Indo-Trinidadian Music, Migration, and Resistance in NYC

In 1833, the British Parliament passed the Slavery Abolition Act, which formally ended slavery in all British colonies. However, a new system of “apprenticeship” emerged in its stead, which forced freed people to work for their former masters for an additional four years.^¹ Initially, this system was intended to facilitate a smooth transition to a free economy. Instead, it served as a “false promise for equality” and perpetuated slavery-like conditions until its complete abolition in 1838.

After the legal abolition of slavery, the British sought to establish a new mode of cheap labor to sustain plantation economies. This new practice was called indenture, a system of contracted labor in which individuals agreed to work for a fixed period, usually five years, in exchange for wages, housing, and eventual return passage.^¹ In practice, indenture functioned as a new form of coercion that closely resembled slavery, but was still distinctly different. Recruiters, known as arkatis, specifically targeted poor Indians living in rural regions such as present-day Uttar Pradesh and Bihar, as well as parts of South India.^¹ After signing contracts that they could not read and restricted by a law they could not understand, scholar Gaiutra Bahadur explains that recruiters told workers they would be "sifting sugar" in a land where the work was easy and the pay was high.^¹ They didn't mention the cutlasses, the mud, or the back-breaking labor of the cane fields. They also told women that the colonies — Demerara, Trinidad, Fiji — were just a short distance away, perhaps just past the next river, rather than an ocean away from everything they knew.^¹ 

The ship's journey to British colonies like Trinidad, Jamaica, Suriname, Guyana, and South Africa was long and grueling. Mortality rates on the ships were high: outbreaks of diseases like cholera and measles were common, sanitation was poor, and the women were crammed together below decks. In the cramped and humid spaces where they slept, the women were also vulnerable to the gaze and the grasp of the crew. The ship was a floating prison, but it was also a stage for a new kind of intimacy.^¹ The journey across the kala pani, or “black waters,” created a powerful kinship among some indentured laborers known as the jahajee bond. This term referred to the deep, familial relationships that formed among laborers on the same voyage. 

In Coolie Woman, Bahadur explains that "the jahajee became more than a shipmate; he or she became fictive kin, closer sometimes than blood relatives left behind."^¹ Laborers endured inhumane ship conditions and emotional isolation which made survival dependent on one another. Additionally, Bahadur notes that "the voyage stripped emigrants of caste and village hierarchies, forcing new solidarities to merge from shared suffering."^¹ This loss of caste distinction was especially significant because the kala pani was then believed to sever one’s place within traditional Indian society. For some, the jahajee bond replaced the social structure they had lost and granted the means to preserve fragments of identity to combat systems of erasure. Reflecting on this, the importance of jahajee extended far beyond the ship itself. It became a foundation of Indo-Caribbean community, survival, and cultural preservation. 

For women, indenture carried its own unique dangers. They arrived as a minority within the indentured migrant population, which contained a large gender disparity: a ratio of 4 men to 1 woman.^¹ Additionally, around two-thirds of indentured women were single women. This was the result of colonial laws and patriarchal controls that restricted women’s mobility and autonomy. While women were not universally prohibited from emigrating, social expectations, familial control, and colonial regulation made migration far more difficult. Recruiters and colonial officials often required proof of marital status or male consent, and women who attempted to migrate independently faced heightened scrutiny and danger.^¹ 

Consequently, the Indian Emigration Act of 1883 only magnified these restrictions by increasing colonial oversight over women’s mobility, targeting married women who falsely claimed to be widows or single to flee abusive marriages. This law subjected women to invasive inspections and surveillance by authorities. Officials frequently assumed that single women were morally suspect, and used the law to police women’s bodies and movements. These policies ensured that women’s migration served plantation labor needs while also limiting their autonomy. Similarly, the Cantonment Act of 1864 also contributed to this phenomenon by legalizing and supervising prostitution near British military bases. This system disproportionately targeted poor and marginalized women, placing them under medical surveillance and reinforcing the idea that women’s bodies were resources to support imperial interests. The British deliberately framed Indian women as “disorderly” or “immoral” to justify their control.

Many women were misled and coerced through false promises of marriage, work, or family reunification. In Coolie Woman, Gaiutra Bahadur explains how a coolie carries baggage. A coolie bears a burden. To me, that perfectly sums up the position of indentured women. They carried burdens. They had to meet the needs of both Indian men and British men on the plantations. They were expected to perform both plantation labor like cutting sugarcane with a cutlass, prepping the land for planting, and cleaning and sorting the sugar cane stems and unpaid domestic labor like cooking meals, maintaining the house, and family work. This transformed indenture into a uniquely gendered form of labor by having women being seen as “housewives” instead of workers.^¹ Ultimately, women faced violence and sexual exploitation at the hands of both managers and other laborers.^¹ There was little to no legal accountability for this abuse, which became common and embedded within the system. Women who resisted abuse or fled these violent relationships were often punished instead of protected. Gender-based violence became a tool used to maintain colonial authority, as well as plantation discipline. 

However, despite the dangers, single women did have the capacity to develop a newfound sexual independence and explore constructs outside traditional norms. While many women found loving relationships, this new autonomy was not seen as favorably by some migrant men. For example, in 1880 (in Trinidad), men petitioned the British government with the help of the Presbyterian Church to demand women be returned to their husbands' authority. British colonial sexual stereotypes also impacted women’s autonomy by dictating the identity of all indentured women. They were sexualized and branded as “subservient” and “meek.” In the decades post-indenture, fewer women chose to career work in fields and instead leaned toward entrepreneurial work or teaching. They also played a vital role in cultural preservation throughout the diaspora.  

Mahrani was a female laborer who traveled from India to the Caribbean during the late 19th century. Her story is used to represent the thousands of overlooked experiences of Indian women who faced sexual exploitation and harsh conditions during the system of indenture. She remembers the drumbeats and described how her jahajis played music and danced during their journey. While she did not cry, she recalled a “woeful parting” accompanied by the harmonium and sarangi:

Listen, oh Indian, listen to the story of us emigres,

The emigres who cry constantly, tears flowing from their eyes.

When we left the ports of Calcutta and Bombay,

Brother left sister, mother left daughter.

In deep love of the mother country we cried;

Water flowed from our eyes . . .

Painful is our story, choking is our voice.

Doolarie's Story

The University of the West Indies in St. Augustine, Trinidad, possesses the transcript of an unpublished oral history with a 109-year-old woman named Doolarie, who traveled from India to Trinidad as an indentured laborer in 1913. Doolarie's interview is a rare first-hand account that describes the degrading experience of indenture through the lens of a female laborer. She described workers being loaded into trucks “like flour bags,” then taken to the plantation. Women’s experiences in indenture have continuously remained hidden in the archives of history: partly because of the low status they held, but also because of the gender imbalances within indenture that pushed them out of the narrative entirely. 

Doolarie began her indenture contract on August 23, 1913, on the 26SS Sutliss. She explains the major push factors for her leaving India: she had no one to stay with or support her in India, and there was little to no accessible food. Doolarie was again quick to mention that for those reasons, she would never go back. Her mother died in India, while her father died on the ship's journey. Through times of loneliness and the unknown, Doolarie found herself praying every night to her god, Bhagwan. She recalls the hard and grueling work she had to complete while in Trinidad, and how she was paid “six dollars a night." Doolarie’s story is complex and incredibly powerful. It highlights her struggle and resilience as a female laborer, as well as acknowledging the lack of initiative to preserve stories like hers.

Doolarie was a woman, daughter, wife, mother, and orphan who was subjugated to the injustices of indenture fueled by colonial exploitation. Her story cannot be forgotten. Likewise, “No account of the coolie experience can ever be complete, for they are but the scraps of history." (Dabydeen xi)

Bhojpuri is a language predominately spoken in the western region of Bihar, eastern Uttar Pradesh, and parts of Jharkland. During the 19th century, following the abolition of slavery, indentured laborers were sent to British colonies to perform manual labor on plantations. Though some laborers were originally from South Indian provinces like Tamil Nadu and Andhra Pradesh, many migrants came from northern provinces of Uttar Pradesh and Bihar, specifically the Bhojpur and Awadh regions. The area between eastern Uttar Pradesh and western Bihar was a major Bhojpuri-speaking belt. The Bhojpuri language has a historical association with low-income, rural, and indentured communities, leading to its stigmatization as a low-level “dialect” instead of a language. Roopam Mishra, a Bhojpuri speaker, shared that, “Bhojpuri was always humorous to the people of T.V. Either the people speaking dialects like Bhojpuri, Awadhi, Magadhi, Braj, etc. were shown as poor, helpless, dying people, or people with crude mannerisms, and severely lacking culture. I come from a Bhojpuri-speaking background. However, I was never encouraged to speak the language.”^¹

Bhojpuri folk music served as a communal expression of daily life, spirituality, and social bonds. These songs were primarily sung by women during weddings, funerals, and festivals, reflecting gendered experiences of emotional and social expression. Some common forms of Bhojpuri include biraha (songs of longing and separation), kajri (monsoon songs), chaiti (springtime songs), and sohar (birth songs). Women were central figures in sustaining these musical traditions and used instruments like the dholak, manjira (hand cymbals), khartal, and occasionally the harmonium. This music eventually formed the foundation of Indo-Caribbean musical forms like chutney. 

Jatsaar songs were sung by women while grinding grains as an outlet to articulate their social, personal, political, and economic desires. Due to the increasing prevalence of electronic grinding mills, not only are these traditions disappearing — but so are the songs.

Chutney music originated in Trinidad and Tobago in the mid-20th century, emerging from Bhojpuri folk music carried by Indian indentured laborers.^¹ Initially, early chutney was a female-dominated folk form sung at weddings and in homes (behind closed doors), focusing on themes like birth, marriage, and daily life. The songs carried fast tempos, consistent one-to-two line repeated phrases, and light lyrics. Women utilized instruments like the dholak (hand drums), harmonium, and dhantal (steel rod struck with a horseshoe device to keep rhythm). The use of these instruments is an important difference in other musical forms that emerged in Trinidad, like calypso and soca. 

Chutney music functioned as an evolving expression of cultural identity for many Indo-Trinidadians. As colonial authorities and plantation systems devalued Indian cultural practices, these musical traditions became a means to preserve language, rhythm, and memory.^¹ Dr. Peter Manuel, an ethnomusicologist who specializes in Indo-Caribbean music, says, 

“Their desire to perpetuate their music could be seen as resistance. You have British missionaries complaining that, oh, it was pretty easy to convert the black people to Christianity. But these Hindus and Muslims, they just won't budge. They go on with their own music and their own religion. They're very tenacious.”

Manuel also notes how chutney became a means of expression and proved a significant step for women:

“It might not have been seen as a sort of explicit, feminist statement, but its roots lie in these village songs that women would sing in North India at a wedding, especially. They would go off in a field with someone playing the drum where the men couldn't see them and then they could dance and sing their songs and be very body and goofy. And that was fun. So that tradition goes to Trinidad and Guyana and Surinam. And then it proceeded in stages that they finally, in the early 19th century, 20th century, decided, why do we have to just hide from the men? The wedding and a bunch of our friends and family around. Why don't we just dance like that in the wedding? And they weren't conceiving of it as a feminist statement, but it was a kind of liberation.” 

Calypso music in Trinidad originated in the late 18th to early 19th-century among enslaved Africans during the colonial period. It follows a call-and-response beat, rhythmic storytelling, and satirical lyrics. Key instruments include the steel pan, percussion like bongos and congas, bass guitars, and more. It developed as a mode of oral resistance against slavery, as calypso songs were often used to communicate news and mock plantation owners.^¹ 

Soca music originated as a fusion of calypso with Indian rhythms, thus combining musical traditions of the two major ethnic groups in Trinidad.^¹ “So” in the word "soca" represents soul, while “Ca” represents "calypso" with Indian rhythms. Soca was invented by Ras Shorty 1, also known as Lord Shorty, to improve calypso as it was “dying” and people were in need of “up-beat rhythms.” Shorty was heavily criticized for creating Soca by both East Indians and Africans. East Indians claimed he was disrespecting their music, while Africans claimed he was solely playing Indian music. In response, he replicated Indian rhythms on instruments such as the triangle and guitar, and included disco elements that eventually lead to his hit soca album, Endless Vibrations, in 1974. This album became a foundational soca track and revolutionized the genre.

Soca in Trinidad is a high-energy dancing genre that focuses on themes of community, Carnival, and cultural expression.^¹ It’s also the foundation for other fusion musical forms like chutney-soca, ragga-soca, and more. 

Change the accent of Carnival

To a groovy, groovy Bacchanal

Wailing, expressing- de old feeling do needs changing

Wake up, people, examine your minds-

Get with it, get with it, the change of the times

It’s a new generation, endless vibrations

– right on, right on, right on, right on!

Lay lay lay lay lay lay lay lay lay (Hey!)

Lay lay lay lay lay lay lay lay lay – (Hit the horns!)        

Chutney-Soca music emerged in the late 1980s, blending traditional Indo-Caribbean chutney music and Caribbean soca and calypso. It merged Bhojpuri folk songs with Hindi/English lyrics with electronic beats, tassa drums and instruments like the dholak and dhantal. This new musical form became a bridge for younger generations to connect with their heritage while still adapting to modern Caribbean life. While celebrated, it has faced criticism. For example, Peter Manuel notes that, “ Back in the nineties in the Indian community, people saying, oh, we're just sounding like the calypso and soca. We're losing our Indian tradition. And other people saying, no, we're entering the mainstream and bringing chutney with us.” This forces us to ask: 

• To what extent does entering the “mainstream” through musical fusion represent cultural loss versus cultural survival for marginalized communities like Indo-Trinidadians?
• How does this chutney fusion connect to broader themes of assimilation?

Queen of Chutney-Soca

To begin to answer these questions, we can turn to the "Queen of Chutney-Soca." Drupatee Ramgoonai is a Indo-Trinidadian chutney and chutney-soca musician. She was responsible for coining the term “chutney-soca” in her 1987 album. This broke significant cultural and gender barriers in Trinidad. Ramgoonai was recognized as the first Indian woman to sing calypso and soca. She used the album to challenge patriarchal and Afro-centric musical norms and to bridge the divide between Indo- and Afro-Trinidadians. It helped move chutney music from the margins of cultural life to mainstream Carnival festivities, paving the way for the later establishment of the Chutney-Soca Monarch Competition. 

The following year, in 1988, Ramgoonai released her hit song “Roll up the Tassa.” This musical piece celebrated the tassa drum, which is traditionally used at weddings, religious ceremonies, and community celebrations. It framed the drum as a symbol of job, cultural identity and pride. Ramgoonai fuses chutney rhythms with soca’s Carnival-style, upbeat energy, signaling a deliberate shift from private community-based spaces to public national culture. This song demonstrated that cultural fusion could be a form of cultural survival. This was especially important in a post-independence society where people were grappling with race, sense of belonging, and whose culture counted as “Trinidadian.”

Roll up de tassa

Roll up de tassa Bissessar

Oh Beta, roll up de tassa,

Roll up de tassa, Bissessar

Rip up de tassa, Bissessar

Ruff up de tassa, Bissessar

Oh Beta

The introduction of Hindi films to the Caribbean during the mid-1930s added a new layer of Indian cultural presence in the diaspora. By the early 1940s, Hindi movies became widely sought after among Indo-Caribbeans, providing for many a direct link to a cherished yet distant homeland. Many Indo-Caribbeans valued these films for their diasporic connection. Even though Hindi movies were usually broadcast on Trinidadian and Guyanese television without subtitles, meaning that details of the plot may have been lost on the many viewers who understood very little Hindi, many nevertheless enjoy these films as cultural icons. 

For example, as one Trini woman shared:

"I'll give you a really good linguistic example of how the kind of link was severed. So in a lot of these movies, the police officer was named Inspector Saab. And so we're watching many different Bollywood movies and they're talking about Inspector Saab. So I was a kid and I said, 'Why is every inspector named Inspector Saab? Like, don't they have other names?' And basically my grandpa was like, that means inspector Sir. Saab means sir. But I didn't know that. I thought Saab was the person's last name. Inspector Smith or whatever. I didn't know, because I did not have that linguistic connection to Hindi. So I did not know Inspector Saab meant Inspector Sir."

Likewise, Hindi film music has singlehandedly been the most popular genre of music among Indo-Trinidadians and Guyanese, despite limited ability to understand song lyrics. Artists like Lata Mangeshkar served as a bridge to “Mother India” for many Indo-Caribbeans. She sang melodies that expressed joy, patriotism, sorrow and more, which fostered a sense of belonging among the Indo-Trinidadian community. Her voice invoked powerful nostalgia for a land that many Trinidadians had never seen, but felt connected to through film and song. Mangeshkar’s 1979 hit, “Dafli Wale Dafli Baja” became an outlet for numerous families, like my own, to find connection. As my interviewee noted, “ I think it invokes very deep-seated memories. I think now it makes you very nostalgic and happy, but sad as well, because these are memories of my parents. Music connects you to that, even though I don't understand the words. Like, there's a lot of emotion attached to it, and a lot of connection. Because it also connects to my childhood: remembering Grandpa coming home from work and listening to La Muhammad Rafi or Asha Bosley."

Dafli wale dafli baja

O drummer, play the drum

Dafli wale dafli baja

O drummer, play the drum

Mere ghunghre bulate hai, aa

My anklets are calling you, come on

Main naachun, tu nacha

I’ll dance and you make me dance

Following Mangeshkar’s influence, when conducting an oral history with a third-generation Trinidadian, we came to a discussion of one of his favorite songs by her. While he couldn’t remember the title, “Aye Mere Watan Ke Logo,” once I played the intro, he immediately recognized it. He then began to explain what this song meant to him: “Because that's about freedom. That's about freedom. It was all about expression. She didn't try to drive a dagger in England's heart. It is just that she sings this song based on all the blood that they shed to get freedom from England.”

ai mere vatan ke logo, zaraa aa.nkh me.n bhar lo paani

Oh, my fellow citizens! Shed a few tears.

jo shahiid hue hai.n unkii, zaraa yaad karo qurbaanii

Remember the sacrifice of those martyrs.

tum bhuul na jaao unko, is liye suno yah kahaanii

Listen to this story so that you do not forget them.

jo shahiid hue hai.n unkii, zaraa yaad karo qurbaani

Remember the sacrifice of those martyrs.

[Translated lyrics from Mr and Mrs 55]

The reiteration of the word "freedom" stuck with me. Hearing this man's stories and the nostalgia that Mangeshkar’s music brought him made me think about my own family’s journey. His oral history revealed how freedom was not just a political concept, but a lived experience tied to memory, sacrifice, and cultural survival. Hearing Lata’s voice and the way that he began to reminisce about listening to these songs as a child made me realize how “fresh” this history truly is. It showcased the true power of music in preserving identity and belonging.

My grandfather immigrated from Trinidad to New York City in 1981, following my mother, aunt, and grandmother's immigration in 1982. At first, he lived in Park Slope, Brooklyn, but then moved to South Ozone Park for a greater sense of community and affordability. Indo-Trinidadian music has found its New York home in Queens neighborhoods like Richmond Hill and South Ozone Park. Specifically, Liberty Avenue has played a vital role in sustaining Indo-Caribbean culture and music. This enclave has provided a space for businesses, religious, and cultural preservation. Reflecting on this, an Indo-Trinidadian residing in South Ozone Park reflects, “When you go to Liberty, there's this one guy I normally go to, Rishi Video. That's where I went to get all the movies from. I get all the Indian movies and songs and everything. So he always play Indian music. But if you go in any stores, like for instance, if you walk into a Indian store right now in there on Liberty, they would play Indian music. They would play bhajans [Hindu religious songs]. They would play religious songs."

Additionally, assimilation has created a “double migration” experience, forcing those to navigate unique identities across Trinidadian, Indian, and American cultures. This concept discusses the two main periods of Indo-Trinidadian migration: migration under indenture, and migration to North America and Europe. The first period follows the journey of East Indian laborers' migration to the West Indies, specifically Trinidad. This diaspora in itself created a unique, syncretic culture that blended East Indian and Caribbean influences to form the “dual identity.” The second and most recent period refers to the Indo-Trinidadian migration to places like New York City from 1962 to the present. This combined three cultural influences that developed into the Indo-Trinidadian American identity. This fostered deep ambiguity stemming from dual migration history. Following music’s role in assimilation, “When grandpa [my mother's father] would listen to Indian music like Lata, I would be like, turn it off, put on pop music. Because there was this idea like, oh, you don't wanna be other. You don't wanna be different. You want to be part of American society. So you try to kind of assimilate into that.” 

My mother’s experience with her Indo-Trinidadian identity has changed over time. When she was younger, she felt pressure to assimilate to American culture and to silence parts of herself that made her “other.” My experience as a first-generation Indo-Trinidadian American was completely different. There was never a pressure to assimilate. I always wanted to showcase my family’s stories, perseverance, and diverse identity. Over the years, my mother’s identity developed into pride. She found a space for herself as an Indo-Trinidadian and as an American. Now, instead of lowering the volume of our identity, we turn it up. Each tassa beat and chutney rhythm becomes a declaration of determination, proof that despite displacement, indenture, and erasure, our identity remains. 

What is the East Indian Music Academy?

The East Indian Music Academy is a pioneering Indo-Caribbean non-profit based in South Ozone Park that teaches Indian music, culture, and instruments. For over two decades, they have been dedicated to promoting East Indian culture through the transformative power of music to “bridge hearts” and “connect souls.”  The language of music speaks volumes about tradition, inspiration, and timeless cultural pride. 

Ramgoonai’s legacy in NYC

Drupatee Ramgoonai has continued to contribute to the evolution of Indo-Trinidadian music. She has performed at “Chutney Soca Queens at Zen” in Richmond Hill. With fans in New York CIty admiring her longevity and impact across generations. Her performances, like this one, are noted for connecting with older audiences. Her presence in New York City reinforced the idea that the Indo-Caribbean identity was not confined to the Caribbean, but actively evolving. By carrying chutney and chutney-soca music across borders Ramgoonai helps affirm that Indo-Caribbean music deserves recognition as part of the city's cultural fabric and shouldn’t be treated as an outsider tradition. She positions music as both resistance and continuity in the face of migration, assimilation, and historical silence. 

Learning about this history is important because representation is essential. It shapes how students understand both themselves and the world around them. Teaching Indo-Caribbean music in school disrupts the traditional erasure of indenture and challenges the narrow way Caribbean history is often taught, which frequently overlooks the presence and contribution of Indo-Caribbean communities. By integrating music into "mainstream education,” this project offers a more altruistic and accessible way of understanding the past, emphasizing cultural survival, resistance, and identity. The lack of this representation has real consequences. When asked about Indo-Caribbean history in school, a fourth-grade Indo-Trinidadian attending a public school in Brooklyn explained, “I was never taught that. Nobody ever really — actually, nobody really ever mentioned it ever in school, like not a teacher in school,” highlighting how entire identities can be rendered invisible within the curriculum. Meanwhile, he could easily recall learning about his Polish ancestry within the classrooms by demonstrating his knowledge on Polish figures like Kościuszko and Pulaski. This shows how educational systems selectively preserve certain histories while neglecting others. 

Indo-Caribbean music preserves what many families could not record in textbooks. Music has become an archive of memory and carries precious stories of migration, resistance, and survival. This history is living within families and communities today. Indo-Caribbean students seeing their history acknowledged affirms their identity, sense of belonging, and tells their American story. Finally, the importance of representation challenges dominant historical narratives and ensures that the resilience and sacrifices of Indo-Caribbean communities are finally recognized as integral parts of Caribbean, American, and local histories. 

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Cartwright, Mark. “The Fall of the British East India Company in the 19th Century.” Brewminate, July 31, 2024.

Ghosh, Amitav. Smoke and Ashes: Opium's Hidden Histories. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 2024.

Henry, Frances, and Dwaine Plaza, eds. Carnival Is Woman: Feminism and Performance in Caribbean Mas. Jackson: University Press of Mississippi, 2020.  

Klein, Alison. “Tangled Up: Gendered Nationhood in Indo- Caribbean Indenture Narratives.” Anthurium: a Caribbean Studies Journal, Vol. 12, No. 2 (December 2015).

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Manuel, Peter. “Chutney and Indo-Trinidadian Cultural Identity.” Popular Music, Vol. 17, No. 1 (January 1998).

Manuel, Peter. “Music, Identity, and Images of India in the Indo-Caribbean Diaspora.” Asian Music, Vol. 29, No. 1 (Autumn 1997/Winter 1998).

Mishra, Yash. “How Bhojpuri Founded Chutney Music in the Caribbean.” PeepulTree, January 18, 2022.

Mishra, Roopam. “Bhojpuri: An Integral Part of My Identity.” Cafe Dissensus Everyday, September 20, 2020.

Mitra, Sudipto. “Arkatis, Recruiters, Intermediaries: The People and Practices in Indentured Labour Recruitment in Nineteenth Century India.” Doctoral Thesis, Royal Holloway, University of London, 2026.

Mohammed, Patricia. “Carnival Is Woman: Feminism and Performance in Caribbean Mas.” New West Indian Guide / Nieuwe West-Indische Gids, Vol. 95, No. 1-2 (March 2021). 

Niranjana, Tejaswini. Mobilizing India: Women, Music, and Migration Between India and Trinidad. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2006.

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Oral Histories:

Batchoo, Cintra. “Oral History with Cintra Batchoo” Interviewed by Guinevere Wolski. 01/20/26. 10:21. 

Batchoo, Vishnu. “Oral History with Vishnu Batchoo” Interviewed by Guinevere Wolski. 01/25/26. 39:08. 

Manuel, Peter. “Oral History with Dr. Manuel” Interviewed by Guinevere Wolski. 01/23/26. 14:18. 

Wolski, Stefan. “Oral History with Stefan Wolski” Interviewed by Guinevere Wolski. 02/08/26. 05:36.