Hollering Song

In the late 80s, Michael Lewis, also known in Rotterdam as DJ Hoekboud, left for Paramaribo to do field research on popular Hindustani shepherd songs that traveled with contract workers from Northern India at the end of the 19th century. Once in Suriname, these so-called 'Birahâ' songs were passed down in song for generations within the Hindustani community. Lewis made twenty hours of sound recordings to capture the diversity of the Birahâ. Some of these recordings have been released on the ccompilation LP 'Hollering Song'. This publication contributes to the memory of the Birahâ and their historical significance in a postcolonial context. In this interview, Lewis discusses how his interest in the Birahâ folk songs arose and why his recordings form a unique archive for the transmission of an oral tradition that seems to be slowly disappearing in Suriname as well as in the Netherlands.

Katayoun Arian: In 2020, DE PLAYER released an LP with a selection of fourteen special Birahâs from your archive of field recordings. What prompted you to start researching an oral tradition from the Surinamese-Hindustani community in the late XNUMXs?

Michael Lewis: I have always cherished a love for folk music and had a certain affinity with it. During the period that I studied at Leiden University, I had to choose a subject for my thesis Languages ​​and Cultures of South Asia. Together with my then partner, Chitra, I visited a Hindustani wedding of her cousin in Rotterdam. The party took place in a community center. In a large, oblong room, tables and chairs were set up for the banquet. At the very back was a raised stage on which I saw a group of women sitting on a blanket; a female singer was accompanied by three women on harmonium, kartaal (iron cymbals), and dholak (a double-headed drum). Although there seemed to be little attention for the music of the women, I was fascinated.

Unfortunately, after half an hour a man appeared on stage and suddenly turned on a Hindi pop record at high volume. And while the women were still singing. After some back and forth they picked up their instruments, rolled up the cloth and left with a dejected look on their faces. I asked Chitra what happened. She told me that the women were singing wedding songs that were passed down orally and originated in India. And that only older Hindustani people are still interested in this musical tradition because the songs are sung in a language that is difficult to understand. In addition, the singers do not have polished voices like those of the Bollywood repertoire that is so popular in the Hindustani community. I was indignant and in the period that followed I started to delve into oral traditions from the Hindustani community and decided to do research on the Birahâ.

KA: The Birahâ is originally a field song that belonged to the Ahirs, a cattle-breeding caste from Northern India. What social function did the Birahâ have in India? And could you say that this function changed in Suriname and later also in the Netherlands?

ML: It is difficult to say how the social function changed, as no specific research has been done on this.

This oral tradition of the agricultural population of North India indicates caste identity and has many types of songs. Firstly, there are genres whose repertoire belongs to “the knowledge of the group” – the villagers – and which are sung in groups. Then there are specific genres that belong to “the knowledge of specialists”. The Birahâ falls within the latter category; the specialist has a large repertoire and is recognized by the group as a Birahâ singer. They sing when they feel like it, for example at the end of the day to entertain and amuse the other villagers. Or at wedding parties where several Birahâ singers are accompanied by the nagara, a set of drums. This performance practice also includes a dance; the 'ahirava ke nac', the dance of the Ahir, the caste of the cowherds. Part of their dance costume is a pair of trousers to which bronze bells are sewn. A specialist will always sing an introduction of himself at the beginning of his performance. The so-called Sumirana. In this he calls upon the gods to bless him in his performance and to give him inspiration. He also asks for the blessing of the teacher from whom he learned the Birahâ and calls him by name.

In general, it can be said that in Suriname there was no longer a close-knit village community, as was known in India. After serving the contract and life on the plantation, people moved to their own piece of land and lived geographically at a distance from each other. It is remarkable that the Ahirs from the vicinity of Paramaribo chose a piece of land in the Pad district of Wanica in larger numbers. As far as I know, that is the only example of cluster formation of a specific caste in a certain district. The more spontaneous singing of the Birahâ will, we may assume, have continued there for a while longer. At the time that I was in Suriname for fieldwork in the late 80s, the specialists had become professional artists, who usually asked for a fee for their public performances. This happened mainly at weddings.

Once in the Netherlands, that process of change only intensified. When I was in Suriname in 1987 and 1988, there were still a reasonable number of Birahâ singers who could be called specialists, about a hundred years after the arrival of the contract workers. But they were all of advanced age and have since passed away. At this moment I would not know whether there are still specialists alive. As far as I know, there has never been a Birahâ specialist in the Netherlands. There are male and female singers who can also sing Birahâ. They perform at cultural events but are not asked to perform at weddings.

KA: The Hollering Song record also has added lyrics and photos. In the added text, Birahâ is also called a caste song. Can you say something about the relationship between caste identity and the structure and form of these songs?

ML: Within the Indian orally transmitted folk lyric there are different genres that are distinct from each other, for example about life cycles; birth, marriage and death. There are also genres that are connected to a specific deity such as Ram or Krishna. Each genre has a specific melody and rhythm; this means that every song within that genre sounds the same, only the text is variable. This also applies to the Birahâ with the difference that these songs are connected to a specific caste, namely the Ahir, the caste of the cowherds. In that capacity, the Birahâ has the function of confirming and strengthening the caste identity and is only sung by the members of this caste.

As far as form is concerned, you could say that the Birahâ belongs to the so-called 'hollering songs'. In the rainy season, the Ahir herdsmen in Northern India moved with their cattle to the pastures in the higher hills. Sometimes they walked a week or more away from the village. In that wilderness, unsafe because of tigers and leopards, they guarded their cattle and could communicate with others over greater distances by singing the Birahâ. It was sung at a high volume and with a powerful voice. In a way, you can compare it with the Yodel.

KA: What makes the Birahâ special, apart from its specific relationship to the caste identity of the cowherds?

ML: Other genres of folk songs are strictly about a specific subject; for example, marriage, birth, harvest, a specific deity, etc. What is interesting about the Birahâ is that the song is not tied to a specific subject. A singer not only has access to texts that he has learned through oral transmission, but can also make up new Birahâs himself. The Ahir are free cowherds who are not tied to a place or a branch and that same freedom is reflected in the variety of subjects they sing about. In principle, a Birahâ can be about anything. About travel, the separation from a loved one, edifying themes, a deity, etc. My idea was that this is therefore a song that offers the opportunity to learn more about the immigrants' world of experience.

KA: Can you tell us a bit more about those different topics?
ML: Firstly you have Birahâ's which are about the Birahâ itself, for example:

From the Birahâ there is no agriculture,
the Birahâ does not grow like a fruit on a branch.
The Ahira shepherds sing the Birahâ when the bumblebee of their land,
sits on their throats

This song expresses some aspects of the Ahir identity. The bumblebee of the land is not only meant to underline their freedom, but also as an identification with Krishna. The bumblebee is a symbol of that deity: Just as the bumblebee buzzes from one flower to another, so Krishna, the cheerful flute player, hops from one shepherdess to another. This identification arose because Krishna was raised by a family of cowherds during his exile. The fact that the bumblebee comes to sit on their throat refers to the fact that you can only sing the Birahâ when you are inspired by Krishna.

When several singers sing together, they challenge each other. They do this by asking a riddle, among other things. One singer asks a riddle and the other has to answer it. This is a nice example:

Which bird has long legs,
Which has a white tail.
In which wood are thirty-six barks,
Which wood has twelve ears.

 The swan has long legs,
and the heron has a white tail.
There are thirty-six barks in the wood of the banana tree,
the wood of the harrow has twelve ears.

But you also have Birahâ's who simply express an observation or impression:

Your eyes are like the mango,
your nose is like a parrot's beak.
Your breasts are like tangerines,
like those swinging from a branch.

KA: The indentured labourers from British India arrived in Suriname at the same time as labourers from the Netherlands and from Dutch-colonised Java. They ended up in a completely different society there. How did the genre adapt to the situation of indentured labour on plantations in Suriname? And did the fading of caste identity in this new context influence the songs, or their oral transmission?

ML: The immigrants who left for Suriname were recruited in the border area between two North Indian languages, Avadhi and Bhojpuri. Then they left for a depot in Calcutta. They stayed there until the moment they were shipped for departure to Suriname. Among the immigrants were a considerable number of Ahirs. In the book by CJM de Klerk about the history of this immigration he observes: “In the depot the contract workers occupied themselves with playing and singing songs, especially Birahâ's …”. As I stated earlier, it is difficult to say how the situation developed further during the contract labor on the plantations. The oral transmission has continued in any case. But because a Birahâ can be about anything, my idea was that this is a song that offers the possibility to learn more about the immigrants' world of experience. In this context I would like to mention a modern Birahâ written by a specialist:

Listeners, listen to today's event,
I arrived from Meerzorg on the eight o'clock ferry.
I slowly walked to the center of the market,
then, standing in the middle of the market, I made a birahâ.

She is Ahîr by caste and her name is Râdhâ Ratanî,
she puts finely ground pepper on fried cassava.
In a small bowl she puts dâla and rotî and puts it in your hands,
if anyone asks, she acts sour.
Her son and daughter-in-law sell sweet potatoes in this way.

Then I saw all three of them in the middle of the market,
They had sold their goods and were busy making a calculation.
How much is there for the daily diet and how much is left,
whatever we have left over we will use for the purchases (of our merchandise).

When they hear the call of the first rooster,
mother-in-law and daughter-in-law immediately open their eyes.
While boiling and boiling it has become morning,
Meanwhile, bus five is already starting to make its rounds.

The text is rather cryptic in places. But in this Birahâ the singer complains about the situation of a woman of the Ahîr caste in modern Suriname. She has to get up early in the morning to cook food, then she has to hurry to catch the bus to the market. After a long day of selling food at the market, she has to carefully count her pennies and hope that she has enough left to do the shopping for the next day. He complains because he finds this an unworthy existence for an Ahîr who in the days of old (in India) led a free existence and is now living to earn a few meager pennies.

What this Birahâ shows and what I can say from experience, is that in the case of the later generation of Ahirs in Suriname, at the end of the eighties, there was still a consciousness of caste identity. The specialists I approached and of whom I made recordings, without exception called themselves Ahir and were also recognized as such by their environment. In one of my conversations with a specialist, I mentioned the name of a singer, to which he responded: “But he is not an Ahir.” I have also met singers where that identity was not present. Singers who sang Birahâ in addition to other genres.

KA: Earlier you indicated that there were fewer and fewer Birahâ specialists left in Suriname. Can you say that this oral tradition is disappearing within the Hindustani community and if so, what is the possible reason for this?

ML: There are several reasons for this, and they also apply to the other oral traditions within the layered Surinamese-Hindustani cultural spectrum. First of all, it is the language. As I said, Sarnami is a hybrid language with elements from Avadhi and Bhojpuri. The bulk of the Birahâs that I have recorded are orally transmitted texts from India. You can say that, because they show clear traces of one of those two languages. Nevertheless, the repertoire originating from India is cherished and kept intact as much as possible. As I noted earlier, at the beginning of his performance the singer asks for the blessing of the teacher from whom he learned the Birahâ. The singer has great respect for the tradition and will do everything possible to keep it alive. But because it is an oral tradition, you will find grammatical characteristics of modern Sarnami here and there. I only found a few Birahâs that were written recently by a singer. These modern Sarnami Birahâs are essentially no longer part of the oral tradition, but they are still easy to understand.

In India it was mainly a living tradition. A singer was free to invent new songs or to adapt existing songs. In Suriname the tradition that had been handed down formed an almost fixed corpus. And this corpus was in a language that is difficult for the modern listener to understand. In addition, the specialist in India was simply a member of the village community with a specific talent. He sang among acquaintances. In Suriname the singer was seen as an artist who asks for a fee to come and sing for an audience.

Then there is the socio-economic reason. The Birahâ is associated with the agricultural background. Every contractor who came to Suriname was initially a farmer. As a result of education and social and economic emancipation, people nowadays experience that agricultural background as less relevant and sometimes even inferior. People do not want to be associated with that. The point of identity also follows from the previous. Everywhere in Suriname and the Netherlands you will find Hindustani associations. They organize dance and music courses. The curriculum of these courses is Indian Classical dance and music. They also organize language courses. The language is Hindi, as it is spoken in India. The focus for one's own cultural identity is therefore derived from a kind of pan-Indian identity and not from one's own regional, traditional language and culture. And finally, the influence of Indian film music from Bombay (Bollywood) on musical taste is an important factor in forgetting one's own tradition. The singers of this film music have a trained and refined voice. The melody is cleverly composed. All this in contrast to the interpreters of the Birahâ, who often have a raw, unpolished voice.

KA: What can this sound archive contribute to the knowledge about the Birahâ and thus the socio-cultural history of contracted Hindustanis and successive generations of Surinamese Hindustanis?

 ML: Much has been written about the immigration of Hindustanis to Suriname. But the source material on which these publications are based consists almost entirely of reports and observations made by the organizing party in that process: the colonial government. For example, we know quite precisely where in India recruitment took place. We know the name, age, place of birth, marital status, etc. of almost every immigrant. We know the name of the boat on which they made the journey. We know when they arrived in Suriname and on which plantation they were put to work. And so on. But little is known about the experience of that immigration by the protagonists themselves. Only one immigrant has written his autobiography; Munshi Rahman Khan. In addition, we have a few publications of interviews with immigrants. But these were conducted quite late and they only concern immigrants who were children at the time of immigration. To cut a long story short: because Birahâ is a genre that does not have a fixed subject, these songs contribute to gaining insight into the immigrants' world of experience. Not so much in relation to the process of immigration, but reduced to the simple question or observation: what did she/he find important to make a song about. What did they find interesting? What did they look at? What remained in their collective consciousness?

Apart from their socio-cultural value, the songs are also important from a linguistic point of view. As I mentioned, the recruitment ground for immigrants was on the border of two North Indian languages, Avadhi and Bhojpuri. The language spoken by the Hindustani people today is Sarnami, a hybrid language with grammatical elements from both languages. In the past, as far as I know, nothing was written in Sarnami. The sound archive is therefore an important source of information about the development of this hybrid language.

Finally, these songs are a footprint from the past. For some time now, historiography has distanced itself from the dogma that source material for history is limited to the written word. This began in the fifties with the pioneering work of Jan Vansinha. His efforts have led to the acceptance that orally transmitted information can be a reliable source for history; 'oral histories'.

Listen here the soundcloud of DJ Hoekboud.
The Hollering Song LP is available at THE PLAYER.

Biography
Michael Lewis was born in Jakarta in 1952 and lived in the Netherlands from 1955, interrupted by an eight-year stay in India. He studied Sanskrit and modern Indian languages ​​at Leiden University. He then worked as an accountant, caterer and DJ in the cultural sector. Michael is an avid collector of vinyl records. His collection includes a large number of field recordings from all over the world.

Katayoun Arian is a curator, sound archivist and DJ. Her interdisciplinary practice moves between visual art, sound, music and socio-political histories, exploring forms of knowing and experiencing from feminist, queer and decolonial perspectives in a variety of projects. For TENT she created the exhibitions Material Memory (2022), Who Wants to Live in a World Without Magic? (2021) and The Traveling Hand (2020).