Kashmir’s beatboxers are fighting for recognition

Sufiyan Rouf, reportedly the first beatboxer of Kashmir, was in the region during a lockdown in 2016 following the killing of the militant leader Burhan Wani. He had much time to spend during that 132-day-long lockdown, and it was then that his interest in beatboxing took hold after discovering a YouTube video of beatboxing, ‘Alem vs NaPom’, on reduced internet speed.

“Beatboxing, as I could gather, was mimicking drum sounds and other musical instruments with one’s vocal tract”, says Rouf, who goes by the stage name Abaddox. The 2016 lockdown was a miserable time, but Rouf used it to learn the artform, despite the task being made more complicated by the internet blackouts, lack of equipment and the response of those around him: “Everyone criticised me for pursuing something that does not have a future”, he says.

“I got to know about the art of beatboxing during the 2016 lockdown, but the same conflict and tension also suppressed my growth”, remarks Rouf. “Usually, beatboxers join a community so that they can improve.” However, as Rouf started to practise the sounds he heard, finding like-minded people to share his passion proved difficult. “[There was] no community to visit, no people to jam with”, he sighs, sharing how he had to improve his skill in isolation.

But in 2017, Rouf began to gain popularity, and his beatboxing videos on Instagram and YouTube received tens of thousands of views. Several shows followed, and the increased attention soon led to people contacting him on social media. In particular, he received messages from other beatboxers in India. Mumin Khan, Hayat Shafi, Hyder Ali, Danish and Anzar were some of the first to reach out to Rouf. This group formed the Kashmir Beatbox Community (KBC) in 2018.

Khan, who goes by the stage name Theczawul (Goat), became interested in beatboxing after seeing a video of ‘MadTwins’. “It fascinated me: the beats, [the] drops, [the] audience reactions”, says Khan. Shafi shares a similar story. He says that one of the reasons that KBC formed was the need to grow together as a community and not just individually. As the first beatboxers of Kashmir, they wanted to reach out to the budding ones and help them succeed. “We used to teach each other different beats, sounds, drops and new trends.”

Then a 2019 lockdown happened. Kashmir Valley has been a hotspot between two nuclear nations, India and Pakistan, for the past 75 years, bearing witness to three major wars on its soil. Since the beginning of the 1990s, after the allegedly rigged 1987 Assembly elections in Kashmir, there has been an ongoing armed struggle between Indian armed forces and militants which has resulted in multiple massive protests, shutdowns and internet blackouts. The communication blackout in 2019, which saw highspeed internet barred in the valley for 18 months, followed India revoking Article 370. Issued in 1947, the article gave Jammu and Kashmir special status, including the right to a separate constitution and flag. According to government ministers the intention of the blackout was to prevent violence and terrorist threats following the revocation. It was not an isolated incident. The website Statista states that, as of February 2024, there have been 433 internet shutdowns in the region, out of 805 across India.

“We, as budding beatboxers, suffered a lot”, says Shafi about this latest setback. “We lost connection with Sufiyan too,” he adds, alluding to the fact that Rouf had moved to Delhi just before the lockdown. Khan adds: “Sufiyan is the guiding light for the community, he is much more versed about how to run the beatboxing community. His departure to Delhi for his higher studies made the community in Kashmir leaderless.”

Khan grew out of touch with the world of beatboxing during the internet blackout. “After a break, it’s like re-learning everything again”, he says. “There is uncertainty all around, anything can happen and that’s why our artists stay a step behind their counterparts across the globe.”

Coming out of the lockdown, Rouf remained the breakout beatboxer from the community. “Other beatboxers didn’t receive the same kind of popularity”, says Shafi. “We had no source of income, it was people among our community only who used to contribute to our jams, battles and cyphers.” Rouf adds: “We were all in a place where there was no scope in this art form.” The beatboxers thought of competing with other communities as well. Here’s Khan: “But due to no income, less societal acceptance for the art form and being ridiculed for wasting our life, there was a halt.” It was also too soon for the community, many of whom were teenagers, with their families not wanting them to continue this artform. They needed time to practice and they needed confidence, bolstered by staying connected with their audience on social media.

Khan believes Kashmir’s hip-hop and beatboxing scenes have risen since the lockdown ended, but this rise has had its struggles. While performing on the street, Khan and his counterparts have been called out by people as ‘mout’, a Kashmiri word denoting a person with mental illness. This backlash forced Kashmir’s beatboxers to find an isolated place to practice, and they discovered the now-defunct Solina silk factory in Srinagar, tucked away from the hustle and bustle of the city.

Cut forward to today and things are looking better. “Now, as the community exists, everyone is a beast, they have mastered the art”, says Rouf. “The community is ready to blow out: do shows, battles, tournaments in Kashmir, which will create hype for beatboxers.”

In Delhi, Rouf got to interact and join the Delhi Beatbox Community, which has 300 members actively participating in battles and tournaments. This helped him understand the community’s workings, which he has tried to apply to KBC. “Not all beatboxers have a large audience base on social media which can help them make money”, adds Rouf. “This is why we want to create a fully-fledged platform in Kashmir for underprivileged beatboxers.”

There is no female representation among the 60 people who are part of KBC now. “Where else have you seen an ample amount of female representation in any art form in Kashmir?” asks Rouf, before outlining his ambition for equal male and female members. He desires to commercialise the art form by fusing Kashmiri music and instruments with beatboxing.

The community is also looking towards state sponsorship. “The government should provide more attention to these artforms that don’t fall into the mainstream according to them”, says Shafi.

It’s an uphill struggle. There are few potential shows for the beatboxers of Kashmir, many of whom eventually move out of the valley to pursue studies or find work. This has undoubtedly affected KBC, yet they continue to work to ensure that the next generation of beatboxers have a platform to grow and make a career out of the art. Rouf is confident they will succeed. “People don’t perceive beatboxing as music, they refer to it as strange sounds, but in the end, it is music”, he concludes.