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Of course, Divine and Spitfire are a contemporary echo of India’s heretical poets, who have always used their craft to defiantly call out oppression, inequity, and orthodoxy. To protect ourselves from our “protectors”) So come, let’s gather, we’re our own army We’re a herd of sheep at the mercy of mercenary netas Rakshak ke naam pe yahaan mama log bhai hai Take this for instance:īakriyon ke bheed mein yahaa mantriya kasaai hai They don’t deal in distraction – they draw our attention to the plight of the common man and the callous nexus between corrupt politicians, crony capitalists, and lax law enforcement.
![real gully boy real gully boy](https://filmfare.wwmindia.com/content/2019/feb/gullyboy21550733972.jpg)
We stand today, precariously close to that celebration of democracy that is the world’s largest electoral exercise. As the spear’s tip of a much larger community sprouting across the country, they have the set-up, the hook and chorus – but there is no hapless levity in their punchline. Each with their own unique couplets and cadence, each with their own brand of fiery personal truths. Chhatarpur in Madhya Pradesh has produced Nitin Mishra aka Spitfire. Mumbai’s slums have spawned Indian rap’s talismanic duo Divine and Naezy. They’ve risen from underground obscurity to internet fame from different cultural crucibles. Mumbai’s slums have spawned Indian rap’s talismanic duo Divine and Naezy. A new breed of street rappers who have been dishing out their lacerating critique of what needs to change. Thankfully, simmering under the surface and lurking in the shadows of YouTube, are the gully’s greatest heroes keeping the fight alive. The surging numbers of stand-up comics abetted by streaming services have only however served to create a soothing dose of collective anaesthesia. Thus far, we’d hoped that the growing breed of stand-up comedians would do the job of speaking truth to power – modern-day court jesters, pointing out the follies of the rich and powerful. They lie forgotten as soon as election season is over) (Who’s around to listen to the silent screams of the poor? The real casualty then, is the only voice that should matter – that of the average Indian. With their access restricted, the only option they have is to ingratiate themselves to the powers that be, instead of investing in the labours of actual journalism. Filmdom’s distant relative, the news media on the other hand, is engaged in a fight to the death for the interviews that attract eyeballs. In cinema, we are either treated to fantasy – or more recently, hyper-nationalistic – fare that is somehow meant to make us feel better. Today’s media, meant to hold the elected accountable, has been rendered nearly anaemic. That was an outlet for middle-class frustration, a sort of celluloid activism, which disappeared in the froth spewing from a bottle of Coke in post-liberalisation India.Ī new breed of street rappers who have been dishing out their lacerating critique of what needs to change. In the ’70s, when the effervescence of an independent nation was stained by a couple of decades of cynicism, Amitabh Bachchan’s angry young man showed us how the common man might erupt against injustice. Raj Kapoor’s views on class politics in a socialist India hoped to remind society to rise above inequality and bear the challenges of a newly independent nation, and survive it like his tragi-comic characters did. Sample this acerbic appraisal of the media:īut let’s rewind the track a bit, and playback to a time when cinema was a living, moving, speaking reflection of the times it was set in. The antidote to unreliable journalists, fawning filmmakers, and jingoistic political commentators, one collective voice might just have become an unwitting substitute for the fourth estate.
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Today, when the affluent minority and the aspirational lower classes uneasily jostle within India’s economic frothiness, a new, and unlikely group appears to have become the voice of the masses. They aren’t citizen reporters, they are citizen rappers.īorn in a world where they watch the social media circus around billionaire marriages on the same phone they paid that billionaire for, their sour cynicism is beginning to bubble over. Articulate, fearlessly candid, and crusading on our behalf – their film crews at the ready – in the nooks and corners of every street.