What is common between chunk, vibe, scene contra, and eda mone? Akhila Krishan dives deep into the world of new coinages and expressions in Malayalam, explaining how it is more than just a linguistic change.
Akhila Krishnan
In April 2024, the Malayalam film Aavesham exploded onto the silver screen, mesmerising viewers with its witty and punchy one-liners. “Eda Mone” and “Rangamon Happiyalle?”, some of its most iconic dialogues, captured the collective imagination of the Malayali psyche to such an extent that even Urvashi, an esteemed actor and a recipient of this year’s Kerala State Film Awards, jovially embraced Rangamon Happiyalle? as a part of a promotional campaign for her upcoming release. With more and more of such instances where buzzwords like hype, vibe and chunk are simultaneously becoming a part of spoken Malayalam, how might one make sense of these changes? In this article, I show how these changes become symbols of self-making while being a critique of the quest for authentic Malayalam.
Talk of the Town—The Cultural Shift in Language
As a language, Malayalam has had a tradition of borrowing from other languages including Portuguese, Arabic, Tamil and Sanskrit by virtue of trade and colonisation. However, this borrowing is different from the current linguistic assimilation. Contrary to previous historical integrations which were directed by power and hierarchical social frameworks, the nature of these new changes indicate a decentralised and flexible form of language shift which are primarily driven by the Malayali youth who are in turn aided by online influences. Deployed to usher in relatability and cultural affinity, these shifts indicate how there is a recontextualisation of globalised English expressions into local cultural spaces.
Vibe, for example, originated in American vernacular English, indicates a joyful emotion or ambience. In its present form, the term seamlessly captures how something feels—the fleeting moment, place or connection—without over-elaboration. A corner nook coffee shop, an elegantly designed living space or an off the cuff meet up with friends are all instances of ‘having a vibe.’ In the digital space, this lingo keeps showing up in texts and replies as in ‘athu oru vibe aanallo!’ to evoke a certain kind of emotional affinity. Lately, there is also an increasing trend of prefixing the term vibe with Malayalam words, notably coining the term thantha-vibe. This turn of phrase, meanwhile, bears a clever twist. Rendering literally as ‘old-fashioned vibe,’ this neologism outlines traits and conduct that are at odds with Gen Z norms. Unlike vibe, which is even handed, thantha-vibe tends to exhibit a fervour of sarcasm and disdain. This code-mixing lay bare the fluidity of language, where conventional roles are paired against contemporary influences.
In the context of this ever-expanding nature of language, the notion of friendship has also evolved as a distinct discourse, where neologisms shape how relationships are conveyed and interpreted. Take, for example, the slangs ‘chunk’ and ‘bestie’—two hot-off-the-press expressions dominating the arena of friendship language in Malayalam. Arising out of the Malayalam film Honey Bee, the concept of chunk assumes the social connotation of a true-blue friend, signalling the relevance of ‘bro culture’ amongst the Malayali youth. On the other hand, the subtext of bestie is intricate. Inspired from the teen lingo of the West, early on the term carried a warm and loving attitude to denote a super close friend or a go-to confidant. Initially, it also lacked any hint of irony and its inclusion in Malayalam corresponded to its worldwide use of implying fondness in friendship. However, of late, the well-worn expression of bestie has experienced a remarkable shift in its interpretations within the social lexicon of Kerala society. Now, for the most part, ‘bestie’ refers to a girlfriend’s male friend, implicitly indicating that he may court her at the expense of her current romance. For example, this reel and this debate accurately captures how ‘bestie’ has evolved to touch upon the twists and turns of friendships and relationships. While chunk displays loyalty and affection, ‘bestie’ insinuates a whiff of deception, offering nuance on how relationships are conceived. Here, ‘language is multifunctional as it accomplishes much more than simply referring to or labelling items, and it reinforces the social bonds’ (Ahearn 2012, 253).
In similar veins, the term vaazha—explicitly referring to ‘banana’—presents a cultural undertone that outstrips its literal description. Typically found in the idiom ‘Vaazha vecha mathiyayarinnu’ (It would have much been better to plant a plantain, hinting a vain effort), vaazha is an effective epithet that illustrates the futility of investing in individuals who are deemed to be ‘good-for-nothing’ or unproductive. This lingo acquired enormous social weight in August 2024 when a Malayalam film called Vaazha hit the screens. Mocking the very idea of merit, value and cultural expectations, the movie resonated with the new generation who could identify with the loser stereotypes that the movie trafficked in. For example, in one of the songs in the film, the lyrics ‘Eyy banane oru poo tharamo’ (Hey plantain tree! Could you please give me a flower?) artfully asks if the banana or vaazha could provide a flower despite its inability. Through such subversions, the term vaazha along with the phrase ‘vaazha vecha mathiyiayirunu’ becomes a critique of the relentless productivity expectation while offering a liberatory space for the younger generation to escape social conventions.
In a state where social rules dictate the everyday life of individuals, besides vaazha, the term ayinu has also been materialised as an emphatic label of confidence and assurance. As it can be literally translated as ‘so what,’ the impact of this slang rises above its cut-and-dry meaning. Ayinu conjures an increased scope of agency by bestowing a linguistic armour for people—particularly the youth—who are at the receiving end of unsolicited advice. When someone asks, ‘kalyanam onnum aayille?’, a reply ayinu can quickly shut off prying folks. Beyond dissing the query, this response can also become a point-blank refusal of social standards. In a place where women’s success is defined by marriage, replying with ayinu can allow one to question the worth of such norms. It can also become an avenue for openly embracing personal space and preferences over social mores. In some ways, it is a Keralite counterpart to the worldwide trend of ‘living life your own way’—enabling speakers to take control of their narratives. If an individual retorts with ayinu, it removes all rooms for rebuttals and clever put-downs, cutting off the inquirer at the end of the rope. This abrupt wrap of conversation with such brevity and assertiveness elevates the term ayinu as the ultimate conversation blocker for unsolicited questions and opinions.’
In a way, by effectively platforming the self-making tendencies of Gen Z through language, neologisms position themselves as an emblem of selfhood and individual agency. The conscious ‘no’ to canonical Malayalam and the inclusion of new coinages mirrors what Constantine V Nakassis (2013) describes as ‘style’—ie; ‘to make a claim to authority through some regime of value by transgressing respectability and propriety; and it also tries to reconvert exclusion and hierarchy into performable youth emblems of status’ (252). In that respect, style is a holistic notion that covers action, language and attire to exhibit exteriority—ie; non-conformity to social norms and status hierarchies. For the young blood in Kerala, neologisms become ‘style’ to resist the vestiges of the past. Nonetheless, the integration of these freshly minted expressions into casual conversations is not devoid of problems. While neologisms symbolise an aspect of status-raising—through innovation, multiculturalism and inclusivity—there is also an ever-present threat of drifting into ‘over style’ where they may tilt towards imbalance or isolation. As the millennials of Tamil Nadu skilfully handle ‘style’ to mitigate the risk of alienation within their social circles, the Gen Z of Kerala too traverse the delicate balance between pretension and humility.
Slang Stories: Rewriting Malayalam for a New Generation
As a linguistic trailblazer, Malayalam cinema has introduced a lot of slangs that have captivated the minds of the audience. From city sidewalks to online discussions, screen-born slangs have consistently catered to the ethos of our times. For instance, in 2015, the Malayalam film Premam introduced ‘scene contra’ to whimsically capture unsettling experiences that many people could relate to. In the same year, Oru Vadakkan Selfie, came up with ‘marana mass’ a term that distinguishes something overwhelmingly impressive or cool. Later, Kumbalangi Nights brought up slang words like ‘poli Sharathe track maatu’ and ‘prahasanam’.
In this current wave of Malayalam cinema, songs such as Telangana Bommalu (Premalu), Manavalan Thug (Thallumaala) and Scene Mone (RDX) have also manifested the trend of linguistic experimentation. In the song Manavalan Thug, for example, the term ‘manavalan’ (or groom) carries the weight of celebration while Thug, a popular English colloquialism rooted in African American Vernacular English (AAVE), implies a sense of valour and confidence. By merging these two disparate duo of expressions, a new archetype of a Malabari groom—who is chic, defiant and powerful—is created.
In parallel, the phrase ‘scene mone’ is indicative of a situation that has spiralled unexpectedly. Borrowed from English, scene refers to a situation while ‘mone’ is a Malayalam expression for a son or a colloquial salutation to a younger acquaintance. Together, these two words, born from the informal repartee of everyday Malayalam, signals a knee-jerk response to pitfalls, embodying a paradoxical mix of irritation and acceptance. Often rendered with an expressive flourish, scene mone highlights how even ordinary slip-ups can turn into lasting impressions. In the film RDX, the deliberate use of the word ‘scene’ in one of their songs imprints a dramatic touch, hinting that life is, in many ways, a performance itself. This linguistic virtuoso, therefore, stretches beyond a nonchalant stylistic option to explore a new form of self-making where language becomes the medium to express the acceptance of failures and unexpected twists.
Meanwhile, Mohammed Fasil aka Dabzee’s breakout track Malabari Banger illustrates the ways in which neologisms can revolutionise the diverse world of Malayalam music outside of films. Through phrases such as ‘This brown colour trip, Maappila drip,’ the song offers a one of a kind cultural cocktail that blends small-town charm with downtown flair. The expression ‘brown colour trip’ taps into the collective consciousness of the South Asian posse—by actively embracing their brown identity. On the other hand, the phrase ‘Mappila drip’ firmly roots it in the signature style of Kerala’s Muslim community. To nail the vibe of Malabar, the term drip—an English slang term for style—is flawlessly assimilated to develop a rich, layered expression for capturing the essence of life in Northern Kerala. As for the title, Malabari Banger itself connects deeply with the zeitgeist of the Gen Z, redefining the quintessential characteristics of the shared Malayali identity. The term ‘Malabari’ contextualises the song within a specific geographic and cultural context—ie; Malabar—whereas ‘Banger’ refers to a performance that is exceptional, energetic and memorable. These phrases,—Malabar, banger, brown drip—when taken together, constitute a world that speaks directly to the local environment while simultaneously maintaining their global outlook.
These newly coined words that have acquired a new sense of identity also resonate with the Chethu culture of the 90s. In Kerala, the chethu culture emerged as a unique expression for the youth, through aesthetics, attire, and accessories to rebel against the social norms and mores of the times. As Ritty Lukose writes (2005),
‘Chethu refers to ‘being fashionable’ in general. If a male is dressed in a new pair of jeans and fancy sneakers, he is usually referred to as chethu, a word which literally refers to the traditional, low-caste occupation of toddy-tapping and the tapper’s knife, and figuratively means ‘sharp’, ‘cool’, ‘hip’, or ‘shine’, referring to something like the cutting-edge’ (925).
While chethu paved the way for an alternate subculture for fashion grounded in tangible visual manifestations, the Gen Zs of Kerala now employ neologisms to create ‘chethu’ centered around linguistic identity. Simply put, the former gives importance to the body and its outward expressions, whereas the latter emphasizes the ways in which people use language for marking affiliations, brokering relationships and voicing one’s convictions. Such neologisms are primarily derived from Social Networking Sites (SNS) such as Instagram, Facebook and YouTube, making colloquial dialects even more mainstream. The casual character of these platforms also ensures linguistic innovation. Unlike movies which have a one-off release, social media facilitates an uninterrupted, live engagement, unleashing these terms to diffuse throughout our day-to-day conversations.
For example, ‘sigma’ and ‘cringe’ are some of the terms which benefited from YouTube shorts and Instagram reels. The discourse of sigma refers to being single—especially a single male who willfully refrains from relationships. Hailed as an epitome of freedom and emotional independence, the sigma figure is glorified for his dedication to personal aspirations and achievements. However, underneath this facade lies a more problematic message. By linking sigma with that of autonomy, the term insinuates that male camaraderie or self-fulfilment are better than romantic relationships with women. It reiterates the clichès about gender roles, presuming that emotional attachment with women is feeble or inferior.
Nevertheless, this verbal tectonic shift, observed among Gen Z, is part of a prominent, nationwide trend, especially visible in urban environments. All around India, the Gen Z is adopting a distinct linguistic framework—marked by the prevalence of English derived words and phrases—with terms such as ‘G.O.A.T’ (Greatest of All Time), ‘IRL’ (In Real Life), ‘dank’ (excellent), ‘YOLO’ (You Only Live Once), ‘delulu’ (crazy), ‘no caps’ (no lies) smoothly blending into casual conversations. Such neologisms, stemming from Internet culture, have struck a chord with people everywhere, providing the Indian youth with malleable masks of identities. This evolution liberates the younger demographic to rise above dialectical differences to step into a more flexible state of self-making. Contrary to the pre-existing linguistic norms, modern colloquialisms pertain to ‘reinventing oneself’ in a range of environments, including online and offline spaces, representing new avenues for linguistic self-making.
The emergence of new coinages in Malayalam has, therefore, now triggered a compelling discussion over the future trajectory of the language, notably within older demographic and academic circles regarding its alleged ‘compromise.’ This tension, more often than not, is rooted in the technological advancements of our time, where the older generations are exhibiting irrational fear over Gen Z moving away from reading and writing in Malayalam. Although these concerns are legitimate, they tend to neglect the ingenuity and fluidity that reflect the ever-changing yet timeless nature of language. Contemporary linguistic refinements are not always ‘out with the old, in with the new’ departures as at the end of the day, they are invariably an extension of the canonical Malayalam, formed by the complex interplay of the digital world. The advent of these neologisms, parallel to similar linguistic developments happening at a pan-India level, provides a captivating perspective on the ways in which language modifies to suit the changing socio-cultural landscape. These novelisms, which emanate from everyday realities, social media and cinema, showcase the role of language in the development of a ‘sense of self’ through innovative expressions that play with the old and the new forms of Malayalam.
References
AD, G. (2024). Premalu. Bhavana Studios, Fahadh Faasil and Friends, Working Class Hero
Ahearn, L. (2012). Language, Power, and Agency in L. Ahearn, ed.. Living Language:An Introduction to Linguistic Anthropology (pp. 250-291). West Sussex: Wiley-Blackwell.
Hidayath, N. (2023). RDX. Weekend Blockbusters.
JOKER, MHR, SA & Dabzee. (2023). Malabari Banger. Manushyar.
Jr. L. (2013). Honey Bee. SJM Entertainments.
Lukose, R. (2005). Consuming Globalization: Youth and Gender in Kerala, India. Journal of Social History, 38(4), 915–935.
Madhavan, J. (2024). Aavesham. Fahadh Faasil and Friends, Anwar Rasheed Entertainments.
Menen, A. (2024). Vaazha – Biopic of Billion Boys. WBTS productions, Imagin Cinemas, Signature Studios, Icon Studios.
Nakassis, C. V. (2013). Youth masculinity, ‘style’ and the peer group in Tamil Nadu, India. Contributions to Indian Sociology, 47(2), 245-269.
Rahman, K. (2022). Thallumaala. Ashiq Usman Productions, Plan B Motion Pictures.
About the Author: Akhila Krishnan is an interdisciplinary scholar with a Masters in Society and Culture from IIT Gandhinagar. Her academic journey spans the intersections of literature, culture, and social dynamics with a keen focus on exploring the role of narratives in shaping societal values.
