Two weeks ago, singer, songwriter, and composer Gauri Lakshmy was interviewed on a Malayalam news channel’s morning show, honouring one year of her musical album Murivu. But she could not have foreseen the backlash coming her way, soon after an impromptu rendition of the song was aired on the channel.
“My name is girl. I am 8 years old.
In a crowded bus, the age of the person who came in search of my navel is 40.
My name is girl, my age is 13.
It was summer holidays, and lunch was being served at my home.
A person I knew from childhood, inappropriately touched me from behind.
That is called Lust.
It’s a wound that time can never heal,” goes the lyrics of her song, plainly dwelling into the horrors of child sexual abuse.
To the uninitiated, Gauri is one of the youngest composers in India (she was 13 when she composed a song for the Rosshan Andrrews film Casanovva), and has sung playback in several films besides creating independent music. Perhaps one can argue that Murivu isn’t exactly Gauri’s best work. While applauding her intention (and her words hit hard!), I felt that the composition, arrangement, and the tad amateurish picturisation failed to rise to the occasion. Notably, Malayalam is also not the most flexible of languages when stuffed into a rap format.
But here’s the thing, even if one is to criticise the rhythm or execution of the song, there is simply no invalidating Gauri Lakshmy’s attempts to crystallise the anger and helplessness of women who have been subjected to sexual assault. But that’s exactly what’s happening to the artist and her creation on social media.
A large male population has grabbed this opportunity to pour out their repressed misogyny, unleashing a vile cyber attack on the musician. The perpetrators’ issue is less with the quality of the music, but more about what it conveys in plain sight. The comments under her video embody thinly disguised misogyny. It’s the same kind of mockery that many women were subjected to when they posted #MeToo hashtags on social media to bravely disclose the instances of sexual assaults they had to face.
The number of memes, meme videos, and hateful reactions that have sprouted from all corners prove that for many, perhaps Gauri Lakshmy’s lyrics hit a raw nerve. To get a sense of their indignation, one just has to watch the vile ‘counter-strike’ videos that have come up against Murivu, many of them essentially nullifying sexual assault. The makers of one such video found it hilarious to match her lyrics with movie footage that shows men groping women in public places. Some others replaced her lyrics and started rhyming them with a case study of Jolly Joseph, an accused in the Koodathayi serial murder case. Then of course came the stereotypical and ignorant allegations that equated “feminism” to female supremacy and misandry.
One user commented that he felt like he had read a soft porn book after listening to the song. If a woman’s narration of sexual assault can incite such voyeuristic images in some, then there is something fundamentally wrong with how our society perceives women. In a way, such events reflect to the world our society’s ingrained sexism and sexual perversions.
The cyber attacks faced by Gauri Lakshmy is reminiscent of the response to a viral 2015 video called #RapAgainstRape, made by two Mumbai-based women Pankhuri Awasthi and Uppekha Jain under the moniker BomBaebs. The lyrics of the three-minute video went like this: “We’re now known as the land of rapes/ But did you ever wonder, how this took shape/ Don’t shy away now, you’re a part of this culture/ Of lawyers who will kill & politicians who ban our will/ & all the other Blood-sucking vultures.” Though the video was received positively by many, a visible and vocal section of the internet responded by lashing out at the duo — accusing them of promoting ‘radical feminism’ and questioning their choice of clothes. Some were even angered that they chose English, not Hindi, to raise their point.
Indian music and misogyny
For nearly two decades, rap remained closely linked to the Black community in America, and they used it to raise their voice against their oppressive system, poverty, and drugs. But sexism too has often been a byproduct of rap, with research suggesting that up to 22% to 37% of rap music songs contain violent and misogynist lyrics.
International female rappers have struggled to navigate a culture tinged with sexism and sexual harassment, and it’s a similar scene in India.
Honey Singh aka Yo! Yo! Honey Singh, the face of Punjabi Hip-hop, for instance has always laced his songs with sexism. His track ‘15 saal’ slut shames underage women for getting into trouble for pub-hopping, while ‘Yaar Bathere’ is about a man who shames a woman for rejecting him. Desi hip-hop — unlike the 90s era American hip-hop which spoke about govt tyranny and social evils — is also more into flashy cars, designer wear, and objectifying women.
Considering the Indian music scene is synonymous with film music, and independent music is hardly heard enough, we should inevitably bring focus to film music. Bollywood music alone features an unending list of songs that commodify women, glorify stalking, misogyny, and mock consent. They all fall under the cloak of catchy music, and few seem to mind. If the 90s had a ‘Ruk Ja O Dil Deewane’ from Dilwale Dulhaniya Le Jayenge with lines that amount to sexual harassment, or a ‘Tu Cheez Badi Hain Mast’ (Mohra) that commodified women, in the more recent past there has been songs like ‘Gandi Baat’ (R…Rajkumar) which normalises harassment. More often than not, Bollywood has celebrated such objectionable songs.
Malayalam cinema, though not as hazardous, has also had its moments of allegiance with the patriarchy. The immediate recall would be Priyadarshan’s arguably most regressive work, Rakkuyilin Ragasadassil (1986), which features an entire song (‘Poomukha Vathilkkal Sneham’) that doubles as a patriarchal handbook for young brides on how to be a perfect homemaker. One is inclined to believe that for the longest time, Malayali men took references from the song to make “good women” out of their wives. The same song was remixed in a film (Ivar Vivahitharayal, 2009) nearly two decades later, but it has been relatively comforting that it didn’t create quite a stir as expected.
The song ‘Ishtamalleda’ in Kamal’s Swapnakoodu depicts the problematic narrative that women are just “playing hard to get” when they show disinterest. Both the song and picturisation ridicule consent and normalises harassment, all under the haze of ‘fun’. Even to this day, the song has a fan following with many finding it ‘romantic.’
A 2021 ‘item’ song featuring Samantha, ‘Oo Antava’ in Pushpa, was hailed for its attempts to address the ‘male gaze’ via its lyrics (written by a man), which were coated with barbs against misogyny and patriarchy. But ironically, even while attempting to call out the male gaze, the song simultaneously panders to it and objectifies women.
Also read: Samantha's 'Oo Antava' item song attempts to subvert the male gaze, but does it?
When trauma translated into music
In the West, where independent music thrives, several female artists have used their space to intersect pop music with the feminist movement and voice the stories of violations they have faced. They have spoken about child abuse, domestic violence, and sexual assaults through their songs and have perhaps tried to self-heal as well as offer courage and solidarity to other survivors.
A decade ago, Lady Gaga in her single ‘Till It Happens To You’ revisited a traumatic incident in her life — when she was raped and left pregnant at 19. In ‘Man Down’ (2010), Rihanna, who is a survivor of domestic assault, takes on rape directly. The singer has often referred to sexualised violence in her songs. Canadian singer Sarah McLachlan in her popular single ‘Possession’ speaks about the horrors of stalking.
Embed: https://youtu.be/ZmWBrN7QV6Y?si=cRT-C5z00gfPjZpV
In the '90s, an underground feminist punk movement in the US called the Riot Grrrl encouraged young women to express themselves in non-classified ways. They had started to form bands to publicise their stories.
In her piano ballad ‘Sullen Girl’, Grammy award-winning American singer-songwriter Fiona Apple revealed the aftermath of her rape at the age of 12. Similarly War on Women Baltimore Band’s ‘Say it’ song focused on the treatment of rape survivors in the US. ‘I believe you’ was American pop singer Fletcher’s response to the #MeToo movement, an open letter that tells the survivors that they aren’t alone.
Emergence of female rappers in India
Female rappers in India like Hard Kaur, MIA, Raja Kumari, Dee MC, Prabh Deep, SIRI, Feyago, and Sofia Ashraf have been challenging stereotypes and taking narratives into their own hands for a while now. If Sophia Ashraf’s ‘Kodaikanal won't’ brought attention to the mercury poisoning in Kodaikanal, Dee MC’s ‘I Can’t Be Your Superman’ turned out to be a powerful feminist anthem. They also have the additional burden of constantly battling against the male rappers who perpetuate misogyny and objectify women.
Largely, movie/independent music lyrics in India haven’t evolved to tackle issues with the delicacy it deserves. It’s only recently that there has been rap/reggae music around caste and oppression. In retrospect, Gauri Lakshmy, along with other young female musicians like Indulekha Warrier who created a stir with her Penn Rap (an invigorating women’s rights chant), is trying to be the voice of the voiceless, exhibiting a sense of sisterhood. Her narrative is authentic and has a sense of purpose. “Art is political. You can’t have music that makes you dance. You need to have music that makes you think,” said Sofia Ashraf in an online interview.
Sure, you can critique her music but here we are out of tune with her conviction as well. Every artist has the right and role to stand up for human rights. Be kind.
Neelima Menon has worked in the newspaper industry for more than a decade. She has covered Hindi and Malayalam cinema for The New Indian Express and has worked briefly with Silverscreen.in. She now writes exclusively about Malayalam cinema, contributing to Fullpicture.in and thenewsminute.com. She is known for her detailed and insightful features on misogyny and the lack of representation of women in Malayalam cinema.