A troubadour who doesn’t shy away from real singing and singing real, you’ve likely heard Arjumann’s hit single ‘Kannata Para’ countless times. But how much do you really know about the man behind the music? We sat down with Arjumann to uncover what it’s like to balance being a mathematics teacher and a musician.
Q: Hi Arjumann, how are you these days?
I’m doing good, but I had a rough time recently. I was touring Australia for two and a half months, followed by Qatar. I wanted to see how things worked out in the field, so I left teaching and wandered around. When I came back home, I was torn between moving forward as a musician or sticking to being a maths teacher. Now that I’m back in school, I feel on track. I can continue teaching without necessarily quitting music, and I’m able to express myself freely as a teacher.
Q: How was your experience touring overseas?
It was great, but frustrating at first due to postponements. One person, Amal, was contacted through Manuwarna, but our first attempt to get to Australia was rejected. It was chaotic; I had stopped everything, including teaching. But when I finally got my visa, I went on this unofficial artist’s journey where I explored how Sri Lankans live in Australia. I’d lived in Oman for two years, so I had a sense of how migrants adapt, and I wanted to experience that in Melbourne. I travelled around, met strangers, and lived a nomadic life, avoiding contact with school friends and family.
Q: Will your tour experiences influence your future music?
Possibly. People keep asking me about new music, but I can’t force it. I need time alone to process what I’ve gathered, have conversations, and figure things out. Meanwhile, I’m observing political movements, especially how the Sinhala diaspora supports the NPP (National People’s Power). We’re in the middle of election season, so it’s hard to predict what will happen.
Q: You performed at an NPP rally. Are you politically aligned with them?
There’s a misconception that I support the JVP or NPP. I was invited by Jagath Manuwarana to perform at the NPP Youth Conference, but that doesn’t mean I’m aligned with them. I do appreciate that their platform is open to artists like me. Before performing, I clarified that this is my story, my song, which became theirs. I believe that if the NPP doesn’t give space to fringe political beliefs or even crazy voices, they’ll fail in the long run. I’m also concerned that the NPP might become another Sinhala-Buddhist camp and wonder how the Tamil diaspora will respond.
Q: Are you taking time off teaching to focus on music, or is it the other way around?
I started performing at restaurants and hotels in 2019, but everything stopped after the Easter Sunday Attacks, so I began teaching at Lyceum. It was a random opportunity that changed my life, and I’ve been teaching for four years now. Even ‘Kannata Para’ came out of conversations I had with teachers. Schools are like microcosms of society where you can test ideas. Teaching has become the best place for me. I spend time in the library, and it’s a huge shift from my previous life as an engineer, where I worked on sites and felt like I was just part of the capitalist machine. Teaching is like being in a transit place between worlds.
Q: Have you been compared to folk musicians?
People often mention Bob Dylan when they talk about my music. I used to read a lot about John Lennon, but then I saw how his story ended—with the counterculture movement, his marriage to Yoko Ono, and the breakup of the Beatles. His character was manipulated politically, and I’ve tried to avoid that.
Q: Your song Kannata Para was a big hit and even featured on Kodi Gaha Yata. What was that like?
I remember watching the show with my parents after Manuwarana told me it would be on. I was initially scared about how people would react, but I knew the song had a groove that would make people dance. I had been observing how audiences respond on TikTok, and I had a feeling it would be a hit. For me, the experience wasn’t about making money; it was about getting a glimpse of the media and political world from the inside. I got to see things most people don’t, and it was a rollercoaster ride.
Q: Your music has been described as “provincial” with an intimate and engaging tone. How did that sound come together?
Back in the day, I saw an ad in the newspaper for a solo musician in a pub in Borella. I was studying engineering at the time and ended up playing old country, folk, and music from the 50s, 60s, and 70s, both in English and Sinhala. That’s how I developed my sound. When I write songs, I picture a group of people having drinks together, and that’s who I’m writing for. It’s intimate and human.
Q: Could we expect your music to evolve in the future?
I’m definitely interested in exploring different genres. I’m not bound by any one style. When I sing with just my guitar, it may sound raw and folksy, but that’s not my default. One of my best friends, who used to DJ at Yes FM, plays a completely different genre, yet we’ve collaborated well. For me, it’s not about genre—it’s about musical philosophy and the vision behind the music. I’m excited to experiment with people who share that mindset.
Q: The underground music scene in Sri Lanka seems stagnant, playing to the same crowd for years. What’s your take on that?
There are hidden gems in the underground scene, but they haven’t been exposed to a broader audience. I’ve met metalheads and underground rappers, but most people don’t know about them because they’re stuck in their own bubbles. Before writing Kannata Para, I was researching the musical traditions of the Kaffirs of Puttalam.
Their music was once considered taboo due to its aggressive rhythms, much like how heavy metal was labelled “devil’s music”. Both genres channel a dark energy.
In ‘Kannata Para’, I wanted to bring out that dark spirit in a smooth, classical way. Historically, during British colonial times, they fought against what they called “dark spirits” on this island, which is why practices like the Kaffirs’ music were labelled as occult.
It’s the same with metal. If we want to challenge hierarchical structures, we need to understand the “sound politics”.
You can’t fight it with the same sound patterns that already exist. For example, the NPP may call itself “radical”, but they’re still using the same sounds. My interest lies in creating new patterns and new waves.
