By now, all of us know about Urur-Olcott Kuppam Vizha and its cultural significance in contemporary India’s artistic discourses. It has sparked off a debate on art, activism and democracy. Youngsters are questioning both the conservative as well as the radical art forms. Like any movement, this too carries contradictions. You could always bring up issues related to the safety of the performers during music performances in railway stations and buses, its effect on the quality of the music and also its potential to bring down walls. But, agree or disagree, there is no ignoring this movement.
The festival has also bridged the distance between the ‘artiste on the pedestal’ and the ‘regular’ audience. Be it the nuance of the gamakas , rhythmic patterns of parai beats or the mythology behind devotional music, they talk about breaking down their art for the masses with the casualness of chatting about the weather. In one of the pariattam performances, held as part of the vizha, the artistes urged spectators to play their instrument and dance with them.
The movement does not close its doors on anyone. It is a volunteer-driven campaign where people from all walks of life — from students, artistes, academicians and photographers to fishermen, activists and folk singers — get together. The meetings are on during the evenings on Elliot’s beach, where the only interruption is the evening breeze and aroma of fried fish.
I have been part of the volunteers’ meet of this year’s edition from its start. Initially, I approached it through a neutral journalistic view. However, gradually, I realised that it is difficult to stay passive if you are part of this union of like-minded people. Our conversations meander from Urur programmes and its fishermen to the violence in Jerusalem and environmental hazards in Ennore. The air of arguments and ideation can be heady. A friend’s casual WhatsApp message brought me to the movement. For someone who was just a month-old to Chennai, this space was a wonderful discovery. Urur introduced me to singers, artistes, theatre professionals, activists, film-makers, environmental warriors and young NGO workers. I stumbled upon stories and communities I never dreamt I would find. I was also introduced to lesser-known places of Chennai, such as the highly-polluted Ennore creek, which an environmental activist rightly called “dystopias” that are not visible to the urban eye that’s accustomed to glossy city malls.
Urur Vizha is also a leaderless movement. Decisions are taken unanimously by the volunteers. The members are not bound by any ideology, except for the broad agreement that art must be freed of all chains. This is significant in the contemporary world, which has a history of counter-cultural movements eventually turning into one-man-led fascist regimes. The volunteers have been struggling to keep its democratic spirit alive. The event’s success is also because it is not driven by a political ideology. But, that does not make it any less political, especially when you have a Carnatic artiste singing “Kelvi kettal anti-national ennu vada suduvanga” at the beach.
When I write on Urur, I’m not a mere spectator, but someone who’s part of it. Learning to be objective and involved at the same time was a huge learning experience. After all, isn’t good reporting about finding that fine balance between detachment and involvement?
The city seems to be mesmerised by this phenomenon. But, as human beings, aren’t we wired to question? More than a festival, Urur vizha is also a space to feel connected. When I’m with the volunteers on the beach side, I feel a sense of collectivity and a reassurance that I am not alone in my anxieties about the world. When you live in an increasingly alienating world, which intimidates you with war, consumerism and terrifying doctrines, who can say no to such a space that brings people together to bond over disagreements and debate with respect?
