Dying art, forgotten voters: The Mujra girls of Muzaffarpur

In an election where every vote is crucial and is being furiously fought for, surprisingly there is indeed a section of voters for whom nobody cares enough to win over.‎ Every corner of Muzaffarpur, which will vote on November 1 in the fourth phase of the Bihar Assembly elections, has seen high-decibel campaign. Prime Minister Narendra Modi has held two rallies here and almost every star campaigner from either side has made a visit to Muzaffarpur. But move out of this place a little and ask for Chatarbhujsthan, you are in for a surprise. After the initial suspicious glances that will be thrown at your way, when you do traverse a kilometre-long dusty stretch, you see a channel of lanes and bylanes. And then, there it is, catching you slightly offguard. At once, you feel you are not quite in Muzaffarpur town itself. I mean of course, you are, but you realise where you have arrived is a place that is somehow cut off from the main city.

Outside every door is a board with a name and under it clearly written: “famous dancer, Mujra Mehfil specialist”. This is the “red light area” of Muzaffarpur. Mujra, an age-old tradition in Bihar, which is still an essential part of every wedding in the state, with time has not only lost its relevance and flavour, but now is almost a dying craft. "Ab pehley jaisey kadradan kaha rahe?” laments Reena, a mujrawali. Reena, in her forties, is way past her prime and is no longer a draw in these lanes. She had learnt the craft of singing and dancing from her mother who was also a mujra dancer. “I have seen times changing rapidly, our kala degenerating and people looking down upon my type as prostitutes. We don't sell our bodies but our craft,” says Reena, talking about the relatively glorious past.

Stand outside the house in the gali and you won't know Muzaffarpur is going to polls. No flags, no posters, no campaign material, no hint of a rally. Despite having about 4,000 voters, no one cares to woo the residents of Chatarbhujsthan. While none of the candidate cares for coming here, the mujrawalis are looking forward to cast their votes.

In another house on the ground floor, in a room with pictures of a young girl all dressed up in lehenga and posing in different mudras, is Karishma. On the floor, are mattresses for the customers, lined up on one side are the musical instruments and on the other is area for the mujra performance. Karishma, in her mid-twenties, is the rising starlet of this area. It took her two years to learn mujra and she has been in the profession for the last five years. “Nobody comes in this profession now for the craft, it's majboori”, she says.

With voting day just right around the corner, there are expectations among these unlikely voters too. “It's sad they don't care even to come here, our vote is also important like anybody else's”, says Reena. “My kids can't even take my name in their school. We too want better infrastructure and less mehangai, and this what I am going to vote for. But as of now, I have not made up mind on any candidate”, she adds.

Karishma, too, will be voting. But she has a question for the candidates: why such apathy towards them? “It is only because of this attitude, people have misconceptions about us. If netas come here, perceptions about us will also improve”, she says.

 But sitting in one corner, a young girl clad in a green salwar kameez, listening to this conversation now speaks up. A first-time voter, Rinku has just entered this profession. What she says sums it up for all of the mujra girls: "I want to vote and I will vote for izzat. I don't do anything wrong and I want the stigma attached to mujra to disappear. I want the new government to give me and my art form the dignity we deserve.