The Anatomy of an Indian Baddie: Women in Music Who Lived It Before the Internet Coined It
This International Women’s Day, we’re decoding the mystique behind one of the most desirable internet archetypes, one Indian female musician at a time
Artwork by Sharanyaa Nair
You know a “baddie” when you see one on your timeline. Unattainable and uncontainable, the “baddie” emerges as an antithesis of submission in a world of tradwives and sigma males. Once used in popular culture, especially Hollywood cinema, to describe a villain or antagonist, “baddie” was radically recontextualized through African American slang, evolving from phrases like “bad bitch,” where “bad” signified power, confidence, and transgression rather than moral failure.
Today, women are flattened into post-digital archetypes: “It Girl,” “Mother,” “Office Siren,” “people’s princess,” and now, “baddie.” Maybe that’s part of the trap. But the truth is that South Asian women have defined the baddie blueprint long before social media gave it a quippy name. We give due credit to the 2000s holy trinity: Bips, Bebo, and Ash. Rakhi Sawant emerges as a top contender for campy pop culture references, while Rekha, Sharmila Tagore, and Vyjantimala are non-negotiable femme fatale picks. We’ve brought the Miss World title home over six times.
But beyond the vanity vans and cameras, the real baddies were in the recording booths. In an industry polluted with gender-based stereotypes and a plethora of prejudices, the idea of a female singer became an inescapably political one, rooted in a lifestyle of microdosing defiance. Their makeup might not have always been snatched, but their voices were their strongest weapon. This International Women’s Day, we’re celebrating the sonic warriors who embodied baddie energy long before the internet turned it into cultural cachet.
Gauhar Jaan, the Gramophone Girl
Gauhar Jaan, born Eileen Angelina Yeoward in 1873 to an Armenian father and an Anglo-Indian mother, was the songstress who shook up colonial India. Widely known as India’s “Gramophone Girl,” she didn’t leave her mark because of a killer lip combo or because she was “serving looks.” It was her sheer tenacity that landed her in history’s hall of fame. Most notably, when the singer and dancer first recorded her track “Bhairavi” on the gramophone, she proudly declared, “My name is Gauhar Jaan!” By doing so, she turned a standard mandate required of all recording artists at the time into an assertion of her authorship.
At a time when women were shamed for exercising creative autonomy, the songbird became one of the first female performers in the country to record her music. She is believed to have recorded close to 600 tracks in over ten languages and helped popularize Hindustani Classical forms like thumris, all while charging hefty rates that were virtually unheard of for women at the time. Emerging from the courtesan salons of the tawaif tradition, her sonorous voice strayed far beyond elite mehfils, making its way into living rooms across the subcontinent. A look at her vintage photographs, and you’d immediately exclaim, “What a diva.” Draped in silk and brocade, stacked in jewelry, sleeves billowing with zari, she was an ethereal vision. A legendary hostess who threw the most extravagant parties (including a lavish wedding for her cat), she never bent to the crack of the colonial whip.
D.K. Pattamal, The Carnatic Rebel
Then there was D.K. Pattammal. If “quiet rebellion” had a face, it would surely be the late maestro’s. Self-taught with a remarkable memory, she absorbed all the compositions of Muthuswami Dikshitar as if they were instinct, eventually becoming the first woman to perform Ragam Thanam Pallavi in the Carnatic concert format. Born into an orthodox Brahmin family, she fearlessly stepped into the world of public concerts, a male-dominated sphere that was widely considered inappropriate for “righteous” women at the time. But with a megawatt smile, she raised a metaphorical middle finger to the music industry, going on to conquer both the stage and celluloid. Lending her voice to the independence struggle, D.K. Amma became known for her stirring renditions of patriotic songs along with her devotional and classical repertoire. Often choosing weighty registers while her brother accompanied her with his higher-pitched falsettos, it was clear that sonic submission was not part of her DNA.
Farida Vakhil, The Girl With The Electric Guitar
Fast forward to the Seventies: rock was having its moment. And somewhere in the unassuming classrooms of St. Joseph Convent, Bandra, Farida Vakhil, along with her classmates, jammed together on nearby desks. Fulfilling the coming-of-age fantasy of forming a band with your best friends, Vakhil created The Ladybirds, a female-rock band collective that stood its ground in a scene filled with testosterone-fuelled gigs. With their coordinated outfits and bobs, the girls fully leaned into their femininity while shredding on-stage, even opening for bands like The Savages and The Mystiks. Though The Ladybirds eventually dissolved as members moved on to other life commitments, Vakhil continued to break ground. She later joined Riots Squad, one of India’s most prominent rock bands of the era, which went on to win the Simla Beat competition and snag a record deal with Polydor. Give a girl an electric guitar and watch her make history. That was Farida Vakhil, often cited as the country’s first female lead guitarist, and dubbed the “pop Jhansi Rani with a message and a guitar,” by Junior Statesman.
Asha Puthli, The Empress of the Dance Floor
Meanwhile, Asha Puthli, the doe-eyed doyenne of disco-fusion, took her talent across borders. Eclectic and unstoppable, she didn’t wait around for Indian markets to adapt to her style, instead trusting her gut and looking beyond. Her life reads like a fictional saga — International record deals, mystical career kickstarts, loads of unlearning and re-learning, leaving the familiar and starting afresh. In New York, she became a fixture of the sleepless city’s nightlife, often frequenting the iconic Studio 54. Armed with a four-octave range and a singular vision, she sought freedom in the spontaneity and improvisation of jazz, surrendering to the thrill of not knowing what comes next. With a curatorial eye for fashion and visual arts, her personal brand turned as many heads as her music did. Think Galliano for Margiela, Pat McGrath-esque makeup, Soul funk, and desi maximalism. Such was her aura that even Salvador Dali reportedly did a double-take. Her discography as well as creative direction are rooted in a timelessness rarely found in today’s music. And in 2024, even when well into her late 70s, she embarked on a world tour, proving that creative restlessness can be ageless.
Usha Uthup, The Disco Diva
In an era that favored submission through delicate, dulcet, and demure vocal textures, Disco Diva Usha Uthup‘s trajectory is a masterclass in alchemizing setbacks. With no formal training, an endless trail of rejections due to her husky timbre, and the societal prejudice she faced for starting her career at a nightclub, hers could’ve easily been a story of setbacks. Instead, she focused on the bigger picture, going on to sing Tagore’s geet in nightclubs, slipping into different dialects, mastering English pop standards alongside Bollywood favorites, and leaving the crowds stunned. The lone nightingale conquered the erstwhile Calcutta’s Trinca club with her thunderous voice, which also underscored the hedonistic funk period in the Seventies alongside her partner-in-crime, Bappi Lahiri. Instantly recognizable through her kanjeevaram sarees, chunky jewels, bindis, and sports shoes, Uthup forged new pathways for Indian women in Western music, proving that you don’t need to be a Hindi-speaking, Bollywood playback singer to be successful. A voice once deemed too “masculine” is now enjoyed by millions worldwide. Be it “Skyfall” or “Ramba Ho,” Uthup has mastered every domain with commendable adaptability.
Alisha Chinai, The Indian ‘Madonna‘
If Alisha Chinai has never shown up on your GRWM shuffle, it’s time for some serious soul-searching. Long before the nation learned the language of being a “baddie,” Chinai was laying down its tenets, song by song. In an era where female desire and sexuality were rarely represented in love songs, Chinai turned the tables. Horny, sensual, unabashed, and bratty; it was the “bad girl” blueprint. From sleeper hits like “Bebo” and “Bombay Girl” to her career-defining album Made In India, she fearlessly leaned into provocation.
If Sex and the City ever got an Indian adaptation, her tracks would be the perfect background score for Samantha. Born Sujata Chinai, she adopted the name “Alisha,” and rode the wave of mainstream success on the strength of her own independent discography. Her chartbusters, including “Made in India,” earned her the Billboard Viewers’ Choice Award in New York in 1996. It was her vocal uniqueness, along with her innate callousness, that truly set her apart. Unafraid of censorship or moral policing, she released subversive tracks like “Kama Sutra” as early as 1990. Offstage, Chinai passionately advocated for artists’ rights, fair pay, and recognition, while also speaking out about sexual predators in the music industry.
Sunidhi Chauhan, The Heiress of Pop
Carrying the baton forward, Sunidhi Chauhan, heiress of pop, gave “baddie” a new audio-visual identity through her vocal firepower and on-stage swagger. From Baby Nidhi to leading lady, she emboldened female sensuality in a society hell-bent on villainizing it. Even today, her Y2K catalog is Gen Z gospel. Beyond stardom, she survived intense public scrutiny around her personal life, including her separation and motherhood, both of which became barometers of Chauhan’s relevance in a cut-throat industry. Nevertheless, like a phoenix rising from the ashes, she underwent a creative metamorphosis and grew into the powerhouse Indian pop persona she is today. From chart-topping hits to sold-out arenas for her I Am Home tour, bedazzled outfits, sensational openers, and insanely aggressive vocal belts, you immediately know you’re at a Sunidhi Chauhan showcase. Even her impeccable choreography, stretched over a three-hour runtime, could put the most buff gym bros to shame.
Anushka Manchanda, The I-Pop Renegade
Away from Bollywood, I-Pop was setting its foundational brick, and Viva’s Anoushka Manchanda, one of the OG Indian girl-group members, rewrote the playbook. Alongside her bandmates — Pratichee Mohapatra, Mahua Kamat, Seema Ramchandani, and Neha Basin — she helped ignite a new wave of independent women in music. Even after the group dissolved in 2005, she continued to push against the tide in her pursuit of relentless creativity. Now performing under the moniker Kiss Nuka, she has evolved into a polymath, combining her love for music, nature, and femininity through both the DJ console and hard-hitting poetic lyricism.
