Oh Piche Piche Turrdi Aa Fame Ajj Kal
Aunda Ae Star’an Vich Name Ajj Kal
Tere Karke Gaane Sadde Ni Chalde
Landu Launde Mere Te Blame Ajj Kal
(Nowadays fame follows me everywhere,
Nowadays my name is counted among celebrities
Our songs are popular not because of you
The good-for-nothing keep blaming me nowadays)
For this rap song, These Days, Sidhu Moosewala had collaborated with American-Pakistani Punjabi rapper Bohemia—credited with popularising rap in Punjab after India experienced a boom in online content consumption. A majority of Moosewala’s songs, just like the above track, seem to co-opt and defeat the true essence of rap. When Moosewala cited slain black rapper, Tupac Shakur, as an inspiration and featured an image from the scene of his idol’s assassination in The Last Ride, he actually created the biggest contradiction in Punjabi gangsta rap. That being Moosewala himself was Jatt, a community which strongly dominates Punjab’s music, politics, economy, and society at large. Ironically, he seemed to have represented the ‘white supremacy’ that black rappers like Tupac vehemently challenged in their music.
Even before hip-hop rap entered the Punjab music scene, Punjabi songs, for decades now, valorise physical prowess and domination. There is no dearth of songs that eulogise guns and gang wars in Punjab. But as soon as hip-hop got assimilated in pop music, it became a medium to reinforce societal norms that define Jatt machismo. Considered one of the biggest hip-hop Punjabi rappers, Honey Singh, for example, began as an underground artiste and went on to compose rap songs that flaunt his exaggerated sense of self. Various legal bodies, on numerous occasions, have pulled up the controversial rapper for objectifying women in his songs, and using phrases like ‘I’m a rapist’ and ‘I’m a womaniser’ in the lyrics.
Observers of Punjab’s music scene say in the early days, like Moosewala’s hero-worship for Tupac, Punjabi rap would copy icons of black music; a reflection of Punjab’s fatal attraction for dominance. This still prevalent copycat sentiment, they say, is not genuine rage against the feudal establishment. In the Punjabi music scene, the black rap motifs are not being used as counter culture by an oppressed class, but by a dominant cultural force to further strengthen its feudal hold. Here, rap is about dominance, not protest. And most Punjabi rappers are only taking ahead that legacy, giving it a political and historical context.
In fact, gangsters like Sukhbir Singh alias Sukha Kahlon, who remained active from 2000-15, lived a life similar to what is glorified in Punjabi pop. According to police, Kahlon had over 100 criminal cases registered against him when he was gunned down by rival gang members on his way to a Jalandhar court hearing. His killers danced near his lifeless body in police presence. Due to his dramatic life, the gun-toting social media celebrity remains an icon for many Punjabi gangsta rappers, has inspired several songs and even a movie that got banned. Since Moosewala’s murder, police crackdowns in Punjab on several YouTube gangsta channels have increased, according to sources privy to the music industry. These channels run by different criminal gangs would upload songs by established rappers and earn revenue online; another mode of extortion.
In the controversial rap song, SYL, released posthumously and banned in India, Moosewala touched upon several political issues. Can it be said that his murder stopped a work in progress? “It’s just hopeful thinking that he might have even challenged casteism or his own social position. Maybe he would have, maybe not. At least he found an establishment to rage against,” says journalist and author of The Big Small Town: How Life Looks From Chandigarh?, Aarish Chhabra, maintaining, “Moosewala appears a protester only when the ‘establishment’ is outside Punjab, a Hindutva state. Inside Punjab he’s the establishment, and that’s something he does not challenge.”
In fact, none of the established pop singers do. That’s where Punjabi rap of a different kind comes in. Of protest rap that questions Punjabi society from within. Chhabra underlines two Punjabi rappers, Prabh Deep, a non-Jatt Delhi-based Sikh and Gopi Longia, who belongs to a caste that even Dalits consider untouchable. “Both of them are not stereotypical Punjabis.” Usually, so-called lower castes give rise to Sufi singers who sing protest music but of a kind that’s been reduced to just nostalgia, he says, citing the example of Bulleh Shah questioning the idea of ritualistic religion. “In that sense one can draw a line straight from Bulleh to these singers who question societal status quo,” Chhabra adds. But do rappers like Deep and Longia find any acceptance in Punjab?
Despite being hailed as an underground Punjabi rap god and having collaborated with Bollywood director Anurag Kashyap for Sherni, Manmarziyaan and Paatal Lok for Amazon Prime, Prabh Deep is relatively unknown in Punjab. Described as India’s “most fearless rapper” in the January 2020 cover story of Rolling Stone, Deep has no inhibitions about using cuss words or political undertones in his rap. In fact, he presents an opinion on every life situation—from his personal journey to religious deviations to the 1984 anti-Sikh riots to the 2019 security lockdown in Kashmir, and so on.
On the other hand, Hoshiarpur-based rapper and self-proclaimed disciple of Bohemia, Gopi Longia, broke down during an interview narrating his bitter life experiences. Longia was recently in the limelight for his song, Ud Da Punjab that seemed to be an angry cry against the heroin derivative, chitta, on Punjabi youth and political leaders embroiled in an alleged drug trade. Interestingly, Longia supports marijuana and scorns alcohol. Scenes of burning pyres tattooed on his chest are reflective of his previous job as a caretaker at a cremation ground. Fan is Ban, the latest song on his YouTube channel, Gopi Longia Music, disses Bohemia for allegedly insulting him. “No rented cars, no fake beautiful models. No show off. Straight hitting hot bars,” a user wrote in the comment box, describing Longia as “Most underrated Punjabi rapper.” Another user wrote, “If he gets good guidance from an experienced rapper, he will kill it.”
The aspiring 20-something hip-hop rappers of Bad Mundey (Bad Boys), too seem clueless about the structural social, political and economic apparatuses. In it, there’s Udhay Bakshi, a Chandigarh-based rapper who battled drug addiction in the past, and sees the world in black and white. “The world is full of baddies. One cannot afford to be nice. The weak will perish. The strong will survive here,” advises Bakshi, who also runs a real estate business in the city and has a second home in the US and had chronicled his life experiences in an album titled Absence (2018), available on the crew’s YouTube channel.
When we ask for the exact number of people that constitute Bad Mundey, crew member, Aakash aka Sky 38, immediately quips, “Bro, this is not a group! This is a movement to foster solidarity. To stand united against our rivals. All are welcome provided they are genuine rappers and not just singers.” Sporting perfect haircut joints and double eyebrow slits, the dark-complexioned rapper adds, “I come from that corner in the city where the sun doesn’t shine”. Just like Divine and Raftaar represent Mumbai and Delhi, he wants to represent Chandigarh one day, amplifying the issues his community faces. Soon after dropping out of college in 2017, this son of a chef became a full-time musician. To save costs, he has taken up ghost-writing songs and sharing a “big house” with other crew members—Al Bamania, Badbola and Veekalp—in Chandigarh. In this rented space, they have converted one room into a recording studio, the second into an editing room, and the lobby, which has been decorated with lights and chroma screens, is used to shoot videos.
All members of Bad Mundey view rap as a medium to express personal thoughts and experiences, and use it to assert their right to freedom. In this increasingly digital world, there has been an explosive growth of new idols, fame and fortune seekers. “We don’t invest in promoting our content online. You need big money and promoters for that. We don’t fall into that trap. We just want organic traction,” says Al Bamania with dreadlocks redolent of the Jamaican reggae-legend Bob Marley. Most Punjabi rappers, however, prefer to produce diss tracks intended to disparage or attack rival rappers or groups. Many rap songs, observers say, espouse gritty opulence—usually measured in guns, cars, and anything flashy and expensive. Of course, most of these songs commoditise the woman’s body. “Agreed we showcase flashy lifestyles on-screen, but I am personally drifting away from it. In my rap, I want to engage with things at a deeper level,” says Al Bamania, adding, “For us, gangsta rap is a warning that one must not get allured by this kind of lifestyle.”
Al Bamania says the authentic hip-hop cult first developed in Punjab and then spread to Chandigarh before it was embraced in different parts of India. “Whether it is Bollywood or other film/music industries outside Punjab, people take inspiration from Punjabi rappers. We are brave enough to flirt with innovations in global music,” says Bamania, a music graduate from Panjab University.
For Maninder Mann aka Hukkum, a genre-free rapper, who just returned from Greece after shooting three songs, rap is an abstract yet forceful medium for articulation. “As far as the hip-hop-like rhythm is concerned, it has always been present in traditional Punjabi music and poetry,” he tells Outlook in Mohali. “Historically, Punjab has seen several wars. Aggression is naturally embedded in our DNA. Besides soft songs, our folk music has aggressive songs.” He credits Roger David—a Pakistani American rapper better known by his stage name Bohemia—and Dilin Nair aka Raftaar for popularising rap in Punjab. According to Al Bamania, rap came to Punjab in pre-YouTube days through CDs. Prior to Bohemia and his collaboration with the underground Chandigarh-based Desi Beam in 2009, he says, “Only imposters were performing rap. Now there are many authentic rappers who articulate feelings in most authentic ways.” Bohemia has also promoted local rappers like Pradhan and most recently, Sikander Kahlon.
Both Al Bamania and Hukkum wax eloquent when they talk about Moosewala for fusing the best elements of Punjabi folk and western rap. “This is how culture develops through assimilation. Punjabis have always had this absorptive quality. In my songs, I try to strike a balance between melody and rap. We have to cater to both generations, the young and the old,” says Hukkum, who grew up listening to Kuldeep Manak and other golden voices from folk music, and went on to complete an MPhil in music from Panjab University. Everyone, he says, wants to be successful but needs constant motivation, and his new song Panchhi (Bird), sums up this sentiment: “Thoughts can be the chains that stop our spirits from soaring high and chasing our dreams.” The song’s video on YouTube has violent visuals that show Hukkum as a captive surrounded by gangsters.
Jaskaran Singh Dhaliwal aka Rubab, attacks songs that promote mindless violence and materialism for the possible damage it could cause on impressionable minds. In the video of his song, Fake Success, the Mohali-based rapper cum doctor mimics a real-life incident wherein a young student, addicted to such songs, ends up killing his lady teacher, he says. What hooked Rubab to rap was Gully Boy (2019). “I realised that rap is the medium through which I can express my thoughts most effectively,” Rubab tells Outlook. His rap song Error that received 2,42,735 views on his YouTube channel, Rubabism, substantiates his claims.
The twin cities of Chandigarh and Mohali form the biggest and most flourishing music industry in North India; the reasons being the strong sense of cultural identity and the fact that Punjab is a relatively prosperous state. “At least 5-6 Punjabi songs are released every day, most of them are hip-hop,” Binwant Randhawa, a music industry insider, tells Outlook. “The genre is in great demand and has been trending in global music.”
For women, the flourishing rap industry riddled with sexist lyrics and videos can seem nauseating. “The rap circles in Punjab still treat women like an object,” says Meow, a young woman rapper, who continues to struggle in carving a niche for herself while fighting off this industry mindset. Rap, she adds, glamourises violence and misogyny instead of articulating social angst, but in hip-hop she found her medium to vent, to articulate her feelings, so much so that she dropped out of law college last year to rededicate herself to pursuing music.
(This appeared in the print edition as "Rap & Rage")
Text by Ashutosh Sharma; Photographs by Vikram Sharma in Chandigarh
