Keshav Waghmare

Medha Kale

Translator

Editor

Pratishtha Pandya

Labani Jangi

Illustrations

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A man is travelling on foot towards Pandharpur
with his seven-year-old daughter on an annual pilgrimage, the Ashadhi Waari
– a festival where thousands of warkaris from across the state pay a
visit to the temple of Lord Vitthal. On the way they decide to camp at Mhaisgaon,
a village in Latur. As evening gathers, sounds of kirtan fill the air.
The little girl, on hearing a faint tintinnabulation of the khanjiri (tambourine),
begins pestering her father to take her to the programme.  

Her father is reluctant. “People here do not
touch Mahar and Mang like us,” he tries to explain.  “They consider us worthless. They won’t let us
in.” But she refuses to budge. Finally, the father gives in to her demand on
condition that they stand at a distance and listen to the performance. Following
the sound of the jingles they both reach the pandal. Rapt, they both watch
maharaj playing the khanjiri as he performs a kirtan. Soon,
the young girl begins to get restless, she wants to go on the stage.  Suddenly, without a warning, she runs and does
just that.  

“I want to sing one bharud [a form of
ancient poetry that deploys satire and humour in songs composed for social
enlightenment],” she tells the saint performer on the stage. The
audience is stunned. But the maharaj lets her sing. And for the next few
minutes the young girl takes the stage, striking a metal pot for rhythm, she performs
a song that happens to be the one written and composed by the same maharaj. 

माझा रहाट गं साजनी 
गावू चौघी जनी 
माझ्या रहाटाचा कणा 
मला चौघी जनी सुना

The wooden wheel on the well, my dear 
Four of us, let’s sing together The
wooden wheel and its spine, 
And four daughters-in-law of mine

Impressed by the child
singer, the saint performer gifts his khanjiri to her saying, “you have
my blessings, always. You will enlighten this world.”

That was 1975. The saint performer was Tukadoji
Maharaj, known for his verses compiled in Gram Geeta, on the ills and perils of
life in the countryside, and the way forward. The little girl, now 50 years
later, still sets the stage on fire with her performances. Dressed in a nauvari
cotton saree, a large bindi on the forehead, with a small percussion instrument
called dimadi held in her left hand, when Meera Umap sings a Bhim geet,
the fingers of her right hand dance rhythmically and energetically on the the
leather membrane; the glass bangles on her wrist keep the time with the
jingling bells tied to the rim of the instrument she is playing. Everything
comes alive. 

खातो तुपात पोळी भीमा तुझ्यामुळे डोईवरची गेली मोळी भीमा तुझ्यामुळे काल माझी माय बाजारी जाऊन जरीची घेती चोळी भीमा तुझ्यामुळे साखर दुधात टाकून काजू दुधात खातो भिकेची गेली झोळी भीमा तुझ्यामुळे



I eat my
roti dipped in ghee, just because of you, O Bhim The bundle
of wood I no longer carry, only because of you, O Bhim



My mother
went to a market yesterday And bought a
zari-blouse, all because of you, O Bhim



I have my
milk with sugar and eat cashews with it And I got rid of the
begging bowl, just because of you, O Bhim

Meerabai
does not know the day on which she was born, but tells us the year was 1965. She
was born in a poor Matang family of Antarwali village in Maharashtra. Matangs, listed
among the Scheduled Caste in the state, are historically considered ‘untouchables’
and rank lowest in the caste hierarchy. 

Her father Wamanrao and
mother Reshmabai travelled from village to village in Beed district, singing
melodious bhajan and abhangs, asking for alms. They were
respected in the community as a family belonging to ‘guru gharana’, a highly
respected group of knowers and teachers in the Dalit community who preserve the
art of singing.  So even though Meerabai
never went to school, she grew up with a rich repertoire of abhang, bhajan and
kirtan that she received from her parents.

Vikas Sontate

The couple had a tough time feeding and taking
care of their eight children – five girls and three boys. By the time Meerabai,
the eldest among the children, was seven she had started accompanying her
parents when they went singing. Wamanrao played the ektari and his
younger brother, Bhaurao played the dimadi. “My father and my uncle,
both used to ask for alms together,” she says narrating to us the story of her
singing. “Once, they had a fight over sharing the proceeds of that morning. It
reached a point where they decided to part ways.”  

After that day, her uncle went off to Buldana
and her father got her to accompany him. She sang behind him, in her tender
voice and went on to learn many devotional songs. “My father always believed
that I would be a singer one day,” she says.

Later, tending to cattle for wages, she started
trying her hand at the dimadi. “When I was young, metal pots were my
instruments. While fetching water, my fingers tapped the kalshi, a metal
pot. It became a habit, rather a hobby. All that I have learnt in life is like
this, while doing other things and not in any school,” says Meerabai. 

In the neighbourhood there would be little
gatherings for regular bhajan singing and soon Meerabai joined those
groups and started performing many bhajans. 

राम नाही
सीतेच्या तोलाचा 
राम बाई
हलक्या दिलाचा

Ram does not measure up to Sita 
Ram, his heart is so shallow

“I never went to school but know 40 different
Ramayanas by heart,” she says.  “The
story of Shravan baal, stories of the Pandavas from the Mahabharata, and
hundreds of dohas by Kabir, are all etched in my brain.” She believes
that the Ramayana is not a linear tale set in stone, but is created by people based
on their culture, their worldviews and their observations. Historical
challenges and disadvantages faced by many communities have brought in changes
within these epics. The characters remain the same but the stories are
multi-coloured and multi-faceted. 

Meerabai presents it
from her position and place in the society. It differs from the way higher
caste Hindus present it. Her Ramayana has a woman, a Dalit at the centre. Why did Ram leave Sita alone
in the exile? Why did he kill Shambuka? Why did he murder Waali? She poses many
questions before her audience as she presents her stories and a logical
understanding the popular tales from the epic. “I even use humour to present
these stories,” she says.

With a deep sense of music and fine
understanding of technique and presentation Meerabai’s music is in a class of
her own. Following the footsteps and style of Tukadoji Maharaj, an influential
saint poet and reformer with a large following in Vidarbha and Marathwada,
Meerabai has also scaled many heights.

Tukadoji Maharaj played khanjiri in his
kirtan performances. His disciple Satyapal Chincholikar plays sapta-khanjiri
in which seven khanjiris produce different notes and sounds. Devanand
Mali from Sangli and Mhalari Gajabhare from Satara also played the same
instrument. But Meerabai Umap is the only woman playing the khanjiri and
that too with such skill. 

Shahir
Ratnakar Kulkarni of Latur, who wrote
the songs and played the daf (a frame drum instrument
often used by shahirs) saw her playing the khanjiri
with great skill and also noticed her melodious voice. He decided to support
and motivate her to perform shahiri (songs of social enlightenment). When
she was 20, she entered the field of shahiri and performed in government
programmes in Beed.

“I knew all the religious texts by heart. Katha,
saptah, Ramayana, Mahabharata, the story of Satyavan and Savitri, all
the songs and stories of Mahadev and puranas were on the tip of my
tongue,” she says. “I have narrated them, sung them and performed them in all
the corners of the state. But it never ever gave me a sense of fulfilment or
satisfaction. Neither did it show any new path to the people listening to those
songs.” 

It was Buddha, Phule, Shahu, Ambedkar, Tukadoji
Maharaj and Gadge baba, those who talked of social trauma and malaise of the
Bahujan communities that touched Meerabai’s heart. “Vijaykumar Gawai taught me
the first Bhim geet and that was the first song of Wamandada Kardak that
I performed,” Meerabai recalls.

पाणी वाढ गं माय, पाणी वाढ गं 
लयी नाही मागत भर माझं इवलंसं गाडगं पाणी वाढ गं माय, पाणी वाढ गं 



Serve me water, my dear, serve me water I
am not asking for much, just enough to fill my small gadaga [clay pot] Serve
me water, my dear, serve me water

“From that day I stopped
singing all the pothi puran [bookish knowledge] and started singing the Bhim
geet. From 1991, the year of Babasaheb Amedbkar’s birth centenary, she
devoted herself to Bhim geet, songs that spread the message of Babasaheb
while expressing gratitude to him. “People simply loved it and responded to it
with all the gusto,” says shahir Meerabai.

Shahir comes from a Farsi word ‘shayar’ or ‘shair’.
In the countryside of Maharashtra shahirs have written and sung songs glorifying
the rulers called powada. Shahirs like  <a href="https://ruralindiaonline.org/en/articles/shahir-atmaram-salve-sowing-the-sparks-of-revolution/">Atmaram
Salve</a> with his khanjiri, <a href="https://ruralindiaonline.org/en/articles/dadu-salves-songs-of-wamandada-and-bhim/">Dadu
Salve</a> with his harmonium and <a href="https://ruralindiaonline.org/en/articles/ambedkars-emissary-kadubai-and-her-ektari/">Kadubai
Kharat</a> with her ektari
(a drone lute) have raised Dalit consciousness through their songs. Meerabai
with her dimadi joins the few women shahirs in Maharashtra. Dimadi
till then was considered a war instrument, played exclusively by men. Meerabai,
with her dimadi broke one more tradition.

It is an experience to listen to her sing and
play the instrument, deftly using her fingers on different areas of the membrane
to produce different notes, creating variations needed for different kinds of
singing - kirtan, bhajan and powada. Her singing slowly picks up the pace; the sound, the performance always
deeply rooted in the soil, resonates with a carefree or a bold spirit. It is
her dedication that keeps the art of dimadi and khanjiri still
alive and thriving. 

Meerabai has been one of the few women shahirs
performing bharud, a folk form used by many saint poets of Maharashtra.
There are two kinds of bharud – bhajani bharud which revolves
around religion and spirituality, and songi bharud in which men dress as
women and perform on the stage. It is usually men who perform powadas on
historical and social themes as well as bharud. But Meerabai challenged
this division and started performing all the art forms with similar vigour and
force. In fact, her renditions have been more popular than some of the other
male performers’.  

Performances with dimadi,
songs, theatre, and a message for the audience have been much more than
entertainment for Meerabai.

Art in
this country is very closely linked to and judged on the basis of the caste of
its creator. One learns the ways of one’s caste including the music and other
arts. Will a non-Dalit, non-Bahujan be able to create and follow the notations
for these instruments and learn to play these? And, even if an outsider wants
to try his or her hand at dimadi or sambal or a zumbaruk,
there is no codified grammar.

Students of the
Department of Music at the University of Mumbai are learning how to play the khanjiri
and dimadi. Well-known artists Krushna Musale and Vijay Chavan have
created the notations for these percussion instruments. But it comes with its
own challenges, claims Ganesh Chandanshive, the Director of Lok-kala Academy at
the University.

“You cannot teach dimadi, sambal
or khanjiri in a way other classical instruments are taught,” he says. “One
can only teach or learn tabla in that manner as we can put down
notations for that instrument. People have tried using similar notations to
teach dimadi or even the sambal. But neither of these instruments
has its own musicology. No one has written down the notations or created a
‘science’ giving it a status of a classical instrument,” he explains. 

Meerabai’s mastery over dimadi and khanjiri
has come to her without knowing any science, the notation or the grammar of its
music. She never knew if it is a dha or ta when she learnt to
play. But her pace and the perfection in rhythm and notes can match that of any
artist playing a classical instrument. The instrument belongs to her. No one at the Lok-Kala Academy can match Meerabai’s
skill in playing the dimadi. 

As Bahujan castes are coming into the middle
class, there is a loss of their own traditional art and expressions. Migrating
to cities for education and work, they no longer perform their traditional
occupations and associated art forms. There is a desperate need to document
these art forms; to understand their historical and geographical contexts of
origin and practice.  To address the many
questions that confront us. For instance, are aspects of caste conflict, other struggles,
reflected in their expressions? If yes, what are the forms in which these are
expressed? The universities or educational institutions show no such vision
when looking at these forms academically.  


Each caste has a specific folk art and so the
sheer variety is overwhelming. There is a real need for a dedicated research
centre to study and archive the treasures and traditions. This, however, is not
on the agenda of any non-Brahmanical movement. But Meerabai wants to change
this picture. “I want to start an institute where youngsters can learn khanjiri,
ektari and dholaki,” she says. 

She has not found any
support for this at the state level. Has she made an appeal to the government?  “Do I know how to read and write?” she
retorts. “Whenever and wherever I go for a programme and if there is some
official from the state, I appeal to them, requesting to help me fulfil this
dream. But do you think the state values this art of poor people?”

The state did invite Meerabai,
though. When Meerabai’s shahiri and singing started captivating
large audiences effectively,  the
government of Maharashtra asked her to contribute to many awareness programmes
and drives carried out by the State. Soon, travelling the length and breadth of
the state, she was performing little skits with elements of folk music on issues
of health, de-addiction, dowry-ban and liquor-ban. 

बाई दारुड्या भेटलाय नवरा माझं नशीब फुटलंय गं चोळी अंगात नाही माझ्या लुगडं फाटलंय गं



My
husband is an addict my
fate lies derelict I
got no blouse to wear This
saree has got a tear.

Her awareness programmes
on de-addiction earned her a Vyasanmukti Seva award from the Maharashtra government.
She was also invited to perform by All India Radio and Doordarshan.

But in spite of all the good work, life has
been tough for Meerabai. “I was rendered homeless and had no one to support me,”
she narrates the story of her latest ill fortune. “During lockdown [2020] my
house caught fire due to a short circuit. We were so desperate that there was
no other option but to sell that house. We were on the streets. Many
Ambedkarite followers helped me build this house,” she says, referring to her new
house with tin walls and roof in which we are sitting.

This is the situation of an artist who has been
honoured with many prestigious awards in the name of many stalwarts such as
Annabhau Sathe, Bal Gandharva and Lakshmibai Kolhapurkar. The government of Maharashtra
also honoured her with a state award for her cultural contribution. These
awards once decorated the walls of her house. 

“They only please your eyes, I tell you,”
Meerabai says with eyes brimming with tears, “One cannot fill one’s stomach
just by looking at these. During Corona, we were starving. In those desperate
moments, I had to use these awards for firewood to cook a meal. Hunger is far
more powerful than these awards.” 

Recognition or not, Meerabai
pursues her art with unwavering devotion, walking the same path as that of the
legendary reformers to spread the message of humanity, love and compassion. She
is using her art and her performances to douse the communal and divisive fire. “I
do not want to market my art,” she says. “Sambhalali tar tee kala ahe, nahi
tar bala ahe [If one respects it, it is art. Else, it is a scourge].

I have not let my art lose its character. For
the last 40 years I have travelled to different corners of this country and spread
the message of Kabir, Tukaram, Tukadoji Maharaj and Phule-Ambedkar. I have been
singing their songs and their legacy lives on through my performances. 

“I will sing the Bhim
geet till my last breath. That will be the end of my life and that is what
gives me immense satisfaction.” This multimedia story is part of a collection titled ‘Influential Shahirs, Narratives from Marathwada’, a project implemented by India Foundation for the Arts under their Archives and Museums Programme in collaboration with People’s Archive of Rural India. This has been made possible with part support from Goethe-Institut/Max Muller Bhavan New Delhi.

Meera Umap: singing in the change

تبدیلی کے گیت گاتیں میرا اُمپ

మార్పు కోసం గళమెత్తి పాడే మీరా ఉమప్

மாற்றத்துக்கான பாடல்களை பாடும் மீரா உமாப்

ਮੀਰਾ ਉਪਾਮ: ਅਵਾਜ਼ 'ਚੋਂ ਫੁਟਦੀ ਬਦਲਾਅ ਦੀ ਚਿਣਗ

ମୀରା ଉମାପ : ପରିବର୍ତ୍ତନରେ ଗାଉଛନ୍ତି ଗୀତ

മീര ഉമാപ്: മാറ്റത്തിനായുള്ള പാട്ട്

ಮೀರಾ ಉಮಾಪ್‌: ಬದಲಾವಣೆಯ ದನಿ

बदलाव के गीत गातीं मीरा उमप

બદલાવના ગીત ગાતાં મીરા ઉમપ

मीरा उमाप: बदलाव के गायिका

मीरा उमप: बदलाव के एगो बुलंद आवाज

মীরা উমপের গানে জারিত হয় চেতনা, বদলায় দিন

পৰিৱৰ্তনৰ গীত গোৱা মীৰা উমপ

लोकसाहित्य आणि लोकसंस्कृतीची माय मीराबाई उमप

Aurangabad

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Meera Umap: singing in the change

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