Reble Is Coming for the Crown
Photo: Rohit Menon
With a handful of fiery singles and show-stealing features, Shillong-based Reble is on the cusp of becoming a force in Indian hip hop—and your favourite rapper’s favourite rapper.
The track “Set It Off” begins with a hypnotic, funky loop. The head-nodding production lays the perfect red carpet to welcome rapper Kim The Beloved’s flow, as he mixes meticulous, piercing lyrics into his easy drawl. Kim’s rapping over the first two verses builds up a low rumbling crescendo, like the warning tremors before a bigger earthquake. He chants the chorus with the same controlled energy, even as his lyrics promise an explosion: “Rap game M-I-A, ‘bout to set it off.”
And then, the earth quakes, the volcanoes erupt, and Reble crashes on the beat. She raps:
You know that I’ve been that bitch, stone cold like Medusa
Wuss, puss, you ain’t Doja
Mumble, you bitch, don’t speak when I’m closer
Set the bomb off, ambush like a soldier
It’s a fast-paced, dynamic jolt of electricity, the auditory parallel of the “Leaning Forward in Chair Diagram” meme, like an alarm clock ringing listeners out of lethargy. It’s a flow that shakes up the sameness of music in your algorithm. It’s the deliverance of Kim’s earlier promise: The rap game is, indeed, about to be set off.
The explosive feature is no one-off: Originally from the West Jaintia Hills region of Meghalaya, the 24-year-old Reble—real name Daiaphi Lamare—began breaking into the state’s hip-hop scene from as a teenager, and soon made a name for herself among the many rising rap movements stemming out of Shillong. Now, with a handful of show-stealing features, lead singles, and an EP under her belt, she may just be on the cusp of becoming a force for the genre in India—and your favourite rapper’s favourite rapper.
That rap/hip hop has become the early 21st century’s most dominant genre worldwide is old news. Once a voice of the underground, an articulation of punk and rebellion that expressed the specific experiences of the Black American community, rap went from being the counter-culture to becoming the very culture itself. In India, underground rappers have existed for decades, but a flurry of investment and attention from major and indie labels in recent years may have ushered us into a mini-renaissance of Indian hip hop. Hanumankind has taken Indian rap worldwide, Travis Scott performs in India to massive, informed audiences, and Gully Boy provided a mainstream canvas for a story about a rap hustle to stardom—inspired by Divine—produced by and starring some of the biggest names in the film industry.
This boom in the industry has led to a trickle-down effect, too, giving rise to aspiring artists from all over the country to shoot their shots, their platforms further democratised by social media. While this genre has inevitably given birth to many serious young talents, a lot of recent hip hop has also shifted its focus to the aesthetics of the art form rather than the craft: to the fashion, to the settings, the stage, the visuals, to a few catchy excerpts that might go viral on an Instagram Reel. The result is often a cosplay of American rap culture for an Indian palette, where the men are presented as dangerous criminal-affiliates, and the women as slick-talking seductresses. There are artists blessed with swagger and a marketing savvy who are coming and going on the quick turnstile, briefly becoming nameless soundtracks for the labels to pump up their streams—before they’re never heard from again.
This is where Reble, specifically, differs. When she raps later on “Set It Off” that, “It’s hip hop bitch, I don’t do TikTok,” it is a clear declaration of intent by an artist that vows to stay true to the art form, and not the hype. She has resisted being over-sexualised for the (largely) male gaze of hip hop fans—a strategic choice that insists that the attention remains on the craft itself. In an interview with Homegrown earlier in 2025, she said, “I want a fanbase that actually gives a shit about my music. I don’t want anyone to just follow me because I’m a woman or because of some lifestyle they like. That’s a nightmare; people staring but not hearing.”
This sense of maturity and a protective spirit towards hip hop’s old-school tenets have echoed across much of Reble’s early output. On the 2024 track “Terror,” she begins, “It's all written / I’ll take on the roles of my forefathers’ mission / From old traditions, we share the same vision.” When she speaks of her forefathers, she is referring to both her tribal roots as well as the traditions of hip hop music.
Reble stays true to what she does best: spitting bars, switching flows, ushering forth that new energy. The chorus, indeed, sounds like an invitation to a musical riot, or an uprising. “Who got shit on me?” she asks, to which the answer clearly is: absolutely nobody right now.
“Terror” is a bold thesis statement by the young rapper, a four-minute declaration by Reble of her identity and her talents. She performs in English, Jaintia, and Khasi in the song, and its production and accompanying video further pay homage to Meghalaya and her cultural roots. When she raps, she does so without apologising how she may carry herself as a woman—and specifically, a woman from the Northeast—flicking away any preconceptions with her wordplay and the buttery-smooth flows. She curses with an admirable zest, rapping, “I don't give a fuck about big shots, it don’t hit me hah / When I’m steppin on toes / Motherfucker I ain’t reppin’ these hoes.”
She articulates clearly, unafraid of using and twisting her vocabulary as she sees fit. The confidence and flow make more sense when you discover that Reble has claimed her biggest influences in rap have been artists like Eminem, Andre 3000, and the Notorious B.I.G. We hear the aggressive, zero-fucks-given attitude of Slim Shady in her lyrics, along with the swagger and flow of Biggie. Lyrically, she echoes these artists in the internal rhyme schemes and wordplay in her raps.
Later on “Terror,” Reble sings, too, in a falsetto that is quite different from her rapping voice. This ‘softer’ version of the artist appears in many more tracks like “Muse,” where she allows her sultry side to rise, still rapping with aggression but providing a softer cushion to land on. In 2022’s “Bond Fission,” she displays her ability to switch flows into a low-key, creative rhyme scheme, a nudge that always keeps her a step ahead:
Just like an alien, don’t fit
These Homo Sapiens, ain’t shit
You’re subterranean, no grit
Look at my radiance, I’m lit
Behind this mask of bravado, Reble has displayed refreshing self-awareness and vulnerability as well, such as the 2019 free verse rap, “Keepin’ it old school,” where she spoke about being rejected, being underrated, or ignored for her accent, before putting it more bluntly for her critics: “They don’t listen to the lyrics, they just hate that I say ‘fuck.’”
Over the past few years, Reble has often been featured as the only female representation in men-only posse tracks or cyphers, including the “East India Cypher,” “United By Hip Hop,” and more. She lands into each song with the bombastic energy heard on “Set It Off,” displaying a flow that is both buttery smooth and aggressive at the same time, attacking each beat with a passionate urgency. She has also arrived on a scene that has been paved by many more acts that paved the way for hip hop in Shillong, including the crew Khasi Bloodz, the producer D-mon, female rappers like Meba Ofilia, and of course, Kim The Beloved—who traces his roots to both Mizoram and Meghalaya.
And throughout, the young Reble has put the music and craft first. Her lyrics hit like pointed jabs, or cold icicles piercing into the skin. Each bar is well-honed, whetted into sharp weaponry. Even the softer tone tracks use the same economy of wordplay. The whole point of hip hop, at its core, is rebellion, a fuck you to “the man,’ to the machine, the system. And Reble—in her rebellious nature—is as hip hop as they come.
Now represented by Homegrown Music and Atlantic Records, Reble’s latest release is “New Riot,” another dynamic song produced by frequent collaborator Parimal Shais. In its marketing, presentation, video, and budget, it’s Reble’s biggest box-office moment yet. Over the energetic drum loop and synths, Reble stays true to what she does best: spitting bars, switching flows, and ushering forth that new energy. The chorus, indeed, sounds like an invitation to a musical riot, or an uprising. “Who got shit on me?” she asks, to which the answer clearly is: absolutely nobody right now.
Most of Reble’s music so far has been a self-definition in the rap space, creative accounts of how she’s simply the best at her craft. But songs like “Revolution,” “Muse,” “Terror,” and more indicate an intention to evolve, to mix deeper themes of resistance and growth in her work. There are a multitude of possible paths, as she now stands on the eve of stardom, perhaps inching closer towards her first LP.
In the video for “Terror,” we see Reble in her many multitudes. She is a tribal warrior, the leader of a rap crew, a fighter in a boxing ring, a starlet taking the stage at a ballroom. By the end, however, she is perhaps her truest self: a girl sitting alone in a parked car, writing rhymes in a notebook.
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Karan Madhok is a writer, journalist, and editor of The Chakkar. He is the author of Ananda: An Exploration of Cannabis In India (2024) and A Beautiful Decay (2022), both published by the Aleph Book Company. His work has appeared in Epiphany, Sycamore Review, Gargoyle, Fifty Two, Scroll, The Plank, The Caravan, the anthology A Case of Indian Marvels (Aleph Book Company) and The Yearbook of Indian Poetry in English 2022 (Hawakal). You can find him on X: @karanmadhok1 and Instagram: @karanmadhok.
