Six independent young artistes have used their art to voice the urgent environmental concerns that plague the country today in the just-launched album Climate Emergency Mixtape — a multilingual playlist. After having a powerful launch in Bengaluru featuring rappers Kali, Naveen Koomar, Devanshi!, Alkama, Gamak Sinha and Abisha from the all-women rap collective Sollisai Sistahs, share what each of their tracks specifically brings to this necessary conversation.
Your track Neer Kodu tackles Bengaluru's rapid urbanisation, rising heat and dwindling water sources. How does everyday life in Bengaluru inform the rhythm and visual imagery of your verses?
Bengaluru differs across the city. In south and central Bengaluru, many trees and parks are still preserved and even apolitical people stood in solidarity for Lalbagh. It was interesting to witness. But where I live, we’re preoccupied with when the power cut will happen, how we’ll finish work before it does and how we’ll manage this much water for the rest of the week. When I visit friends in other parts of the city or ride my scooty around, it shows me how everything is rooted in class and caste and how they limit access. Conversations with people in my area and friends from similar neighbourhoods naturally surface in my writing, sometimes as a joke, sometimes in rage
When writing or recontextualising a track about environmental destruction in your own backyard, how do you balance grief over what is being lost with the hope or urgency needed to drive action?
I feel it’s not one person’s job, and the onus isn’t on working-class and marginalised people. It’s everyone’s collectively, mostly billionaires’. As I said in my track, we might all follow sustainable practices, but one move by a billionaire and all our efforts are gone! I use humour or say it simply to make people realise it themselves. People laughed when the track was released, saying nobody would relate in winter. I doubted myself, but after reading about El Niño, the climate crisis and bee extinction, I wish my song would eventually become irrelevant.
In Nisargacha Kaayda, you raise an imperative question about viewing nature strictly through the lens of human gain. What's a line from your track that best encapsulates the emotions associated with the impact of this perspective on nature?
It responds to those who say nothing will change if you speak up alone. The chorus says that if you keep chasing benefits and profit, you’ll end up at a loss. Climate change affects all of us. The lyrics warn that if you focus only on profit, everything will be destroyed. They also show that anyone obsessed with profit lacks the courage to speak against these issues. I’m not one of them; I will raise my voice. The song says that when people chase profit alone, they stop being fully human and become mechanical and commercial. I’ve spoken about animals, indigenous tribes, farmers and others who have no platform to speak for themselves. That’s the crux of my song.
How do you balance grief and hope when writing about environmental destruction close to home?
I'm a Potterhead (Harry Potter fan) and believe in the phoenix's philosophy — rising from the ashes. Rather than victimising communities, we should see them as humans. In my song, I address the Bhil, Warli and Gond communities as my brothers. Though I'm a Hindu Maratha, we're all human. As a sociology student, I've learned about the gaze placed on subjects and I believe we should look beyond caste, community and religion. That's how we balance their grief and give them hope for the future.
Your track focuses on the Aravalli ridge, a critical ancient barrier that has protected Delhi's climate for centuries, and how its exploitation threatens local habitats. Tell us about how your personal emotions toward that ecosystem find their way into Vann Katte.
The Aravallis were part of my childhood in Firozpur Jhirka, especially the time I spent with my grandfather. But as the years passed, I watched them reduce in height. The reason, we all know, is the mining mafia, real estate lobbies and rapid urbanisation. So, when I was asked to write a song for Climate Emergency, I chose to write about my Aravallis and my village. Vann Katte is an attempt to raise the questions we all need to ask: when we’re sold a dream of development, whose development is it?
When describing environmental destruction in your community, how does your writing honour emotions of loss while also strengthening the call for immediate action?
I think much of what I’ve written also reflects that this loss is personal. When I travel to my village, I may not be able to articulate the hurt I feel seeing the Aravallis degrade, but that’s the power of hip hop. Even I didn’t know I had so much to say and it’s driven more by rage than sadness. My track just tries to channel that rage.
Tell us about the emotions you channeled into Nasht Environment while growing up amidst the harsh reality of chronic pollution and the growing climate crisis.
Growing up, pollution always felt like something that was just part of everyday life, but as I got older, I started understanding how serious it actually is. I felt frustrated and honestly a little helpless seeing the air, water and surroundings getting worse. At the same time it made me more aware and angry about how normal we’ve started treating it. I think those emotions naturally came into my music. I wanted to talk about what I see around me and turn that frustration into something people can actually feel.
How has your writing honoured the balance of expressing your sadness or other emotions associated with environmental loss while also urging action?
I think the sadness has to come first because I’m talking about something I see around me. But I don’t want the song to make people feel bad or helpless. I try to turn that grief into anger, awareness and urgency. The idea is: yes, a lot has been damaged, but that doesn’t mean we should stop caring. If people feel connected to what I’m saying, hopefully they’ll feel like they can do something about it.
Your track Veppa Marathadiyila (Under the Neem Tree) captures what communities lose in preventable climate disasters like floods. What specific instances from your own observations did you channel into the track?
For me, the song comes from observing how climate change affects everyday life, especially for communities with fewer resources. In Tamil Nadu, floods, water scarcity, extreme heat and the loss of natural spaces have become part of daily life. I’ve seen how flooding disrupts homes, livelihoods and access to basic necessities, while water scarcity forces people to spend more time and money just to get water. The loss of trees, lakes and other shared spaces also changes how communities live. Veppa Marathadiyila comes from these everyday observations — not just the disaster itself, but what people are forced to lose, adapt to and rebuild afterwards. I wanted the song to ask who is affected first and who is left with the consequences of a climate crisis they did very little to create
How do you express sorrow and grief over the damage to different communities’ environment while motivating listeners to respond with urgency?
I think both have to exist together. There’s definitely grief in seeing what we’re losing, but I don’t want the song to leave people feeling helpless. I wanted to acknowledge that pain while also reminding people that there’s still something we can protect and act for. For me, the song is about making people care, speak up, and actually take action before there’s nothing left to save.
Your track Soil uniquely personifies the ground, allowing it to narrate its own story from discovery to destruction. What inspired you to explore this rarely visited perspective of the earth/ground?
I wanted to explore the idea of giving a voice to something that we constantly stand on but rarely stop to think about. Soil is so fundamental to our existence, yet we often treat it as something ordinary or invisible. The idea came from imagining the earth as a silent witness to everything humans have done, from discovery and creation to exploitation and destruction. For me, that perspective made the song more personal and emotional. Soil isn’t just a resource; it holds memories, supports life and carries the consequences of what we do to it. Giving it a voice felt like a way of asking ourselves what the ground beneath us would say if it could speak.
How do you as a songwriter balance the grief and sadness associated with environmental harm helping capturing impact it has on communities while also encourahing immediate and meaningful action?
I think the balance comes from not allowing grief to become helplessness. There is a lot of pain in witnessing environmental destruction, especially when it is happening around you and affects places that feel familiar and personal. I wanted the song to acknowledge that loss honestly rather than soften it. At the same time, I don’t believe the purpose of expressing grief is to leave people feeling powerless. There is still agency in what we choose to notice, question and protect. For me, the urgency comes from that space the feeling that even if we can’t undo everything that has already been lost, we can still decide what happens next. So I tried to let Soil hold both emotions: mourning what we are losing, while reminding us that the story isn’t finished yet.