Bedabati is not merely a folk singer; she signifies much more. She has redefined the very idea of Khunung Eshei, showing that it is not a fixed archive of songs but a living, evolving practice.
By Marjing Mayanglambam
I first came to know Oja Bedabati Lourembam, whom I affectionately call Mabok (Emabok – Manipuri for ‘aunty’), not through her music but during the 2019 Lok Sabha elections, when I was volunteering as a youth worker for Pabung Nara. At the time, she often reminded me not to be consumed by politics, urging me instead to focus on my studies and creativity. Over time, we discovered a deeper bond through the larger family of Manipuri Khunung Eshei — folk songs, old songs, or traditional songs. This bond, rooted in music, also carried a profound sense of responsibility toward tradition and its future.
In my writings on eminent folk singers of Manipur, I do not focus on compiling accolades or conducting formal interviews. Instead, I explore their Seishaks — their singing styles, concerns, and artistic practices. My reflections are not biographies but ethnographic listening: how their music speaks, how it embodies memory, and how it resonates with identity. To study a singer’s Seishak is to engage with a form of cultural knowledge that conveys philosophy and ethics through melody and rhythm. Through this lens, I write so that younger generations and wider audiences may glimpse the depth and uniqueness of these artists.
Mabok Bedabati is not merely a folk singer; she signifies much more. She has redefined the very idea of Khunung Eshei, showing that it is not a fixed archive of songs but a living, evolving practice. Drawing from both Meitei and other community traditions, she transforms them into a style uniquely her own. This is a striking example of cultural adaptation: traditions do not vanish under change, but endure by reshaping themselves to new circumstances. Her songs bear the imprint of her Gurus, yet her voice expands the lineage into uncharted territory. Many listeners may not even realise they are hearing something new, because her creativity maintains continuity with the old while carrying it forward. In this subtle interplay, she demonstrates what Lévi-Strauss described as the “bricolage” of tradition — weaving fragments of the past into a new order of meaning.
She understands that tradition must move with the times if it is to remain vital. By introducing new tunes and modifying older melodies, she illustrates that cultural forms are not closed systems but living frameworks. Her choice of modern words in lyrics, instead of relying solely on archaic vocabulary, signals a crucial epistemological shift: knowledge is preserved not by freezing it, but by re-voicing it into the present. This is also an ethical act — a recognition that the responsibility of a tradition-bearer is not only to safeguard memory but also to ensure its accessibility and resonance. As Alan Dundes reminds us, folklore is not simply about antiquity but about artistic communication in small groups — and Mabok’s adaptations keep her songs alive in both intimate and public spaces. Her Seishaks, through this balance of continuity and change, spark joy, vigour, and love, proving that cultural heritage flourishes when it stirs emotions, not when it is merely archived.
My encounters with Mabok have affirmed these beliefs. Though I am not her disciple, I often spend time listening to her stories and songs. These moments are not passive listening but acts of witnessing — glimpses of how oral traditions carry memory while simultaneously transforming it. She has even inspired me to adopt one of her tunes in my own Pena performances, demonstrating how traditions circulate, exchange, and regenerate across individuals. This is not imitation but a form of cultural ontology: tradition exists not as a static object but as a relationship between singer and listener, past and present, memory and imagination. As ethnomusicologist Bruno Nettl has argued, music is a cultural system that survives precisely because it is shared, reshaped, and re-experienced in performance.
For this reason, I propose recognising Oja Bedabati’s Seishak as a distinct and valuable tradition within the wider spectrum of Khunung Eshei in Manipur. Such recognition is not about uplifting one individual alone, but about encouraging the diversity and dynamism within Manipuri folk traditions. Naming her Seishak acknowledges its uniqueness, raises awareness among listeners and disciples, and encourages its wider popularisation. Some may argue that Khunung Eshei must consist only of old, unaltered songs. Yet such a position risks fossilising culture. Traditions, to survive, must transform — not in ways that erase meaning, but in ways that preserve the capacity of songs to touch the soul.
Mabok’s songs embody this principle of continuity-through-transformation. They carry the weight of history, respond to the needs of the present, and affirm the identity of Manipuris. In her voice lies not only music but also philosophy: the truth that tradition endures not by being preserved in silence, but by being sung, lived, and reimagined.
(Marjing Mayanglambam has an M.A. Degree on Folklore & Culture Studies. He is a Pena Artiste & Researcher, Laihui Ensemble)