The Bayān-e-Ghālib Show: Encore at Lucknow, Delhi Calling

 

https://anindecisiveindian.blogspot.com/2025/01/the-bayan-e-ghalib-show-kahte-hain-ki.html

 

In a world increasingly cluttered with cacophony and noise, where poetry often struggles to find its rightful space, I dared to dream—not merely a dream, but a spectacle. Not a mere recital of verses, but a visual and aural celebration of the greatest Urdu poet ever to have walked the narrow lanes of Delhi: Mirzā Asadullāh Khān Ghālib.

 

I dreamt of something audacious—a show that would breathe life into Ghalib's immortal words, with every syllable soaked in sur (musical tune, note), every line adorned with raqs (dance), and every pause echoing with narrative gravitas. Bayān-e-Ghālib was to be no ordinary mehfil (assembly, gathering)—it would be an andaaz-e-bayān aur (unique style of narration), an experience that would lift Ghalib from the pages of diwans and letters and place him centre stage, where music, dance, and emotion entwine.

 

And lo, the universe, in its mysterious wisdom, conspired. The dream took shape with a team as formidable as it was passionate. The script was deftly penned by my erudite friend Syed Kabeer Ahmad, who chiselled every word with scholarly finesse. Dr. Prabha Srivastava lent her honeyed voice to the ghazals, each note shimmering with soul, accompanied by four brilliant musicians, Zeeshan Abbas on Sarangi and assisting vocals, Naman Singh on Harmonium and assisting vocals, Rinku Raj on Synthesizer, and Niteesh Bharti on Tabla.

 

To that sonic sorcery, we added the lyricism of motion. Dr. Kumkum Dhar, doyenne of Kathak, and her accomplished disciples led by Dr. Aditi Thapliyal, and assisted by Ranjana Sharma, Shivangi Barwal, Parthavi Rai, Anushrita Ghosh, and Roshny, transformed Ghalib's verses into living movement—his existential dilemmas, his philosophical longings, and his riotous wit, all interpreted through intricate footwork and expressive abhinaya. The drama was heightened by Gopal Sinha’s masterful command over lighting and stagecraft, while Gynaesh Tiwari, the ever-resourceful manager, made sure all the threads were pulled together with precision.

 

And thus was born Bayān-e-Ghālib—a narration, recitation, music, and dance extravaganza, steeped in grace and sophistication, ablaze with artistic flourish, celebrating the life and works of our own bard who wrote like a storm and lived like a flame.

 

The premiere took place in the cultural crucible of Lucknow on May 19, 2024, at the Sangeet Natak Akademi, drawing tears and applause in equal measure. Hyderabad was next, on January 18, 2025, where Ghalib’s words soared and swirled amidst the arches and echoes of Deccani grace. The resonance was so powerful that the show begged to travel further, and we, helpless before its magnetism, complied.

 

Yesterday, the City of Nawabs once again surrendered to the spell of verse and rhythm. Lucknow, swathed in nostalgia and tehzeeb (culture, politeness), opened its arms to an encore of Bayān-e-Ghālib—a fragrant reminder that true poetry, when draped in music, movement, and emotion, does not fade with time; it mellows, deepens, and intoxicates anew. Despite it being a ticketed event this time, the hall brimmed with eager hearts—those who had seen it once and longed for it again, and those who had only heard whispers and now came to feast on its splendour. It was not just a performance, it was a homecoming—of Ghalib, of art, of love itself. 

 

Here is a brief anatomy of the show for the uninitiated:

 

Narration and Recitation: A riveting script interlaced with carefully chosen episodes from Ghalib’s life, his witty repartees, his philosophical musings, and his heartbroken lamentations.

Poetry and Ghazals: Ghalib’s poetry, timeless as the sky, rendered with emotional authenticity and lyrical delicacy.

Kathak Dance: Each ghazal is not merely sung, but danced—with the taal and the theka (rhythmic cycle of beats and syllables in Indian music) adding new layers of meaning.

Music: A haunting ensemble of traditional instruments—sarangi whispering sorrow, tabla thundering passion, harmonium blooming melody.

The programme was conducted beautifully and very pleasantly by poet Chandra Shekhar  Varma (Lucknow 1.0), Zeeshan (Hyderabad) and Anupama Mani (Lucknow 2.0).

(For a deeper dive, readers may explore the original blog post linked above.)

 

The natural next step was Dilli—the beloved city of the master himself. We had, with trembling anticipation, scheduled a performance for 16th May 2025 at the Aiwaan-e-Ghālib Auditorium, that most poetic of addresses.

 

But fate intervened. As our armed forces stood in valiant defiance of a rogue state's aggression, we felt a solemn duty—to stand with them in silence, in solidarity. The show was postponed, as we joined the nation in collective hope and prayer.

 

And then, history turned a page. India emerged victorious, her head held high and her spirit unbowed. With that victory came not just relief, but a renewed resolve to celebrate the very soul of this syncretic nation—where Ghalib could pen verses in Persian and Urdu, drink wine with philosophers, and argue with God—all in one breath.

 

And so, we come to Delhi, not with pomp, but with poetry.

 

At 6.45 PM on 13th June 2025, at the Aiwaan-e-Ghālib Auditorium (Ghālib Institute, Mata Sundari Marg, New Delhi), we shall once again lift the curtain on this celebration of word, rhythm, and grace. We bring this labour of love, already honed on the stages of Lucknow and Hyderabad, to a city that raised Ghalib, and which he, in turn, raised to immortal heights in his verse. A city where every stone, every shadow, every silenced whisper remembers him still.

 

The audience of Delhi, steeped in literary legacy, is no ordinary audience. We come not to perform at them, but to perform with them—in shared reverence, in mutual madness for Ghalib.

 

Let me end with a sher from the master himself, apt for this moment when poetry returns to its mehfil, after enduring storms and silence and the team is all aflutter to march on unbridled in their commitment to celebrate the master:

 

Rau meñ hai raḳhsh-e-umr kahāñ dekhiye thame

ne haath baag par hai na pā hai rikāb meñ

(रौ में है रख़्श-ए-उम्र कहाँ देखिए थमे, ने हाथ बाग पर है न पा है रिकाब में.  Rau: rhythm, flow,  raḳhsh-e-umr: brilliance, lightening, Rustom’s horse, baag: rein, bridle, rikāb: saddle, stirrup) The horse of life is in full rhythm of motion, not in the rider's control with neither his hands on the rein nor his feet in stirrups. Let us see how far it takes him before it stops.)

 

I hope it does not stop, ever!

...

For those interested in watching the show, here is a link for the YouTube video of the inaugural show at Lucknow:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lN89oXuD6U4&t=964s