A still from Rhythm of Dammam 
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Rhythm of Dammam review: A mesmeric journey through the Siddis' past and present

Jayan Cherian's film blends realism with surrealism to produce a strikingly vivid image of the Siddi community's intergenerational trauma.

Written by : Swaroop Kodur

Rhythm of Dammam (Konkani/Kannada)

The opening note of the Rhythm of Dammam informs that the Indian Siddi community are descendants of the Bantu peoples of Southeast Africa who were brought to India as slaves by Portuguese and Arab traders. When the trans-Indian ocean slave trade was stopped in Goa in 1865, some Siddis were freed, while the others escaped into the forests of Karnataka (and eventually to a few other parts of India) in fear of being captured again, gradually assimilating into the Indian society. 

The tragedy, though, is that those who found a new home were nevertheless enslaved by another form of bondage - the Indian social hierarchy and caste system. Jayan Cherian’s latest film comes as both an ode and a requiem to the wounded heritage of the Siddi community, painting a surreal portrait of its people's present and past realities.

A still from the film

Rhythm of Dammam is set in a small village near the Yellapur town of Karnataka’s Uttara Kannada, where the Siddi community speaks the local Konkani language with the Siddi dialect (known as Siddi Bhasha). The community follows Hinduism, Islam, and Christianity, but the story is centred on a Hindu family that is acculturated to the local customs and traditions. Yet, in a great show of tenacity, the community has simultaneously striven hard to hold on to its ancestral cultural practices, with the Dammam music being one such integral tradition.

Although based on vast research and examination of the subject, Rhythm of Dammam accepts many creative risks, beginning with the choice of 12-year-old Jayaram Siddi (Chinmaya Siddi) as its protagonist. The boy is plagued with visitation dreams in which his recently deceased grandfather, Rama Bantu Siddi, is trying to communicate something very important to him. The many artefacts and totems collected by his grandfather become a gateway for Jayaram’s oneiric encounters, and when a relative tells him these ‘treasures’ carry the souls of ancestors who crossed oceans, traversed deserts and transcended mountains, the boy grows mesmerised.

For Jayan Cherian, the boy becomes a channel to explore the deep intergenerational trauma experienced by Siddis. Jayaram often slips into altered states of mind in which he wanders through dense forests, hears torturous whips and lashes echoing through vacant air, and even visualises an ancient ship riding oceanic waters (all accentuated by Sunilkumar PK’s score). The film, at no point, spells out what these dreams mean but the subtlety still carries the message home - what Rama Bantu Siddu inherited from his forefathers in terms of agony, pain and wistful reminders, Jayaram is now the chosen one to accept and embrace its poignance. On the one hand, the boy must learn from these bizarre encounters. On the other, he must also use them to fortify the legacy of his ancestors.

Jayan Cherian

Inheritance, then, becomes the keyword for Rhythm of Dammam. While Jayaram’s ethereal expedition into the past becomes the fulcrum of the narrative, Cherian introduces the present condition of the Siddis, in which they are oppressed by upper castes and are rid of most kinds of social privileges. Jayaram’s father, Bhaskara (popular Kannada actor Prashanth Siddi) is an alcoholic and abusive towards his mother (played by singer and actor Girija Siddi), but his unseemliness is underscored by the fact that he is in perpetual debt with a Brahmin landlord. Bhaskara cannot escape these clutches nor could his fathers and grandfathers, and Jayan Cherian once again highlights the sinister and multifaceted nature of enslavement with the help of a single gentle yet striking statement. 

Two of the film’s best and most exhilarating sequences showcase Dammam music, during which the synergy of unobtrusive filmmaking and the vibrancy of the Siddi identity is palpable. Jayan Cherian allows for the rhythm and intensity of the dammam (a percussion instrument) to play perfect companions to the leader-chorus singing and dancing format of the tradition, while Sabin Uralikandy’s camera winds its way through the unrestrained and entranced performances of the ensemble cast (featuring many non-professional actors). 

At first glance, these sequences may appear to offer a restricted perspective of the Siddi culture and its many social concerns, but Rhythm of Dammam takes the creative liberty of blending fiction with non-fiction to produce an impressively vivid image. It takes upon the tall task of investigating centuries of marginalisation and subjugation, and then sculpting it as a 92-minute-long narrative that wishes to be specific instead of generic. 

A still from the film

The resulting film might not be a comprehensive take on everything that ails the community today - from illiteracy, lack of healthcare and land rights to discrimination based on physical appearance - but it makes a strong case for them all nevertheless. Films or any creative endeavours of such disposition often carry the risk of glamorising the struggle, especially when those in focus themselves wish to move on from “an identity”, whereas Jayan Cherian and his team do a fine job in humanising the Siddis here. 

The film was recently screened at the 16th edition of the Bengaluru International Film Festival, as part of the Asian Cinema Competition.

Swaroop Kodur is a freelance film writer, critic, and fledgling filmmaker. 

Disclaimer: This review was not paid for or commissioned by anyone associated with the film. Neither TNM nor any of its reviewers have any sort of business relationship with the film’s producers or any other members of its cast and crew.