Mya Mehmi is a Dalit Punjabi trans artist whose music video “Parivaar” features the legacy of Dr B.R. Ambedkar and Mya’s own personal relationship and ties to her family and cultural roots. Let’s get to know who Mya Mehmi is and why we should all be her number-one fan.
Interview:
Manu: If you were to give me a 1-2 sentence bio about yourself, what would you say?
Mya Mehmi: I am an artist, DJ, and cultural producer, who is also an extremely bad bitch and slag advocate.
*The bad bitch part is extremely important and the producers would like to reiterate this part of Mya’s bio*
Manu: Tell me a little bit about your family history. And what role (if any) did caste play in your upbringing?
Mya Mehmi: My parents were born in the UK, but my grandparents weren’t. That would make me second-generation. So with that, there’s a privilege already, especially in terms of the caste system. My parents were brought up here, in a world where caste didn’t matter as much, but still caused a lot of bullshit in my family’s lives through caste-based rejection and casteist abuse. The generational trauma is real obviously, from the Partition to then my grandparents immigrating to the UK, and then the amount of racism from British white folks. The community they had moved into, Bradford, there’s a strong Chamar community. They were the first generation of South Asians to be in Bradford at that time. And it was crazy. There were petitioners on the street that they moved into, saying “Get the Pakis [derogatory] off the street,” signed by every single house on that street, they’d be putting like fireworks and crazy shit through the letter box and banging on my family’s doors. It was really traumatic. My parents or anybody of that generation of my family don’t really talk too often about how traumatic that was and how that might inform their experiences today. Hearing some of these stories really helped me come to terms with my identity as a Brown person growing up and then when you get older and you start to see the caste thing–that’s like a whole other headfuck—cuz you’re like “wait what? Like I thought we were just Pakis! Now we’re Chamar? Like what?? Give me a break, bitch!” The first time I realized what caste was, was in school. I was young, before age 10. And somebody had called me a “dirty Chamar [derogatory slur]” on the playground or something. And I was like, “what the hell?” So I went home and asked my parents about it, and that’s when they had the caste conversation with me. But, you know, it seemed like we just moved past it, you know?
Manu: It’s survival.
Mya Mehmi: Yes, survival, you know? I remember my dad having this conversation with me, like “Oh it’s nothing, it doesn’t mean anything, it’s just a stupid word basically. This is the ins and outs of it.” He just kinda gave me the outline; it was very downplayed vocally to me by him but as I grew up, once I realized the distance, you start to notice things. “Oh, there’s only certain gurudwaras we are going to…” and there’s an effort to find a Guru Ravidas gurudwara everywhere we go, like it has to be that. It was seeing all my cousins trying to get engaged, and then get engaged, only to face pushback because of our caste, and the people they were getting engaged to not being of the same caste. The words that people were telling me, “this isn’t a big deal,” and what I was seeing actually happen around me were not adding up. So that’s when I realized “Oh this caste thing is actually like…a big deal…” And I kinda had to take it upon myself to do my own research, to figure out, “oh what does this mean for me?” It’s crazy, now that I think about it…there was definitely a lack of conversation about the importance of what caste is and how it has affected so much.
Manu: Thank you for sharing that. So something I’ve noticed is that Dalit people, we kinda have no choice but to know our caste, cuz it eventually will come up. And just like how you said that your parents had the “caste talk” with you. I’ve heard that so many times with Dalit people. Just like, “someone called me a slur and I don’t know what it meant, so I ask my parents, and that’s how I learned about our caste.” With me, there was a lot of jatt pride everywhere and I got asked if I was jatt by someone and I asked my parents if we were jatt. My parents wouldn’t even say the word chamar because it felt like a dirty word, or they would whisper it to me. Because our caste name has been turned into this derogatory term. There is shame in like “this is who we are, but don’t tell anyone. And if they ask you, just tell them you’re Punjabi. Tell them you are a Sikh. And that’s all they need to know.” I feel like that is our parents’ and our families’ way of sheltering us and protecting us. Because it is like survival, right? The more that you downplay something, the less you feel like it affects you and your loved ones. I’ve noticed that savarnas…they don’t have the “caste talk.” Because Dalit people; we don’t get to just not know or care. It will eventually come up. Do you feel that you can be out about your caste and talk openly about the caste system in your community?
Mya Mehmi: Yeah definitely! But people would call me divisive! It forces us to look at ourselves. I know if I was more vocal about casteism, people would call me the exact same things people call you. An “attention whore” and that nonsense. So I think that it feels pretty isolating and lonely, as I haven’t really encountered many people who really understand casteism. Or, if I do meet South Asian people in this space, they are often not of my caste, and so it’s a bit of a brief conversation. I don’t wanna talk to a jatt about the caste system you know? So, it’s quite isolating actually. In my experience being a Chamar, I haven’t really had people to engage in conversation about that with.
Manu: I resonate with that too. I would say isolating. I don’t quite feel community in the South Asian queer community, but then in the Chamar community, as a queer nonbinary person, I also don’t feel community. The cishet Dalit community here can be very homophobic and transphobic, including my own family and parents, so like…where the hell do we go? Navigating that and feeling that isolation so hard is what inspired me to find and reach out to people who are queer, trans, and also caste-oppressed. And building our own communities too is so important. How do you feel about the term and the label of “South Asian?” And do you feel represented within the South Asian queer community?
Mya Mehmi: I think the term South Asian-for me-is undercooked and I think that is because I just don’t think there has been enough effort to really be inclusive of the intersections within what being “South Asian” means, you know? I don’t think that when people say “South Asian” or when they say “Desi” they often think of [Eelam] Tamil people. I don’t think they’re thinking of Dalit people. I don’t think they’re thinking of Afro-Indian people so yeah it’s undercooked. And, do I feel personally represented by this “South Asian” label? Yes, to an extent. Because I am North Indian, I am Panjabi. I can’t ignore that privilege. At the same time, there’s so many conversations within the South Asian community that are just not being had. And until those are had, it’s not a space that I necessarily feel comfortable in or safe in.
Manu: I definitely hear you on like, you know, having light-skinned privilege and being North Indian/Panjabi. As a light-skinned person myself, people generally assume that I am like “upper caste” or “Jatt”. And having people assume that, despite how problematic it is to assume anyone’s caste, it is a privilege in the sense that people may not be casteist to me directly on the skin color assumption. Whereas, I also have family members who are a lot darker, and who have been made fun of for their dark skin. And they’re the ones who experience casteism to a worse degree than myself. Colorism runs rampant in my family despite us already being oppressed by caste. Speaking of family, I want to talk about your singing and music video Parivaar. I know you wrote it for your thaiya [dad’s older brother] who passed away–my condolences. You also have Sheerah, who is a Tamil model and social disruptor. It is so amazing to see them in the video—I recognized them right away. You also have a portrait of Dr. Ambedkar in the backdrop as you are singing. What inspired you to do that, and what was your relationship like with your thaiya ji? Can you tell me a little bit more about your project?
Mya Mehmi: So, what inspired me to use Dr. Ambedkar’s photo, this actually goes back to caste conversation and me figuring things out and how deep it goes. One time I was at a Gurudwara and there was a picture of Dr. Ambedkar there. And I was like “Dad? Which [Sikh] guru is that?” And he was like “Oh, he’s like a [Sikh] guru. He’s not actually a guru, but he is like one since he did so much work for us Chamars”. And then, later on in life, Pxssy Palace had an office space for a bit. And the person we were renting the space from was also a Dalit queer person. And they had the exact same picture of him framed in this beautiful pink frame. And that is when I did more research and…he was definitely a human, he was not perfect. But the work that he did for Dalit rights, and women’s rights, was just so inspiring to me. For me personally, in a world where I shot the music video for Parivaar, I wanted to give people a glimpse of what my identity is, what my Desi is. My Desi is Dr. Ambedkar, Sheerah, ZMARAKS, is this environment which is very immigrant household 101. And that is the environment I grew up in that informed my identity and what my identity means to me. So I just wanted to give people a glimpse of that visually. In terms of my thaiya: the reason for the song I wrote for him, it made sense to do that type of video and honor my identity in the video. Because he was so proud of our identity. He was so proud of being Chamar, so proud of being Panjabi. And I learned so much from him in terms of standing in everything that you are. Like yeah, and I’m proud of it, beeyaatch.” And he was fighting for it constantly. Fighting for people to just put some respect on us! And he did a lot for our family name. I just felt like it was the perfect moment to honor my identity and also pay tribute to him. Cuz he was so proud of who we were.
Manu: Yeah I love that! My dad was able to get an education because of the reservation system that was implemented by Dr. Ambedkar, and that’s how he immigrated to America. So to my family, Dr. Ambedkar is indeed like a guru. Because he really fought for so many Dalit people across India. It’s making me tear up. That’s so beautiful. And even when I was listening to the lyrics of Parivaar, it was all about grief. It made me so emotional. I just want your platform to grow, and I want everyone to know about you. Because you represent a lot of the identities that are kind of lost amongst South Asian queer people. And I know for a lot of Dalit people, that video, especially on social media…I think they felt seen for the first time. They felt inspired. So thank you so much for that. Keep up your beautiful work!
Mya Mehmi: Thank you so much! It’s an honor to be able to help people feel seen and represented, especially people like you who are really doing the work.
Manu: Thank you! How has your healing journey been and what inspires you?
Mya Mehmi: My healing journey is still very much happening. There’s a lot of trauma that I have to unpack and deal with. Mostly at the hands of men…South Asian men. So…yeah. It’s still very much on the go. I think a huge part of my healing (outside of therapy, which has been great), has been finding community. And what that looks like for me is Pxssy Palace, which is a party I produce alongside some friends of mine. And that is a party that centers Black and Brown queer and trans people. So already you’re dealing with a group that’s deeply disenfranchised. So I guess in that space, I feel like I have room to be my full trans, Chamar, bad bitch self. And feel comfortable and proud about all of the things that make me a “minority.” So, I think that has been a huge part of my healing. It is definitely not linear. I think that the more you learn, the more avenues you have to heal. Community inspires me honestly. The last time I felt inspired, it was just being around the people that I love. I have brought them into my life because they are all just beautiful, genuine, incredible people. And having euphoric moments with them…that inspires me.
Manu: That is beautiful. Thank you for sharing a glimpse of your life with me. The artist is indeed as badass as the art. I hope everyone follows and supports Mya as she creates radical art! Her ig is myamehmi_ ! Jai Bhim.
Manu is Dalit (Chamar), queer, nonbinary (they/them), chronically ill (USA Based)
This article is part of a special series at Gaysi highlighting the work of Dalit creatives, artists and writers curated and edited by BRC (positionality: Dalit queer trans neurodivergent). If you would like to be a part of this series, please write to gaysifamily@gmail.com with subject line “working with BRC” along with a pitch or proposal. All articles published are paid.
