There is humour, subversion and feminism, in the songs of the Angika language. Many were written for, and are sung by, women.

Amrit Sufi grew up hearing them, and only began to realise how unique they are when she had almost lost touch with her language entirely.

Born in Bihar, she had swapped Angika for Hindi by the time she started school. Her parents, an advocate and an English professor, were proud of this, and even prouder of her English.

It was her grandmother who kept her love for Angika alive. She spoke to her in the language, sung her songs and told her stories.

When Sufi started to teach post-colonial literature as a guest lecturer at Doon University, Dehradun, she began to wonder why she had turned her back on the beautiful stories and delightfully irreverent songs of her people. On visits home, she saw that others were doing the same.

The Indo-Aryan language is still spoken by about 30 million people in the Anga region made up of parts of present-day Bihar, Jharkhand, West Bengal and Nepal. But it isn’t an official language in India, and isn’t taught in schools, which makes the shift to more dominant languages easier.

“Angika isn’t even referred to by its name a lot of the time,” says Sufi, 30. “It’s called ‘gaon kero bhasha (language of the village)’.”

Hoping to be part of a solution, Sufi has been recording, translating and preserving songs and stories in this tongue, on Wikimedia, since 2021. A grant of $2,000 (about ₹1.6 lakh) from the Wikitongues Language Revitalization Accelerator has helped.

(Sufi is also now working with the Wikimedia-funded Enhancing Indic Oral Culture initiative.)

For her Angika project, she has collected over 100 entries so far, simply by walking up to relatives, neighbours and other local residents, on visits to her village and on trips to the larger Banka district, and asking if they will speak or sing into her recorder.

As a peek into the unusual repository, here are snatches from a few of her favourite songs.

* Jo jo samdhi holo paray,

Haath godh bandhi diho dangay,

Pakdiho logo chorewa bhagal jaye…

(As the groom’s father gets up to leave,

Tie his hands and beat him up,

Catch him, the thief runs away…)

This is what is known as a gaari or abuse song. This particular one is sung by women of the bride’s family, as the groom’s family rises from the wedding feast.

It is meant to be a creative, veiled attack on those who demand a huge dowry, Sufi says.

The timing of the song — sung just as the men rise from their meal — is crucial. “In this way, they are ridiculed for consuming more than they should, and draining the coffers of the bride’s parents.”

It’s unusual for a culture to make room in this way, at such an occasion, for women to vent, Sufi adds.

But sadly, even when dowry has been a sore point, the song isn’t often sung today.

As ideas of entertainment, identity and expression change, families are choosing popular film music, played on speakers, instead.

* Tohra godna he sobhe aatho gahnama re jaan

Jaan nahir chodhbe mohna tora sangatibo re jaan...

Kiya karte daroga policewa re jaan…

(These tattoos are like jewellery on my body

I won’t leave my lover’s side...

Let’s see what the village chief or police will do…)

That’s from the song Godna (Tattoo). What’s interesting here is the viewfinder. This is a song in which a young woman is being told that her hand-poke tattoos make her look so beautiful, they’re attracting a young man’s attention.

She responds not by talking about how she feels about that; she retains focus on herself.

She loves the tattoos, and there’s a particular man she loves anyway. She doesn’t see a problem here. She intends to see this through.

* Gaiyyo bechliyo, bhaisyo bechliyo

Tilakwa deliyo ge beti

Doglawa ke betwa aalo, madwa chadhi baithlo

Mukhhu ne bolo ge beti

(I sold the cow, I sold the buffalo

I gave the dowry

The two-faced man’s son sat on the porch

He doesn’t even talk to me)

Some of the gaari songs hit out at husbands, in a flipped-script version of the “my wife is so annoying…” trope popular around the world. Here, a bride, or her mother, may sing of a groom who has taken all they have to give and more, and then disrespects them with his sullen demeanour.

“To be able to even register protest like this is powerful, in a world where dowry, gender violence and discrimination are still a reality,” Sufi says. “These songs are everyday acts of dissent. They are a way to vocalise discontent, or happiness. They also offer a sense of community that says: you’re not alone.”

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