CHENNAI : “I am just a young man trying to understand why they mad at me for what my ancestors meant.”
— Brother Bigson Mandela, 'Valliamma Peraandi', Vol 01.
Let’s rewind a bit. As a child, the independent singer, rapper, and hip-pop artiste Arivu recalls his school teacher telling him, he won’t be able to study because of his caste background. Unable to grasp what this statement meant, he asked other classmates about ‘caste’ and cried and cried. “Later, my paati Valliamma stormed into my classroom and told the vaadhiyar that her grandson was put into this school with their hard work. I saw her bravery and wanted that,” says the Arakkonam-based rapper at a press meet at LV Prasad College.
These instances of Valliamma’s bravery followed Arivu through his life and punctuated his musical journey. Two years after Enjoy Enjaami, produced by Santosh Narayanan and embroiled in controversy, Arivu returns to songs of his grandmother, stories of bravery, and experiences born from bitter paavaka-seeds of discrimination. Most recently, it informed his 12-song album Valliamma Peraandi: Vol 01 — with record label Sony Music India — which tackles themes of untouchability, love, resistance, and family. Launched on July 18, the artiste’s birthday, it travels across jazz, EDM, folk styles, and hip-hop genres, and involves contributions from other artists like Rashmeet Kaur and Gaana Bala.
If a stray Twitter user visits the independent singer’s X (formerly Twitter) handle @Arivubeing, they’ll be greeted by his pinned post: a smiling photo with Valliamma and her grandson and the line: “Slavery is not our history, Slavery interrupted our history.” A similar photo, depicting Arivu with his grandmother seated at a table and sheathed by green light, was aptly chosen as the album cover.
The entry into the track pulls listeners into Arivu’s inner world as it begins with a woman, calling out “Bigson, Bigson, bigsappa”, the rapper’s nickname, and a man asking “Enga poitaan theriliye? (where is he gone?). Personal, political, and pride meet as laughter mingles with a line “he’s so cool, he’s so handsome, just a Bigson, so romantic, superstar.” From ‘Origins’, ‘Block Panniten’ to ‘Maala’, the inevitable occurs — the listener melting into head-bobbing, semi-kuththu moves and a feeling of hearing the beating heart of an artiste’s album, crafted over two years.
Origins, wildest dreams
Arivu recounts, “I hadn’t heard rap music or watched cinema. I grew up on makkal isai (people’s music).” His steady playlist included ooru programmes, Dalit Subbaiah and Manimekalai, and church music. “If you need to read a book from Ambedkar, you can just listen to a song from Dalit Subbaiah; it was almost the same. This was my music experience, from those around me,” says the artiste who began his career in mainstream cinema with songs like Patta Patti in Vada Chennai and Urimayai Meetpom in Kaala.
Later as a member of The Casteless Collective band, he rose to fame, for songs like Jai Bhim, Quota Song. “The lives, voices, music, and experiences of marginalised folks are always appropriated. Beyond that, Casteless Collective showed the world they could show up with coat, suit, and gethu, and entered the stage then.”
But his origins and identity, he says, begins with his family and Valliamma. “Everyone has pride. For some, it’s caste pride, asset, and money. When I think about my pride, there’s my father, a college professor, and mother, a school teacher. They got there because of their sacrifice. Our history has been undermined, and despite this, the labour we have put in to rise above, is our identity,” he explains.
In 1823, the British had displaced lakhs of people to Sri Lanka to work in tea plantations. “After Independence, they left those people there, and half of them, the Sri Lankan government sent them back in the 1970s and 80s. This led to families being separated; they lost their roots. They had to start from scratch again with hard work. Valliamma was one such family head who rose through the ranks through toil and education,” says Arivu.
The caste-ridden society flushes away, undermines and squashes the dreams of many from marginalised communities. “Dalit Subbiah could have become Bob Marley, Pavalar Mukil could have become Michael Jackson. This caste-ridden society has kept their artistes caged — theirs is a life of joy and celebration. This is the situation we have been in. That’s why I felt the need to protect my Valliamma’s history, my identity. We are birds liberated on stage from our ancestors’ sweat and blood,” he says.
Thodaadha, Thodaadha
A montage of women harvesting paddy in the wind, hands steadily washing a deity, and labourers wearily gazing into the viewfinder — these shots punctuate the video for Arivu’s Thodaadha. The last image is of Arivu, donned in white, holding onto a rope tied to a buffalo with a crown. “This is probably the first time a buffalo entered a music studio, as far as I know.
Buffaloes are seen as vehicles of Yaman, and it is a dirty animals found in sakadais (sewage). What Maamanan did with pigs, I wanted to depict with the buffalo. Because it is seen as Yaman’s vehicle, it is potrayed badly, I wanted to break that,” says Kalpana Ambedkar, who directed the video. Her debut music video lingers on shots across Chennai and Arivu’s village in Vellore, showcasing the lives of the marginalised communities.
For Arivu’s father Prof Kalainesan, memories of his father taking care of landowners’ buffaloes flooded back while watching the video. “That this labour of a common person who is grazing the cattle is now in the stage is something to be proud of. Arivu has depicted the life we have lived and none of it can be dismissed or avoided, with him registering it,” he says.
And Arivu’s line remains: “I am the wildest dreams of my ancestors.”