This photograph taken on February 20, 2012,
shows members of local rock band 'White Fire,' 34-year-old guitarist
Kenan Laishram (L), 32-year-old drummer Elangbam Kumar (C), 33-year-old
bassist Akoi Konjengbam (2R) and 31-year-old vocalist Alvina Gonson (R),
during a musical jam session in a practice room in Imphal, the capital
of the north eastern Indian state of Manipur.
In the far north-east of
India, cut off from the rest of the country except via a narrow land
bridge, perhaps the only way to make yourself heard is loud, really
loud, rock music. For White Fire's drummer Elangbam Kumar, that explains
why their cover version of the Guns N'Roses song 'Welcome To The
Jungle' has become an anthem for the band and a big hit with their fans
in the remote state of Manipur. The state, which is 1,000 miles (1,700
kilometers) from the capital New Delhi, borders on Myanmar and has
struggled for decades with separatist violence, a society divided among
competing tribes and grinding poverty. (AFP Photo/Manjunath Kiran)
In the far north-east of India, cut off
from the rest of the country except via a narrow land bridge, perhaps
the only way to make yourself heard is loud, really loud, rock music.
For
White Fire’s drummer Elangbam Kumar, that explains why their cover
version of the Guns N’Roses song “Welcome To The Jungle” has become an
anthem for the band and a big hit with their fans in the remote state of
Manipur.
The state, which is 1,000 miles (1,700 kilometers) from
the capital New Delhi, borders on Myanmar and has struggled for decades
with separatist violence, a society divided among competing tribes and
grinding poverty.
It is also an unlikely hub for rock and heavy
metal music, boasting a burgeoning festival scene and local stars who
have defied social and cultural boundaries to pursue their music.
“All
my pain and angst found an outlet in this genre of music. It is the
attitude and the lyrics which are the biggest draw for us,” 32-year-old
Kumar, his tattooed biceps bulging out of a tight T-shirt, told AFP.
Kumar
first started playing music at college in the city of Bangalore, where
he watched MTV and hung out with students from across India who were
into the “head-banging” style of the West.
“There is something
raw, rebellious and pure about rock. You can express yourself freely,”
he explains, adjusting drums in his makeshift practice room decorated
with posters of US heavy metal bands Coal Chamber and Slipknot.
“Life
here is so frustrating with all the restrictions on us. The entire
system makes me angry. The army can stop you on any pretext,
unemployment is so high, and we lag behind other states in every way.”
Kumar’s
passion reflects the feelings of many young Manipuris, who often leave
to go to bigger cities for higher education and jobs but then tend to
drift back to their home state.
For them, rock music is a
statement against India’s mainstream culture which seems alien and
imposed by national authorities. The backstreets of the state capital
Imphal are packed with small recording studios and music shops.
Many
Manipuris feel that the concept of being “of India” in any meaningful
sense is one they find difficult to entertain with a sense of isolation
that is not just geographical, but also ethnic, linguistic, economic and
political.
Such alienation is common in a number of the “Seven
Sisters” — the group of northeastern states encircled by four other
countries and connected to the rest of India by a sliver of land that
arches over Bangladesh.
“Music is in our blood”
The
earliest rock influences arrived in Manipur via Thailand and the rest
of southeast Asia over the border into India from Myanmar, known as
Burma before 1989.
“Back in the early 1980s, the gateway to the
world lay to the east,” remembers Vivek Konsam, who runs Riverboat, an
event-management company in Imphal.
“Second-hand copies of The
Rolling Stone magazine, a few tapes of boot-legged concert videos and
pirated audio cassettes made their way in through Myanmar,” he says.
Youngsters, often unemployed and idle, easily related to the hard-hitting lyrics and ear-splitting sounds.
“It
struck an instant chord with them and that got passed on to the next
generation. Music is in our blood now,” says Konsam, who has converted
an outhouse of his bungalow into a smart session space available to
rent.
Konsam has been organizing rock festivals in Imphal and has seen their popularity grow with each edition.
“When
we started out a couple of years ago, there were just two or three
local bands. Now that number has swelled to about 20. Attendance at
these concerts has also been growing to several hundred,” he says.
But
it is not easy in a city like Imphal, which closes down by 7:00 p.m.
every evening and has just a handful of cinemas showing old Manipuri
films due to threats by separatist rebels to attack screenings of
Bollywood movies.
“They danced with guns in their hands”
Alvina
Gonson, a tribal Christian and one of the rock pioneers of the state,
said she had to fight against officialdom to get her singing career on
track.
“There are two parallel governments in Manipur — the
Indian government and the rebels. We are caught in between,” said the
30-year-old, whose talent and blonde good looks have made her a local
star, defying cultural barriers.
“There are a lot of restrictions
on women here. People don’t appreciate women stepping out of their
homes and mingling with the opposite sex. Singing rock is not considered
lady-like,” she said.
“It is not safe for women to hang around alone after dusk.”
Manipur’s
situation is complicated by the fact that myriad rebel groups are
largely formed on tribal or ethnic lines with rival agendas that
regularly erupt into bloody internecine disputes.
Gonson, who was
brought up by her single mother and writes and composes her own songs
in English, says she refuses to fear anyone. “I can stop them but they
can’t stop me.”
She began by performing for close friends and
family. Word soon spread and she was invited by schools and colleges to
perform for their functions.
Then, in 2006, she was asked by rebels to give a performance at their jungle hideout.
“I
was scared at first but decided to go. I took my mom with me. The
rebels loved my performances, they danced with guns in their hands and
kept asking for more.
“No rebel group has tried to harm me ever since,” said Gonson, adding that she also performs for soldiers in army barracks.
“I understand the feelings of both sides,” she said. “I pray for eternal peace for my motherland.“
Vepery Church at Egmore, where Naga Christian Fellowship Chennai (NCFC) conducts its service.
