Vedan's childhood environment exposed him to the harsh realities of caste-based discrimination, shaping his decision to use rap as a platform to amplify the struggles of his community.
Published May 01, 2025 | 5:08 PM ⚊ Updated May 01, 2025 | 5:08 PM
Vedan.
Synopsis: The ongoing controversy surrounding Malayalam rapper Vedan’s arrest highlights the forces of hegemonic control at work. His lyrics offer a forceful rejection of caste-based identities and the entrenched socio-political hierarchies that uphold them.
The Malayalam film industry has recently made headlines following several drug abuse cases and arrests. Yet, it was the arrest of rapper and songwriter Vedan that drew the most attention — even more than those involving prominent actors and directors.
Vedan’s words force a reckoning with uncomfortable truths — often ignored or erased from collective memory — that challenge Kerala’s self-image, built on ideals of progress and reform, which society has long refused to confront.
Saying, “I don’t know any tricks or spells,” Vedan has emerged as a force in the Malayalam hip-hop scene. With a growing pan-Indian and global following, he uses his music as a vehicle for critiquing social injustice, caste discrimination, and vestiges of feudalism that have long permeated the socio-political landscape of Kerala.
His tracks, such as “Voice of the Voiceless” and “Vaa” (Come), resonate deeply with the marginalised and employ rap as an accessible and powerful form of resistance.
In “Vaa“, he urges collective action against systemic oppression, capturing the raw energy of resistance:
Come friend, let’s stand shoulder to shoulder,
Let’s ignite the fire,
To shatter all boundaries.
Come… Come… Come.
Let’s take the sharp words
From the pages of forgotten books
And slice the guns into pieces.
Come…
The ongoing controversy surrounding Vedan’s arrest, which came just a day after his electrifying performance at the official Nisagandhi Auditorium in Kerala’s capital city — an event sponsored by the government and attended by tens of thousands of his mesmerised fans — highlights the forces of hegemonic control at work.
The charges, which include allegations of possessing six grams of cannabis and a leopard’s tooth pendant, seem strategically timed to overshadow his powerful cultural influence and to reinforce the dominant structures that seek to suppress dissent. The disproportionate attention given to his personal life —rather than the political messages embedded in his music — demonstrates how the cultural hegemony attempts to silence subversive voices.
This forms part of a broader trend where activists and artists who are critical of the status quo are often subject to intense scrutiny, criminalisation, or co-optation by state institutions, which seek to uphold the existing social order. Yet, as Vedan’s case has shown, such attempts to repress subversive cultural expressions often only serve to amplify them, as seen in the growing public debate and support surrounding his music.
Vedan, born Hirandas Murali, grew up in Swapnabhoomi, a Dalit-majority settlement near Thrissur. These settlements were officially referred to as “colonies” in a derogatory manner until recently. His mother is a Sri Lankan Tamil refugee, from Jaffna.
This environment exposed him to the harsh realities of caste-based discrimination, shaping his decision to use rap as a platform to amplify the struggles of his community. He adopted the stage name “Vedan,” meaning “hunter,” which symbolises the deep connection to his marginalised identity. Additionally, “Vedan” is also a tribal caste name in Kerala, further anchoring his identity in its rich and significant cultural context.
Vedan’s work breaks with traditional modes of protest, both within the framework of popular culture and the long-standing Dalit traditions of resistance in Kerala. He, however, subverts all boundaries by introducing a modern, global form of expression — rap — that transcends both regional and caste lines.
By invoking the legacy of Ayyankali, one of Kerala’s most prominent Dalit reformers of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, Vedan connects his music to a long tradition of social reform and activism. Ayyankali fought for the rights of Dalits and worked tirelessly to dismantle the oppressive structures that relegated them to the margins of society. Vedan’s lyrics pay homage to Ayyankali’s legacy by highlighting the intersectional forms of oppression — caste, class and race — that continue to exist in contemporary Kerala.
Vedan’s rap verses present an uncompromising depiction of resistance, grounded in the lived realities of marginalisation and oppression. The language he employs is stark and confrontational, weaving together themes of struggle, defiance, and subversion.
The tension between the longing for emancipation and the disillusionment with history is encapsulated in Vedan’s lyrics, which resonate with the words of Dalit reformer Poykayil Appachan, who famously remarked, “No alphabets in sight, about my race.” This sentiment echoes in Vedan’s own expression of profound frustration with both the historical and contemporary experiences of his community.
The line “You never gave us what we seek” captures the unmet promises of justice, equality, and dignity, highlighting the failure of both past and present systems to deliver on their commitments to the oppressed. His lyrics serve as a reminder of the sacrifices made by those who have been erased from the dominant historical narrative. The imagery of death here transcends the physical realm, symbolising the social, cultural, and political erasure that comes from systemic exclusion.
He says:
What I want is not what I may want,
You never gave us what we seek.
Whom do we long for?
How many people died for it?
You saw it, you saw it, and laughed.
Oh no, no, no, no,
This is not the day.
No, there is no hunter,
And he won’t tell the story.
Vedan’s rap verses articulate a powerful critique of the systemic structures that perpetuate marginalisation and oppression. His lyrics reflect a profound disillusionment with both history and the present, highlighting the failure of dominant systems to meet the promises of justice, equality, and dignity.
Through his words, he underscores the lived reality of those who have been historically silenced and erased from the narrative of progress. This disillusionment is not merely a critique of personal or individual grievances but speaks to the broader, collective experience of those rendered invisible by social, cultural, and political exclusion.
In this sense, his music becomes a platform for reclaiming lost histories, challenging the forces that seek to perpetuate the status quo, and demanding a reconfiguration of power that acknowledges and addresses the inequities embedded in society. The death he refers to is not just physical but symbolic — an erasure of identity, culture, and voice, a condition that has long defined the oppressed.
His lyrics offer a forceful rejection of caste-based identities and the entrenched socio-political hierarchies that uphold them. By confronting the historical labels imposed upon marginalised communities, the speaker does not merely contest a singular caste identity but rather challenges the very structures that have been designed to subordinate these groups.
This rejection extends beyond a personal denial of labels — it is a direct assault on the social order that depends on such divisions for its existence.
The repeated dismissal of authority, despite its claims of dominance, reveals a deep-seated belief that power rooted in exploitation holds no inherent value. The speaker’s indifference to this authority acts as a deliberate act of resistance, signalling an emotional and intellectual detachment from a system that demands obedience.
This rejection is not only rhetorical but is a bold declaration of autonomy, an outright refusal to accept the legitimacy of those who perpetuate systems of oppression. His anger towards caste-based identities and hierarchical structures is succinctly captured in the following lines:
I am no Panan, no Parayan, nor Pulayan,
And you are not the master of this land.
And even if you are, I couldn’t give a damn.
This defiance is not merely rhetorical; it embodies a refusal to acknowledge the legitimacy of those who oppress.
Vedan’s lines, “In the land of forest thieves, The one who steals rice will die”, invoke the brutal killing of Madhu, an Adivasi youngster in Kerala, lynched for an alleged crime of stealing food after days of hunger. This act, carried out by members of settler communities who have long been accused of encroaching on Adivasi agricultural lands, exposes the lethal consequences of survival in an unequal society.
The violence faced by Madhu is not an isolated incident but part of a systemic pattern of exploitation and dispossession deeply rooted in colonial and postcolonial histories. In Kerala, a state that prides itself on its Renaissance legacy, such events are conveniently ignored.
“The toddy I drank speaks no lies” strips away any pretence, offering a raw, unfiltered honesty in contrast to the deceit and manipulation ingrained in the caste system. By invoking “toddy,” a local alcoholic drink, as something that “speaks no lies,” he turns it into a potent metaphor for truth in a society built on layers of falsehood and subjugation.
The caste system, with its deeply entrenched hierarchies and systemic violence, is exposed as a structure of lies that distorts the reality of human dignity and equality. In his defiance, Vedan rejects the false narratives spun by those in power and instead embraces a truth that is unapologetically grounded in the lived experience of the oppressed.
Vedan’s latest song, Mauna Loa, which references the active volcano in Hawaii, exemplifies the intertextual richness that characterises his music and poetry.
His lyrics, infused with potent historical and cultural references, evoke a range of intense themes. With allegories that convey a deep symbolic resonance and allusions to the Soviet revolution, Beethoven, Nagasaki-Hiroshima, Libya, and North Korea, he captures the tension between love, destruction, and power.
You are the one who found the ruby in the trash,
Strung it with lightning and wore it on your chest.
Are you the Soviet revolution within me?
You are Beethoven when you laugh.
I am Nagasaki-Hiroshima; will you fall upon me?
You are my Libya, and I will lie dead in your street.
You are my North Korea, and I will surrender to your prison.
Additionally, in the same song, Vedan draws upon figures like Marilyn Monroe and Sufi poetry, intertwining diverse intertextual images that explore the complexities of love, sex, discrimination, and revolution.
In this way, his music represents a break not only from the traditional forms of protest but also from the Dalit tradition of protest that has often been limited to localised, community-specific struggles. His use of rap — the dominant global cultural expression of youth rebellion — has the potential to unite diverse marginalised communities in Kerala and beyond.
This cross-pollination of cultural forms and ideologies highlights how popular culture, especially when used by marginalised groups, serves to destabilise and subvert hegemonic cultural narratives. Rap, in this context, becomes a form of radical cultural intervention, reclaiming space for the voices of those who have been historically silenced by institutional and societal forces.
Vedan’s music functions as a bridge between global hip-hop traditions and Kerala’s indigenous forms of protest, combining the rebellious energy of rap with the localised struggles of his community. This synergy between the two genres highlights how marginalised groups often employ subversive forms of expression to make their struggles visible, even when these voices are ridiculed or ignored by hegemonic powers.
In academic discussions on popular culture, music, particularly rap, is often examined as a tool for cultural subversion. As music becomes commodified and intertwined with dominant market forces, it simultaneously serves as a mechanism through which the oppressed can reclaim agency. As cultural theorists like Stuart Hall and Dick Hebdige argue, subcultures often emerge in opposition to mainstream ideologies, offering alternative ways of knowing and being that challenge the norms upheld by dominant social structures. In this sense, rap music represents a resistance to the “cosiness” of hegemonic cultures that remain oblivious to, or actively suppress, the voices of the marginalised.
Vedan’s music evokes a form of anti-poetry, characterised by its direct, raw, and often abrasive language. It eschews the elegant, polished norms of traditional poetry in favour of a style that is unrelenting in its critique of social injustice. This rawness is a powerful tool of resistance, turning poetry into a form of direct action that challenges the very structures of power that have historically oppressed marginalised communities.
At its core, this poetry represents a form of Dalit resistance that is deeply rooted in lived experience. It is not about glorifying or romanticising suffering, but rather acknowledging the brutality of reality and using that acknowledgement to challenge the systems that perpetuate it. Through stark imagery, defiant language, and a refusal to conform to established norms, these verses reject the authority of those who have historically controlled narratives and wielded power through violence and exploitation.
In this way, the poems insist that the oppressed will no longer be passive victims in the grand historical narrative but active participants who demand recognition, justice, and equality. The refusal to accept the legitimacy of the oppressor’s rule, the rejection of caste-based identity, and the vivid portrayal of the violence of survival all work together to create a powerful critique of the existing order.
Vedan’s legal troubles began when he was arrested in Kochi for possessing six grams of cannabis and a pendant resembling a leopard’s tooth. Although he claimed the tooth was a gift from a fan, the Forest Department is investigating its authenticity, as possession of genuine wildlife parts is prohibited under the Wildlife Protection Act.
This arrest has sparked intense debate on social media, with many criticising the authorities for what they perceive as selective law enforcement.
It is increasingly clear that Vedan’s music, which challenges casteism and feudalism, has made him a target of upper-caste resentment. Those offended by his critique seem to be celebrating his setback, further highlighting the deep societal divisions at play.
Although the court has granted Vedan bail under strict conditions, disregarding the prosecution’s objections, his arrest and persecution clearly underscore the intersection of art, activism, and law, raising critical questions about freedom of expression and the challenges faced by artists who dare to confront entrenched societal injustices.
His struggle serves as a powerful reminder of the risks involved in challenging the status quo, and the ongoing battle for marginalised voices to be heard in a system that seeks to silence them.
(Views are personal. Edited by Muhammed Fazil.)
