KOLI BAND

"Mee Aahe Koli, Sori La Dori," an old Marathi fisherman's folk song begins. This song is being rendered without vocals, by clarinets, saxophones, trumpets and a drum set. While the clarinets and saxophones are being used to denote a 'female' voice, the 'male' repartees are being thrown up by the trumpets. The drum set takes prominence in the crescendo – marking the consummation of this gender war. Amol Patil is at a drum, Hitesh Meher at a trumpet, Ganesh Tandel at a clarinet, and Sanjay Akre at a saxophone. These boys, the founders of the Ashta Vinayak Band, are from traditional Koli or fishermen's families, as are the rest of the 20 odd members – the band's current strength. They rehearse on some evenings, for want of space, at the Mahim Beach, in front of the sun, setting behind the unfinished Bandra Worli sea-link, and surrounded by moored and floating dinghies and the beach's diverse residents: who sometimes shake a leg to their ambience. The Koli community, Mumbai's oldest inhabitants, have been marginalized by the city's modernization and merged into fresh oceans of employment by political vote bank seekers. Few of these band members, living in the Koli colony nearby, are fishermen themselves. The bittersweet melodies they play (always minus vocals), wringing emotional subtext from songs with apparently obvious words, are their sole signs of ancestry.

The Ashta Vinayak Group has also set up a gym, organized cricket matches, Govinda events and picnics secured a club room on Muri Road where they run a free newspaper stand for those willing to read. They were among the first to rush in aid when the Mahim Station bomb blast on *** happened. But the group members – who hold jobs ranging from sales tax office employee to swimming coach - incur their income for these activities from "performance calls" they get for weddings, functions and festivals. For playing genres ranging from Indian classical and Hindi film tunes to traditional Marathi folk, they charge Rs 2,500 per hour. "We play at Marathi and Non Marathi, often even Christian functions," Akre, a main member, informs. "So our 'music' has to match demand."

The group started their venture "like some of our fathers long ago when they were our age" in 1993, when most were in school. "We started with a keyboard and drumset, before expanding to trumpets, clarinets and saxophones as we learnt and grew in number," says Patil, whose father, a musician himself, taught the earlier members each instrument. "Each new member is taken onto a 'learning period' where he's taught various instruments before he chooses." Meher chips in: "We came together first because of wanting to learn and play music. All the other social activities we organise today came later." Much like their fore fathers who, while and after fishing, crystallized community feeling with song.

As they play "Gajaanana Si Ganarai" a traditional Koli Ganapati bhajan they start their performances with, an onlooker shouts, "Enough now! Play us the dance numbers!" While most band members shout an immediate "Chup!" in chorus, three get ready to charge him down. The near extinct melodies of a clan whose goddess Mumbadevi gave this city its current name, come intertwined with dormant pride. The dance numbers do follow though. "Main Nikla Gaddi Leke" from Gadar weaves into "Mera Piya Ghar Aaya O Ramji" from Yaarana to emerge as "Holi Aaayi Re Aayi" from Mashaal in one continuous performance. Then comes another folk number: "Mala Lagan Karaicha Aahe, Maala Reti Wala Nawra Paijhe." Translated, these words from a girl, rendered in tune only by saxophones, mean she wants to get married to a man who has a cement business. She goes on to say it doesn't matter how he looks, as long as he fits that criteria. This melody progresses into a different one, which we started with: "Mee Aahe Kohli, Maar Teel Kohli, Anaaye Goli, Chal Jao Bazaare." Translated, these words mean: "I'm a Koli. I've cast my net and caught a prize fish… and am on my way to the market to sell it."