The latest count for downloading kolaveri di on YouTube has crossed the four-million mark. The youth and other mortal beings including celebrities like Amitabh Bachchan and A. R. Rahman are impressed. It is a moment of pride and celebrations for Dhanush and Anirudh for making the song click. The “murderous rage” has definitely overtaken the listeners all over. A Tamilian friend from York University informed that the Time magazine has taken note of this song after the one in Roja.

 

There are people for and against the song. The latter want to see a close association between poetry and music like John Keats. They rate it low on these counts and call it an absurdity. Some of these people read much into the lyric and label it as anti-feminist, anti-colonial, racist and what not. They are not wholly wrong since the imagery manifestly alludes to these inferences. But why stop there? There could be much more anti(s) such as anti-caste, anti-rich and anti-elitist as the tenor of the song and music is Tamilian slang and folk with Tamilianised English.

 

One may also dub it anti-Tamil language and pro-English, even if broken, as there is a definite remark to this effect when the singer tries to switch to Tamil — “only English.” So what do we make out of this pot-pourri of Tanglish words meant only for the sake of it? The author of the song lays no claim to its cultural, literary or musical contribution. He calls it a “flop song.” It does one well to think with Marilyn Butler that we are liable “to read the writer's mind as being more logical, coherent and academic than the human mind naturally is.”

 

I believe the very spontaneity of composition and musical rendering has added all the flavour to the popularity of the song. It was produced in just 20 minutes, more out of fun than seriousness of communicating a definite message to a people. My own experience in this respect is instructive.

 

When I first heard kolaveri di, I liked the tune but started looking for meaning in the lyrics. It appeared like a weird post-modern thing that bewilders and confuses. The Michael Jacksonisation of the folk — Punjabi or Tamil — given the technique and instruments for sound amplification, subordinates the lyrics. As the song finished, my wife asked me about its meaning. I said spontaneously: “This is the Tamil equivalent of ma di and bhen di (abuses) in Punjabi.” She believed as it was too matching and convincing. In the university, her colleagues too believed her, to discover later that it was just ‘fun.'

 

The kolaveri di virus infected the Punjabi boys whose adaptation — Pinki Mogewali kalol kardi ends with a line: “We are given to take the country liquor and chicken and to sing kolaveri in Punjabi.” But this version is not about the rage of a love-torn youth but of a young man who got married to a flirting modern girl who was a cause for concern to her parents, worried about her future. He wishes her away to her parents' residence so that he could enjoy liquor. Other ingredients of the song like its original remain anti-feminist and male chauvinist.

 

But there is a difference between the two. The original version is just Tanglish but its adaptation is not only Punglish but also imbued with a Tamil accent. In the process of this adaptation, it has added all the flavour and tenor of Punjabi culture and spirit. For instance, unlike the original “flop,” it is a ghant song, an exemplary one. In another interesting twist to the “only English” in the original, it is demanded to be sung in “Punjabi only.” One conversant with Punjab culture knows well that a Punjabi peasant switches to English, howsoever knee-jerking, after two-three shots of any brand of liquor, country or foreign. He ridicules and abuses the colonial masters – “Angrezan di…,” etc., but loves to impress others with his English.

 

Two different regions, two different cultures and volksgeist, yet common kolaveri. That demands attention and scrutiny. Music is trans-regional, also trans-national and trans-generational. Kolaveri has succeeded.