An adivasi activist asserted with disdain, “There is an old mentality,” amongst urban residents living outside SGNP, “no? A mentality that an adivasi wears leaves and keeps dancing in the jungle. This mentality needs to be changed, no?” “Yeah, I agree,” nodded the architect in discomfort, “Like the caricaturish songs and dances with phrases such as ‘Yaa phiphishika yaaaa phiphi phiphi’ or ‘Zhinga la la hu,’ no?” Bollywood songs such as “O Zindagi dene waale” (Nagin, 1954), “Mann mora naache (Do Dil, 1965), “Hum Bewafa” (Shaalimaar, 1978), “Tirchi topi waale” (Tridev, 1989), “Shabba Shabba Haai Rabaa” (Daud, 1997), and even “Hule maale gil chil hula” (MSG2 - The Messenger, 2015) present one instance where stereotyped, caricatured portrayals of adivasi figures pervade. Since independence, not much has changed in the ways in which this popular art form sexualises adivasi bodies, and portrays their language, costumes and landscapes as primitive. “On the contrary,” the adivasi artist rationalised, “When it rained, we used to perform the kamadi dance before worshipping hirwaa (evergreen forest god) asking for permission to eat Phodshachi bhaaji (forest vegetable). When it didn't rain, we performed the kamadi dance as a prayer to hirwaa. The dance was performed in the presence of our village deity wearing costumes made from plants. The idea,” in spite or despite the rain, “was to invoke pleasure, make every being laugh!”