’; the intention, he says, is to make the song “more nostalgic and playful”. The song uses the same beat as Mohammed Rafi’s ‘Tumse Achcha Kaun Hai’ from the 1960s film  Janwar, where the hero is seen stalking a heroine who has clearly rejected his advances. “Koi kaise unhe yeh samjhaye/ Sajniyan ke man main abhi inkaar hai/ Jane balma ghode pe kyo swaar hai  (How should one convey it to him/ That she has rejected all his advances/ God knows why he is still riding his high-horse).” In the film, the song becomes Qala’s rebellion against the exploitative record executive Sanyal, who just like a Ghodey pe Sawaar Bollywood hero, cannot take ‘no’ for an answer.

Qala’s feminist folk songs defy convention not just by critiquing the exploitation in the music industry but also with the song’s nuanced portrayal of complicated mother-daughter relationships. Contrary to popular belief, children often seek, perhaps even beg for validation of their parents. Qala’s mother never acknowledged her singing talent, let alone nurturing it. ‘Phero na Najariya’ is her way of asking her mother for validation she so desperately craves. Mother-daughter relationships are often marked by internalised misogyny as we see with Qala and her mother Manjushree. The trope is largely unexplored in conventional folk songs. The singer Sireesha Bhagavatula says, “Coincidentally when I began recording the song, the first thing I could think of was—‘is this song about me?’. It is not that my mother has not given me validation as a kid, but because I had to struggle to convince my parents to let me learn classical singing. I had to convince them that I too can sing”.

She adds—“‘Phero Na Najariya’ was recorded in a single take. When it ended, everyone in the studio was weeping, I too had tears in my eyes. Something divine happened in the studio that day”. Another landmark song in the film is ‘Shauq’, picturised on a boat moving in a dark river shrouded by dense fog, it showed that women, too, can be passionate lovers just like men, perhaps in a less toxic way. Bhagavatula says. “I do feel women can be intense lovers but it all boils down to how much they can express themselves or rather, how much the society allows them to express themselves. It is not very ‘feminine’ to make declarations of one’s love, is it? That is why perhaps, the opening line itself is very subtle—“Bikharne ka mujhko shauk hai bada/Samatega mujhko, tu bata zara?” (“I have a strong liking for breaking apart/Will you collect me, tell me, my love?)”

Many folk songs have been written on women who love, and love as passionately as men, but perhaps, none can match up to the level of Pakistani singer-songwriter Hadiqa Kiani’s ‘Boohey Barian’, a Punjabi folk song from her 1998 album Roshni; “Boohe baariyaan te naale kanda tapp ke/ Boohe baariyaan te naale kanda tapp ke / Aavaangee hava banake, boohe baariya haay (I will shatter all the doors, locks and windows / I will shatter all the doors, locks and windows / I’ll come as a thundering wind to get my beloved).” “Ho kande lag jaangee/ Kachcha ghada ban ke” (“I will follow you to the river bank to save you from drowning, even if I have to swim with a raw pitcher).”

At a time when the Kabir Singhs and Arjun Reddys—the toxic hyper-masculine lovers—are popular, Kiani’s ‘Boohey Barian’ embodies overwhelming feminine desire, something which Bollywood has seen in Bombay Jayashri’s ‘Zara Zara’. In 2022, singer Kanika Kapoor released her rendition of ‘Buhe Barian’ which has the same chorus as Hadiqa’s version but a different opening verse. “Jind jaaniyan mere haaniyan/ Tere bin jiya jaave na/ Ishq ho gaya hosh kho gaya/ Dil kahe keha jaave na (“My love my life, I cannot stay without you/ I love you, I have lost my mind/ My heart cannot live without you).”

Kanika’s expression of love is intense but not self-destructive, unlike the original version where the woman is ready to sacrifice herself by drowning in the river to save her lover. The new folk song has brought a feminist twist, where the intensity of love stays intact but the woman in love also has her own existence and autonomy, outside of her relationship.

The release of the song led to a plagiarism row. Hadiqa accused Kanika of plagiarising her song, which she owned the rights to. Undoubtedly, the reinvention of folk songs also warrants a discussion on the gray legal boundaries behind the ownership of the rights and masters.

But one can always create their own contemporary folk songs inspired by old ones. Jahnvi Shrimankar, the voice behind the Gujarati folk song ‘Dholida’ from Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Gangubai Kathiawadi, feels folk songs need to be reinvented from time to time.  Think Falguni Pathak’s Garba anthem ‘Sanedo Sanedo’, in which the beat and the instruments used are very similar to ‘Dholida’. ‘Dholida’ defies convention by allowing women to reclaim public spaces. The song has an infectious beat and festive fervour that one usually associates with Navratri celebrations. For Shrimankar however, ‘Dholida’ is less about celebration and more about strength and perseverance. “Gangu spent her childhood in Kathiawad and grew up playing Garba with her family. Twelve years later, after she was sold as a prostitute to a brothel. ‘Dholida’ is Gangu’s way of showing strength and perseverance. She is hurt, vulnerable but puts on a happy face for the sex workers of Kamathipura who look up to her”. For Shrimankar, Dholida is about Gangu’s spirit and undying resolve to keep the courtesans of Kamathipura together and to foster their community spirit.

Being a Gujarati herself, Shrimankar has vivid memories of garba being played in Gujarat. “In Ahmedabad, families live together in societies called a pol. Each pol has a common courtyard where Garba is played. Hence, the setting of the song. The singer also has a liking for the Lavani music and dance form, common to Maratha folk theatre. “Most Lavani performers I know come from matriarchal families where women take all the important decisions. Many folk songs in Eastern UP are sung by women, beautifully adorned in choodis and ghagras. These songs are all female-centric,” she says, adding, “It is not that unconventional feminist folk music is not being made. One has to look at the right place.”

Defying regressive and patriarchal conventions is, of course, commendable. But what happens if the male gaze, as opposed to sexualising the woman as an object of desire, empowers her? Amar Jalal Group & Faridkot’s Punjabi folk song, ‘Nasha’, does precisely that. Instead of portraying the woman as an object to be conquered, ‘Nasha’ talks about the intoxication of the soul—a spiritual attraction as opposed to a physical one, where the male gaze feels powerless in front of the woman, almost as if the man doesn’t have the credentials to vie for her love, which is evident from the lyric: “Amar Balle te tu vi karengi proud ni (One day, you’ll be proud of my accomplishments)”.

With their contemporary lyrics and catchy tunes, these songs are retaining the syntax and soul of folk songs while also defying conventions. The context of these songs might be different from DiFranco’s, but their stories are the same.

About The Author

Deepansh Duggal

Deepansh Duggal is an art and culture writer based in Delhi

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