Blessed by Jagjit Singh: The Echo That Stayed

In an earlier blog (reference at the end), I had written about the Jagjit Singh show in which I was to assume the role of narrator. The evening, held on 5th April in Lucknow, met with an exceptionally warm response and, even at the cost of sounding a touch pretentious, I must admit to a quiet sense of being blessed, rather a novice to theatre, to have left some small imprint upon the performing arts canvas.

Khwaateen o hazraat (ladies and gentlemen), if the prelude to an evening is anticipation, then what follows a truly lived mehfil (gathering) is something far more elusive, almost ineffable. One returns not merely with memories, but with a lingering kaifiyat (state of being), as though some unseen mehmaan (guest) has visited the soul and quietly taken residence there. As the show Kāġhaz Ki Kashti unfolded in Lucknow, it felt as if that mehmaan was none other than Jagjit Singh himself, his rooh (spirit) gently presiding over every sur (note), every lafz (word), every thehraav (pause).

As the narrator, I began with viraasat (heritage), tehzeeb (culture), and that boundless khazaana (treasure) called ghazal, but what unfolded went far beyond intent. It was not merely a performance but a shared tajurba (experience), where artist and audience merged into a single flow of ehsaas (feeling). The auditorium was full, yet it was the sukoon (stillness) within that defined the evening. As tum ko dekha to ye khayal aaya drifted through the hall, it felt as if unspoken yaadein (memories) had found their voice. Such is the quiet qudrat (nature) of Jagjit Singh; he does not simply sing, he awakens.

For the artists, this awakening was perhaps even more profound. Dr. Prabha Srivastava, whose voice carried the evening, did not merely render compositions; she inhabited them. Each ghazal was not sung but relived, each misra (line) unfolding with a narmi (softness) and yaqeen (conviction) that could only come from deep internalization. Around her, the saazindaas (instrumentalists) were not accompanists in the ordinary sense. Niteesh on tabla, Zeeshan on sarangi, Rinku on synthesizer, Rakesh Arya on guitar, and Deepak on percussions became co-travellers in this safar (journey), responding, anticipating, and at times even conversing silently through their instruments. It was as though the music itself had acquired a zubaan (language).

For me, as narrator, the exhilaration lay in that rare sense of shared discovery. Rehearsals may prepare, but a live mehfil has its own mizaaj (temperament), its own ruhaaniyat (spiritual aura), and that evening it was unusually generous. Words found deeper resonance than rehearsed, pauses lingered, and each utterance carried an asar (impact) beyond expectation. Those are the moments artists live for, fleeting yet eternal.

As the evening moved through the works of Qateel Shifai (Kiya hai pyaar jise humne zindagi ki tarah), Kafeel Azar Amrohvi (Baat niklegi to phir door talak jaayegi), Firaq Gorakhpuri (Tujhe ai zindagi hum door se pehchaan lete hain), and Ibn-e-Insha (Kal chaudahvin ki raat thi), one could sense a quiet transformation. These were no longer merely poets whose kalam (poetry) was being presented; they seemed to enter the mehfil as silent participants, their voices mingling with Jagjit Singh’s and, through him, with ours. Each ghazal unfolded like a familiar raaz (secret), softly whispered anew.

And then appeared Ghalib. To approach him is to tread on sacred ground, yet through Jagjit Singh’s voice emerges a rare qurbat (closeness) that softens even his grandeur. Dil hi to hai na sang-o-khisht and Baazicha-e-atfaal hai duniya mere aage ceased to be distant classics and turned into intimate confessions. For the artists, it was the most transcendent moment, humbling in its weight, yet uplifting in its grace.

Music, however, is not merely about technical excellence or fidelity to text. It is about that elusive lamha (moment) when everything aligns, when the artist disappears and only the art remains. There were several such lamhe that evening. In the plaintive strains of Babul mora naiyhar chhuto hi jaay, in the playful lilt of Kothe utte aa mahiya, and most poignantly, in the haunting stillness of Chitthi na koi sandesh. That final piece, rendered in memory of loss, seemed to suspend time itself. One could sense a collective girah (knot) tightening in the hearts of listeners, and perhaps in the hearts of performers as well.

For artists, exhilaration is often mistaken for applause, yet applause, however warm, soon fades. The real reward lies in connection, in that unseen rishta (bond) between stage and audience. That bond was unmistakable, felt in the attentive silences, in soft murmurs of appreciation, in eyes that glistened without hesitation. It was the quiet certainty that something genuine had come to life, something that cannot be recreated in quite the same way again.

Behind the scenes, there was a deep sense of inaaayat (gratitude), a rare coming together of skill and sincerity. The vision of Dr. Prabha Srivastava, the finely crafted script by Anupama Mani, the sensitive direction of Gopal Sinha, and the steadfast support of Rajiv Pradhan merged seamlessly into a living, breathing mehfil. And above all, there was the gentle saaya (shade) of Jagjit Singh, his gaayaki (style) with its thehraav (poise) and gudaaz (delicacy) guiding us softly, reminding us to let each emotion find its own unhurried voice.

As the audience slowly dispersed and the lights dimmed, there remained a curious reluctance to let go. Perhaps that is the ultimate testament to the evening. A truly meaningful mehfil does not end when the last note fades. It lingers, it accompanies, it becomes part of one’s inner soundtrack.

In such moments, one is reminded how truly khushnaseeb (fortunate) we are to belong to a tradition where words and music meet to stir the deepest corners of the heart. As if to echo what lingers beyond the last note, one recalls William Shakespeare’s immortal line, “If music be the food of love, play on,” spoken by Duke Orsino in Twelfth Night. And if, for one fleeting evening, we could serve as its vessels, then with humility and wonder one can only say that, while audiences in Lucknow and beyond have always been gracious, this time we were, in truth, blessed by Jagjit Singh.

...

 

Reference:

https://anindecisiveindian.blogspot.com/2026/03/kaghaz-ki-kashti-tribute-to-inimitable.html