The Radical Impulse
Music in the Tradition of the Indian People's Theatre Association
The period from the mid-1930s to the end of the 1950s in India saw the cultural expression of a wide range of political sentiments and positions around imperialism, fascism, nationalism and social transformation. It was a period that covered a crucial transitional phase: from colonialism to a post-colonial context. This transitional period in India coincided with a vibrant radical ethos in many other parts of the world where, among numerous political issues, the aesthetics–politics relationship came to be articulated and debated in unprecedented ways. No history of this period can be written without giving an account of the departures, inventions and reinventions made by the Indian People’s Theatre Association (IPTA) in the fields of drama, music and dance. Yet music, a very important part of the IPTA’s creations as well as the connecting link between the various artistic forms, has not been studied as part of the history of the IPTA movement.
This book attempts to fill this gap in knowledge about the vast musical repertoire of the IPTA. It is about the IPTA tradition’s music in a national as well as specifically regional contexts (Bengali, Malayalam, Telugu, Assamese and Hindu/Urdu in particular), situated within the overall cultural and political context of the transitional period in India, and in the context of a radical impulse emergent in many parts of the world from the beginning of the twentieth century.
The book is the culmination of an archiving-cum-documentation project of music in the IPTA tradition undertaken by the author. It can also be read as a songbook, including lyrics and musical scores, revivifying the songs and music of a radical impulse in South Asia.
Protest music can be more about tunes than literature. To the extent that it gains an aural charm beyond the revolutionary spirit of the lyrics. Such music flourished in India during the country’s transition from colonialism to independence. Wasn’t that breed of songs in vogue over three decades from the 1930s virtually a genre? That’s what The Radical Impulse explores.
The author, Sumangala Damodaran, is a granddaughter of E.M.S. Namboodiripad, the first CM of Kerala. The southern state has itself celebrated its Left movement in the 1950s, using, among other forms, theatre, to which music was integral. Andhra was important in this regard too, and so were Bengal, Assam, and Bombay, besides Delhi and its hinterland up north, where political music gained immense popularity. And all of this was largely under the aegis of the IPTA (Indian People’s Theatre Association), the cultural wing of the Communist party.
The book senses a dash of piquancy in protest music being called ‘popular’. For, revolutionary verses, however well-liked, can’t be commercial hits. Many of them have been solos and duets. Aesthetically, protest music has had sub-genres, Sumangala notes, which can be split into three: those based on folk, Indian classical and Western. Folk songs were employed in three ways: directly as protest music, literature suitably changed but tunes retained and, finally, as part of a performance (like ballet or drama).
Sumangala met Malayali singer P.K. Medini, who had emerged from the labour movement around the coir factories of Alappuzha in the ’40s, helping her rediscover a hit song.
The folk songs bore no political overtones, and were rendered for entertainment at meetings (where they blended with the protest ethos), but had a more serious positivity—reviving forgotten vocal traditions colonialism suppressed. Typically, they required masters to deliver well. That’s how, say, a Bhatiali boat-song, Selam chacha became synonymous with Lokgeet exponent Hemanga Biswas. Interestingly, the second category was the convenient alteration of traditional kirtans, like Punjabi Prem Dhawan’s Arey bhaago London bhaago, referring to the Cripps Mission representations. The third, being onstage, came from singer-dancers or actor-storytellers.
Conversely, rural-groomed Kerala People’s Arts Club (KPAC) went on to craft a ‘new folk’ idiom that retained rustic simplicity, but introduced greater melodic content. For instance, poet O.N.V. Kurup’s near-romantic Ponnarival ambili in the cult play Ningalenne Communistakki (You Made Me a Communist) from 1952, a year after KPAC’s formation.
Protest music banking on Indian classical flourished in Bombay and Calcutta, thanks largely to the 1943-formed IPTA’s central squad that had trained musicians guided by stalwarts like Ravi Shankar and composer-writer Jyotirindra Moitra. Sumangala notes that Hindustani and Carnatic music began accommodating folk and patriotic songs in the latter half of concerts. The Western idiom found representation in staccato phrases, melodies with notes not close to each other (for heightened dramatic effect) along with hard drumbeats. Salil Chowdhury’s IPTA compositions were examples.
The movement’s focus on revival of folk traditions, according to Communist leader P.C. Joshi, was to “weaken chauvinistic traits”. Thus IPTA music incorporated varied traditions: Lavani, Tamasha, Powada of Maharashtra, Ramlila of the Gangetic plains, Bengal’s Baul and Sangeetanatakam down south. In Kerala, the shelf-life of the theatre songs was far greater than the plays that gave them birth, the book rightly notes. The Praja Natya Mandali revved up music in Andhra. In Assam, IPTA music gained from traditional Sattriya and Bihu dances, besides Uday Shankar’s experiments alongside music and local theatres as well as films.
A trained vocalist who gives recitals on protest music (showcasing scores by Reba Roychowdury, Sheela Bhatia, Swatantrata Prakash, Preeti Sarkar), the author’s meeting with singer P.K. Medini, who had emerged from the labour movement around the coir factories of Alappuzha in the ’40s, helps her rediscover the charm of a hit song of that era—she has notated Pacchappanantatte (as she has quite a few others). More dramatically, Sumangala stumbles upon a South African parallel to an Indian song penned after the Jallianwala Bagh massacre—finding how Parna Jhanda traveled to Transvaal, enthusing anti-apartheid fighters.
The narrative often tends to be academic, but such seriousness is inevitable when the mission is to establish the identity of protest music, its social context, the politics-aesthetics relationship and popularity beyond market dynamics. All of that, without being carried away at any point.
– Sreevalsan Thiyyadi, Outlook
“If one tries to imagine some of the things happening in the world today, it seems to me that, mostly, prose is inadequate. Because the vocabulary of prose has become so discredited, it is inadequate for describing what people are living across the world today. But by contrast, I think what people are living across the world today is very translatable and expressible and sharable in song. Maybe we live in a time when the truth is most easily told in song.” These are the words of John Berger, art critic, and historian, in the documentary The Seasons in Quincy: Four Portraits of John Berger (by Tilda Swinton and Colin MacCabe).
Who can forget songs such as “Jaane waale sipahi se pooch”, “Hoi hoi japan hoi hoi”, “Basti basti maut ka dera”, “Pachapananthathe”, “Jaaga desh hamara”, “Bazi e jane ispe lagana”, “Aapni baanche to baaper naam eelaashe boyaan”, and “Varika varika sahajare sahanasamara samayamayi” that once resounded across India? These tunes and rhythms still reverberate in the marching songs and slogans of contemporary struggles, though their lineages are often forgotten or are fast slipping into oblivion.
The Radical Impulse by Sumangala Damodaran is an attempt to record, redeem and reclaim that history of a major stream of protest music in India, that of the Indian People’s Theatre Association (IPTA).
It is a journey through the first two decades of the IPTA (1940s and 1950s), which were the most vibrant years in the history of the Left movement in India that “pulsated with possibilities” triggered by “a leftward turn in politics and culture” and was characterised by a conceptualisation of “an alternative nationalism and a unique and unprecedented internationalism”.
Several national and international, political and cultural developments and undercurrents mark the period: anti-colonial struggle, the growth of Left movements in different parts of the country on the political front, the search for indigenous forms of creative expression and their intense engagements with similar artistic upsurges across the world on the cultural front. It was a radical impulse that involved a “combination of considerations, both purely aesthetic and political, that aimed to respond to and represent the times”, in the process, bringing out multiple interpretations of the idea of the “radical” (page 15).
Genealogy of protest music
The book makes forays into various crucial and often ignored aspects such as the genealogy of protest music, its claims as music per se, music as a social text, the tense yet vibrant relationship between aesthetics and politics, and the interesting negotiations of protest music with popular culture in the context of early 20th century modernity and in the formative years of the Indian nation. The author elaborates upon the major engagements that characterized the radical impulse in cultural terms: the idea of “the people” as legitimate subjects and agents of art, the terrain of the “nation”, the urgency of the project for freedom, emancipation and social transformation.
From the outset, any study on such a music tradition of protest and popular mobilization that depends on oral, aural and non-written modes of expression and transmission is beset with hurdles relating to sources. There have not been many systematic attempts to archive and record these songs, tunes, lyrics and, more importantly, their contexts. They are scattered in private collections or personal memories of those who participated in those movements, from which it has to be pieced together. Some of the songs persisted in their later film avatars, while many others are lost forever.
The book itself forms part of an archiving-cum-documentation project of the IPTA music tradition, and, as a result, an exciting strand of the book is journeys to gather material evidences in the form of songs, song books, pamphlets, etc., involving encounters with some of the towering figures and stalwarts of a bygone era.
The large and rich repertoire of the IPTA is excavated from the memories of artists and activists from different parts of the country such as Sova Sen, Priti Banerjee, Khaled Chowdhury, Montu Ghosh, Medini, Anasuya, Swathanthra Prakash, A.K. Hangal, Subodh More and Reba Roychowdhury. Their memories about the times, anecdotes, and remembrances about the songs and lyrics give the book a charming human quality, without ever turning it into a nostalgic trip.
The book includes brief but sharp observations about the theoretical interventions of visionaries such as P.C. Joshi, and musical contributions of musicians such as Salil Chawdhury, Hemanga Biswas, Bhupen Hazarika, Jyotiprasad Agarwala, Medini, Ponkunnam Damodaran, Hemanta Mukherjee, Prem Dhawan, Jyotinindra Moitra, Annabhau Sathe and Amar Sheikh. One hopes it will provoke and inspire young researchers to fill the gaps and weave the larger narrative of protest music in India in further detail, depth and complexity. The book also carries some rare photographs from the IPTA archives apart from lyrics, translations and notations of some of the landmark songs.
The book gives a synoptic but cogent account of the formation of the IPTA and the various debates about art and culture, the popular and political, realism and modernism, folk and modern, indigenous and foreign, that animated it. The challenges it faced were complex and multifold—that of fighting reactionary forces within, negotiating the various regional strands that were to be mobilized organisationally and conceptually envisioned as a “national” culture, engagement with commercial tendencies and deviations, and about innovating and experimenting within the medium without compromising its radical energies. Another strand is the polemics about the political and the aesthetic in music within the IPTA movement and the Communist party.
There were also regional variations with regard to repertoire, approach and functional autonomy of IPTA-inspired organizations in various parts of the country. They carried certain pan-Indian characteristics and ethos, while experimenting with regional music traditions and grappling with local issues. For instance, the music developed and performed by the Bombay Central Squad, the Gana Natya Sangeet of Bengal or the Kerala People’s Arts Club drew from different traditions and addressed different challenges. If there was an earnest search for “roots” and indigenous music in the Bengal tradition, the singers in Kerala worked closely with theatre creating easily reproducible local melodies blended with political lyrics.
In Assam, one finds an intense engagement with indigenous forms of dance, folk performance, theatre and music traditions, and also with emerging technologies such as films. Peoples’ music in the Andhra, Telangana and Rayalaseema regions of the undivided Andhra Pradesh emerged out of composite performances melding music, dance and theatre of the Praja Natya Mandali and its numerous units all over the region.
In Maharashtra and Andhra, the indigenous forms constituted the bulk of the music; in Bengal, Assam and Bombay there was a significant influence of Hindustani classical music, while in Hindi and Bengali songs the influence of the Western musical idiom was very strong. In the words of the author, “peoples’ music” was created out of processes of excavation, preservation, transformation and creation of forms that, in the perceptions of those involved, represented the “people” (page 147).
Although the IPTA gradually receded from the scene, the musical impulse that it triggered and the multitude of idioms and forms it experimented with left its indelible traces in popular forms of music in cinema, commercial theatre and musical entertainment across the country.
While discussing questions about “authentic” and “indigenous” aesthetic forms, how far and deep one can and should draw from the folk, classical and popular traditions, what will be its level of engagement with traditions from foreign countries, among other things, the book draws insights from protest music traditions of other countries: the Proletkult and Socialist Realist interventions in the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR), the Peoples’ Music in China that urged musicians to “be a phonograph” to the Cultural Revolution, the “Reds, Blues and Songs of Protest”, the Composers Collective from the United States that defined its musical style as “national in form, proletarian in content”, and the creative insights of revolutionary artists such as Bertolt Brecht and the Gestic music from Germany.
In the last chapter, the author examines how questions about authenticity, which is central to movements such as the IPTA, link up with contemporary debates on nation, nationalism and nationalities and their cultural representations. Here, she brings into focus notions such as the “pristine folk”, the dynamics of time, history, technology and politics that impinge upon music, and the ever-present interface of specific local histories with nationalist and internationalist imaginations. In her words, “what is interesting is that it was precisely the dynamic created by these complex ideas, often contradictory to each other, that made musicians attempt to stretch the boundaries of their craft, even as they were strongly located within their specific social and cultural locations and traditions of training” (page 211).
The book assumes importance today as a reminder of the rousing tunes and scintillating lyrics that are fast receding from public memory, especially that of the youth, whose musical horizons are being inundated with lilting tones and thunderous rhythms of the commercial-popular. The book and the songs it refers to bring back to our critical notice a certain tradition that needs to be excavated from the past, elaborated in the present and reinvented for the future.
In these post-truth times, when both the idea of the radical and the leftist imagination are under siege, the book is an alarm call to retrieve and connect with this heritage in order to explore its contemporary potentials.
For, the IPTA times and that of Left imagination today have striking similarities. The political, economic and cultural forces they confront at the global and national levels, the resources they can draw from in terms of the plural energies of the local, and the urgent need to develop an oppositional aesthetic against the monolithic imagination propagated at the national level, all seem to follow the same trajectories. In that context, the experiences and lessons from the past that the book recounts resonate with profound contemporary relevance.
– C. S. Venkiteswaran, Frontline
Teacher, singer, activist and writer Sumangala Damodaran is known for her work on the musical tradition of the Indian People’s Theatre Association (IPTA), an outfit of leftist theatre artistes formed in 1942 that had stalwarts such as Prithviraj Kapoor, Balraj Sahni, Khwaja Ahmad Abbas and Safdar Mir as its members. Sumangala has performed extensively from its documented repertoire. Currently engaged in an international collaborative project researching the relationship between music and migration involving scholars and musicians, and several universities in Asia and Africa, she has recently published The Radical Impulse (Tulika), which unravels the tradition of IPTA music and song. Excerpts from an interview.