Haryanvi songs are moving from vulgarity to veil — ghoonghat is sexualised, male gaze the muse

Songs such as 52 Gaj ka Daman and Chatak Matak are gaining popularity in Haryana. Singers have no option but to give in to the disturbing trend.

Women at a gathering in Haryana | Photo: Jyoti Yadav | ThePrint

I will walk in front of my father-in-law in a veil’; ‘I catch the attention of my brothers-in-law when I sway past them in a veil’; ‘I won’t draw a full veil and sway in my 52 Gaj dress’ — these lines are from three different Haryanvi songs. The singers/dancers swaying in ‘ghoonghat’ are charting the next path for Haryana’s music industry, clocking more than a billion views on YouTube.

These three songs — by Dolly Sharma, Sapna Chaudhary, and Renuka Panwar/Pranjal Dahiya — sum up what is going on in Haryana’s pop culture today: A sexualisation of deep patriarchy that demands women to be demure and appeal to the male gaze. Coupled with DJ culture and made even more popular through YouTube fandom, these songs are played at weddings, birthday parties, college farewells, and restaurants. It’s a disturbing new trend in Haryana.

“It cannot be seen in isolation. There are other trends running parallely. One is the celebration of masochism, and the second is glorification of gun culture,” says Harish Kumar, professor of mass communication at Rohtak’s Maharshi Dayanand University. Both trends buttress the trope of women being ‘conquered’ by men. “And also the female coyly asking her husband’s help, to buy her makeup, or begging him to leave his evil habits,” he adds.

These insanely popular female singers and dancers have become household names in Haryana but have little power over their content.

Anu Kadyan, a lead female singer and dancer with a career spanning 17 years, once asked her lyricist to give her “strong lines”. The lyricist spun a song for her called Bahu Kaale Ki (wife of a dark-skinned man), in which a woman is threatening to leave her husband because he is dark-skinned.

“Ninety-five per cent of the lyrics are written by men. It is natural to them that if they are asked to write about a traditional woman, they will think of a woman in a ghoonghat,” says Kadyan, in her late 30s, who is now hoping to make a mark in Haryana’s political arena.

Many songs are derived from folklore. Some tweaks, a catchy tune, danceable beats, and shareability catapult them to mass appeal.

But not everyone appreciates ‘creativity’.

Jagmati Sangwan, a Rohtak-based feminist and activist, says the ‘newness’ of these songs is a farce. “It is a continuation of a man’s nostalgia where he reduces women to some lesser beings demanding lipstick, salwar suits, and bangles. Pop culture is not really catching up to reality,” she says.

Everyone is dancing to the songs, but few are actually noticing the message.

From vulgarity to the veil 

Songs like Chatak Matak have been welcomed by village elders and panchayats in Haryanabecause of their ‘clean’ content, conformity to traditional mores, and lack of abusive content. Even YouTube comments seem to celebratethat: “It (the song) is a tight slap for those who give more preference to foreign culture and forget our own culture which is rich and colorful. No vulgarity or obscenity, yet achieved a great milestone. Way to go,” reads a response in the comments section under the song.

Vulgarity in music is a big no in Haryana. Panchayats have not only banned but even imposed fines of Rs 10,000 for hiring DJs and playing such songs at weddings and parties.

“Earlier, there was a lot of vulgarity in Haryanvi songs. They mostly talked about devar-bhabhirelations. We decided to go back to our cultural roots and bring the daaman and ghoonghat again,” says Mukesh Jaji, Sonipat-based lyricist who wrote 52 Gaj Ka Daman, whose one link on YouTube has been viewed more than 1.5 billion times. After all, the ghoonghat is sanskari (cultured), according to him.

But Jaji argues that the demand for ‘ghoonghat songs’ is not coming from the rural belt alone. Urban, Gen-Z listeners and millennials are avidly following the pop industry for such songs. Instagram reels are testimony to it.

“We saw that they pick the most catchy line and perform it on Instagram millions of times,” he adds. It’s the younger generation on social media that’s popularising the veil.

Catapulting to fame

Haryanvi culture came into the limelight in 2010 when India hosted the Commonwealth Games. Athletes from the state leapfrogged to the country’s centre stage, bagging 37

of India’s tally of 101 medals. They took home more than half of the total 38 gold medals won, becominginstant heroes appearing on TV interviews every now and then. Haryanvi mannerisms, dialect, and culture caught the imagination of Bollywood and TV serial producers. It was a heady time.

The 2015 Indian romantic comedy Tanu Weds Manu Returns kept the momentum going with Kangana Ranaut playing a Haryanvi character called Datto. The release of Aamir Khan’s Dangal (2016), based on the life of a Haryana wrestler who trained his daughters, made an even bigger impact.

“Mahari chhori ke chhoro se kam hain (Our daughters are as capable as sons),”’ became the catchphrase in Haryana. But lurking under all the glamour was a raunchy counter-culture whose icon was Sapna Chaudhary. By 2018, she had emerged not just as a sex symbol but also a cultural icon, in Haryana and elsewhere.

But the woman in ghoonghat was yet to become a muse.

Return of the veil

Haryanvi pop music has seen many waves over the years, each with a distinct theme. Half-a-decade ago, patriotism was on everyone’s lips.Every second Haryanvi resident was humming Raju Punjabi and Vicky Kajla’s Desi Desi. Then came songs on alcoholism, family, stereotypes around the ‘nagging’ wife and the ‘demanding’ city girlfriend.

Soon, ghoonghats, guns, and gangsters began to reign supreme. Those who resisted the trend were left behind.

“For three years, I vowed not to sing a single song that glorified social evils such as gun culture and regressive mindset. But my songs were not a hit,” says singer Masoom Sharma. He couldn’t beat them, so he joined them. “I have to run my household.”

Some singers, aware of the problematic angles in the songs, have learnt to make do with what they have.

“At least the woman was assertive in the song,” says Kadyan about Bahu Kaale Ki. The song presents a rare instance where a woman exercises some agency, so what if it’s backward in another sense and set in a racist context. Like Sharma, Kadyan, too, gave into the culture.

Kadyan’s other songs cater to the male gaze. In these, modern women either have too many ‘settings’ (relationships) or are too shrewd for their own good.

Decline of Khodiya

The re-mergence of ghoonghat songs goes hand-in-glove with the decline of dances like Khodiya. These were songs for women and by women. Overtly sexual in nature, they were performed during weddings. Some ridiculed male lust, others boasted of female prowess and battled toxic masculinity. Women wrote the lyrics and choreographed the steps too, which was performed behind closed doors. The tradition gave women room away from male scrutiny.

Elderly to young married women would wait for days to attend such gatherings. Every time a baarat (wedding procession) of men left the village, the women would drop their veils and celebrate their sexuality. “These were the songs of women’s deprivation, needs, and their emotions,” Rohtak-based lyricist Jagmati Sangwan explains.

The male version of Khodiya was the Ragini. Women were barred from watching and performing it. Sapna Chaudhary once performed 36 Jaat Ragini, drawing on the caste angle in Haryanvi society, and got into trouble — she was mocked, ridiculed, and shamed.

Today, this wave of ghoonghat songs is choking Khodiya traditions harder. The younger generations of women want to listen to these songs and dance to them wearing a veil.

“The new bahus (daughters-in-law) and betis (daughters) don’t show much interest in folk songs,” says 50-year-old Kaushalya Yadav from Rewari. There was a time when she was the most-sought-after performer for Khodiyas. But hers is probably the last generation. “DJs came and then this mobile phone. I am the only one in the gathering who still has Khodiya songs on her fingertips.”

(Edited by Humra Laeeq)