The visual is as arresting as it is perilous. Inside a cylindrical wooden velodrome in the coastal town of Ponnani, Kerala, modified cars and motorcycles blur past, defying gravity and logic. This is the maut ka kua – the traditional Indian “Well of Death” carnival attraction. Standing in the centre, unbothered by the mechanical chaos hurtling around him, is Sooraj Cherukat, delivering a blistering, Houston-inflected rap flow.
When the music video for “Big Dawgs” debuted on 9 July 2024, released via Def Jam India and Universal Music India, it did not simply trend; it exploded across the global consciousness. Within weeks, the track had infiltrated international charts, catching the attention of Western hip-hop purists and casual listeners alike. The artist at the centre of this cultural rupture is Hanumankind, a 32-year-old rapper who is systematically dismantling preconceived notions of what South Asian hip-hop can sound, look, and feel like.
Yet, to categorise Hanumankind’s ascent as a sudden viral anomaly is to profoundly misunderstand the architecture of his career. Behind the high-octane aesthetic of “Big Dawgs” lies a decade of geographic displacement, corporate disillusionment, and an uncompromising commitment to artistic authenticity.
A Nomadic Sonic Education
Born in Kerala in 1992, Cherukat’s formative years were defined by constant motion. His family relocated frequently, taking him from the lush landscapes of southern India to the contrasting environments of Nigeria, Saudi Arabia, and the United Arab Emirates. However, it was his time spent in Houston, Texas, that would leave an indelible mark on his artistic DNA.
Houston’s hip-hop ecosystem – characterised by its slowed-down, bass-heavy “chopped and screwed” aesthetic and its distinct, drawling cadence – provided a crucial sonic template. Unlike many of his contemporaries who emulated the boom-bap of New York or the G-funk of Los Angeles, Cherukat absorbed the aggressive, muscular energy of the American South.
Before adopting the Hanumankind moniker, however, Cherukat’s trajectory adhered to a remarkably different script. Armed with a degree in business administration, he entered the corporate sector, eventually securing a position in corporate finance at Goldman Sachs. He also spent time working as a personal trainer. This prolonged exposure to the structured, high-pressure environments of global finance and fitness stands in stark contrast to the anti-establishment ethos typically associated with hip-hop. Yet, it arguably instilled a work ethic and a strategic pragmatism that continues to serve him well in the music industry.
The pivot from Goldman Sachs to the recording studio was not instantaneous. It required a conscious, risky rejection of corporate stability. Returning to India, Cherukat settled in Bengaluru – a city rapidly emerging as the crucible of the country’s independent music movement. It was here, around 2018 and 2019, that Hanumankind began to take shape, launching his career with the debut EP, Kalari. Named after Kalaripayattu, the ancient martial art form of Kerala, the project signalled his intent: deeply rooted in his heritage, yet aggressive and outward-looking.
The Anatomy of a Global Anthem
The genesis of “Big Dawgs” provides a fascinating case study in modern musical alchemy. Produced by Kalmi, a frequent collaborator, the track is built on a foundation of relentless, distorted bass and a driving rhythm that leaves no room for hesitation.
In a creative landscape often bogged down by over-intellectualised songwriting, Cherukat has been refreshingly candid about the track’s inception. He has noted in interviews that the lyrics for “Big Dawgs” were written in a mere twenty minutes. The objective was never lyrical complexity, but rather raw, kinetic energy. The phrase “big dawgs” functions as a reclamation of power – a slang term denoting individuals who move through the world unapologetically and dictate their own terms.
The visual translation of this energy was entrusted to director Bijoy Shetty. By selecting the maut ka kua in Ponnani as the backdrop, Shetty and Cherukat achieved a masterstroke of cultural juxtaposition. They bypassed the tired, stereotypical imagery often deployed by South Asian artists attempting to court the West – there are no superficial nods to Bollywood or spiritual mysticism here. Instead, the video presents a gritty, working-class Indian reality, elevated by a hyper-masculine, adrenaline-fuelled danger that translates universally.
Reflecting on the unpredictable nature of the song’s success, Cherukat maintains a stoic perspective. “I didn’t anticipate any of this; you can’t really predict these things. The universe unfolds in very unpredictable ways,” he observed during a conversation with Hindustan Times.
Dismantling the Myth of Overnight Success
The music industry possesses a persistent, almost pathological need to frame breakthrough artists as overnight sensations. It is a narrative that sells, condensing years of invisible labour into a digestible fairy tale. Hanumankind, however, fiercely rejects this characterisation.
For those entrenched in the Indian hip-hop scene, Cherukat has been a formidable presence for years. His performances across underground venues in Bengaluru and Mumbai were legendary for their intensity long before the algorithms caught on.
“If you look at the videos before ‘Big Dawgs’, you can see we’ve been doing this for a while,” Cherukat asserted in an interview with Indulge Express. “The intent was always there. The song was just a byproduct of what we’d been doing consistently.”
This consistency is crucial. It underscores the reality that “Big Dawgs” was not a lucky strike, but the inevitable detonation of a fuse that had been burning for half a decade. By the time global audiences discovered him, Hanumankind was already a fully formed artist, immune to the pressures of sudden fame and possessing a deep, tested catalogue.
Dictating the Terms of Global Engagement
Perhaps the most significant aspect of Hanumankind’s rise is how it reframes the relationship between Indian artists and the global music establishment. Historically, South Asian artists breaking into the Western mainstream have often had to compromise their sound or identity, leaning heavily on exoticism to secure a foothold.
Cherukat operates on an entirely different paradigm. He has frequently articulated a desire to be recognised simply as a “rapper from India,” pushing back against the restrictive “Indian rapper” label. This subtle linguistic shift is profoundly important; it demands that his music be judged on the same criteria as his American or British counterparts, rather than being relegated to a niche “world music” category.
This assertion of parity was cemented in December 2024, when a high-profile remix of “Big Dawgs” was released featuring American rap luminary A$AP Rocky. The collaboration was not framed as a Western star lending credibility to a foreign upstart; rather, it felt like an acknowledgement of mutual artistic respect. It demonstrated that the epicentre of global hip-hop is decentralising, shifting away from its traditional American strongholds towards a more multipolar landscape. For readers tracking the broader currents of contemporary music culture, this collaboration signifies a watershed moment for the South Asian diaspora.
Beyond the Microphone: A Multidisciplinary Future
The ambition driving Hanumankind extends beyond the confines of the recording booth. As his musical footprint expands, so too does his creative purview. In 2024, Cherukat made a notable pivot into acting, appearing in the Malayalam film Rifle Club.
This foray into cinema is not merely a vanity project, but a strategic expansion of his narrative capabilities. The Malayalam film industry, renowned for its gritty realism and sophisticated storytelling, provides a natural extension for the cinematic vision already evident in his music videos. It aligns him with a broader tradition of hip-hop artists evolving into cultural polymaths, leveraging their musical capital to explore new mediums. As our film coverage frequently notes, the intersection of independent music and regional cinema is producing some of the most vital art in the contemporary South Asian landscape.
The Cost of Authenticity
As the dust settles on the initial explosion of “Big Dawgs,” the question facing Hanumankind is one of sustainability. How does an artist who built his reputation on underground authenticity navigate the sterile, metric-driven demands of major label machinery?
For Cherukat, the answer appears to be a steadfast refusal to compromise. His journey from the trading floors of Goldman Sachs to the global hip-hop stage was predicated on a rejection of the safe and the expected. He has built a career entirely on his own terms, forging a sound that is as indebted to the sweltering streets of Houston as it is to the coastal humidity of Kerala.
His philosophy is perhaps best summarised in his own uncompromising words, shared in a recent profile: “I would rather die doing it this way than succeed doing it the way I did not want to do.”
In an industry largely defined by calculated trend-chasing and algorithmic appeasement, Hanumankind’s defiance is his greatest asset. He is not just the new face of Indian hip-hop; he is a testament to the enduring power of raw, unvarnished artistic intent. As he continues to navigate this newfound global prominence, he does so not as a guest in the house of hip-hop, but as an artist who has firmly kicked the door off its hinges.
