Mudukkuwen Eliyata

I was born in Colombo at the tail end of ninety four
From that day on, dirt has been the only thing under my two feet
Everything I hid, I hid in a corner inside my heart
I lined up what I did and what I said and wrote it plain in a book
The tree that is going to grow shows its shoots first
I have run a long way, and now they are reaching to grab me
Sweet talk to my face, and thanks driven off the moment my back is turned
They use us to wipe us out, and by the time you understand it, it is already done
I remember the dreams I had as a small boy
A shining chain swinging around my neck
Loafing about, I sat my exams out on the street
I passed, right at the top of society, in no time at all
Even if I die young now, there is no sorrow in this heart
No regret either, because I lived my life
My name will stand at the top of the Sinhala rap book
In gold letters on my gravestone they will write, a good kid

(Out, out, when will it be
When do my dreams get out of the slum
Will nobody ask the gods
When will they take me out of this slum…..//)

Today I will teach you the whole thing, from the beginning, line by line
I will bring out the fire that was kept under the ashes
The noise that covers the marks and stains nobody knows about
My writing hits your head, rattling like bullets
If it lands, your skull goes to powder
Mouth to mouth they will say it, hey, this one is class
Fitting words together until my mouth goes numb
The mad ones may panic, the Doctor does not
This medicine is for the boys who hang about at every junction
No need for the sick ones who whine like girls
Coughing at other people, stabbing from behind, cursing
I will hand out the medicine to bring everybody’s fever down
Who is there left that you can trust
The road is packed with cuts, jabs and insults
When I got it wrong, who came over to talk to me
Every one of them had a leaf in hand back then
Later they turn up carrying the welcome cloth
In good time they drift in, drawn to the art
Dangle what you like, I will not be caught by a fairy tale
I want no throne, no crown, not one sword
Watch, the ones who dug pits for me will be under my feet tomorrow

Out, out, when will it be……

Cut my mouth if you like, these are not lies, these are things that happened
I raised the measure of rap while you lot sat watching
I am living well while the world spins on
Look, man, here I come, out of the slum
I need nobody’s permission to speak
Build the fence as tight as you want, you cannot stop my mouth
Whether I go right to the top or fall to the bottom step
The mould does not change, take a proper look at it
Check the two numbers in tomorrow’s paper
Get down on your knees in front of those four letters
Listen to the advice that comes in harsh words
Speak the truth, and plug the hole the lies come out of
Whoever puts on a false face, I know the truth
The hard men are here, Piliyandala, my side of town
A nine tucked in the eaves, a machete at the door
I will have you writing your last will
The real wrong is throwing the truth to the dogs
Stabbing from behind, cutting a man down when he is not there
Finishing off the cheap, soft cowards who do it
That is the day I finally get some peace…..

Out, out, when will it be…..//

This is Sinhala street rap, and the story it tells is the rapper’s own. He opens with the facts of his life: born in Colombo at the end of 1994, and from that first day nothing under his feet but bare ground. A mudukkuwa is a shanty settlement, the tin and board housing packed into the low, flood-prone parts of the city, and the whole song hangs on the one question the chorus keeps asking. When do the dreams get out? When does he get out?

The first verse is a boy looking back at himself. He remembers the gold chain he imagined swinging at his neck, and he says that instead of writing exams in a hall he wrote them on the street, and passed at the top of society. There is an old Sinhala saying behind the line about the tree: the one that is going to grow tall shows it in its first shoots. He uses it to say he knew what he was from early on. By the end of the verse he has made his peace with dying young, as long as his name sits at the top of the Sinhala rap book and someone cuts the words “a good kid” into his headstone in gold.

The second verse is about people, and it gets sharper. The fire kept under the ashes is everything he swallowed while he was still nobody, and now he lets it up. Then he takes over the language of medicine: the boys loitering at every junction are the patients, his verses are the dose, and he calls himself the Doctor who stays calm while the ward panics. The fever he wants to bring down belongs to the ones who cough at other people, stab from behind and talk. The image that stings most is the pavada, the length of cloth spread on the ground for an important person to walk on. Nobody laid anything down for him when he was struggling. Now that he has risen, the same people arrive carrying it.

The last verse plants a flag. Piliyandala is named as his side of town, the two numbers in tomorrow’s paper are the chart position he expects, and the four letters he tells you to kneel in front of are his own name. The threats are the language of the neighbourhood, a nine in the eaves and a machete by the door, writing your last will for you, and they carry the swagger the genre runs on. What he actually asks for at the end is smaller and heavier than any of that. Not a throne, not a crown, not a sword, just the day the back-stabbers are finished and he can breathe.

What makes the song land for a Sri Lankan listener is that the boast and the prayer sit side by side. He spends three verses proving he got out, and then hands the chorus back to a boy standing in a shanty lane asking the gods when his turn is coming.