Beyond Kāġhaz Kī Kashtī: When Silence Sings Back

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In two earlier blogs (referenced in the end), I had written about the Jagjit Singh show in which I played the narrator. I had mentioned that the evening, held on 5th April in Lucknow, received an exceptionally warm response, but more than that, I carried back a quiet sense of being blessed, as though I had managed to leave a small imprint upon the performing arts canvas.

 

Soon thereafter, we were kindly invited by Mr. Rakesh Rathi, with arrangements facilitated by Mr. Praveen Parwal, both distinguished businessmen of Rajasthan, to stage the show in Jaipur for the vibrant Maheshwari community. The invitation itself felt like an inaayat (grace), but what unfolded there was something deeper, compelling reflection.

 

Yes, the hall was full. Yes, Dr. Prabha sang with her customary poise and nazākat (delicacy). Yes, the saazindas (instrumentalists) were in perfect saaz (harmony). Yes, Gopal Sinha’s direction and lighting, along with Anupama Mani’s compering, added striking rang (colour) to the presentation. Yes, I was told my narration had found distinct asar (impact). (Rajiv Pradhan, the producer, could not join us due to a family engagement). And yes, we received a standing ovation, much like in Lucknow. But was that reason enough to write again? Perhaps not.

 

What made this evening truly different was its wus‘at (expansion). The organisers wished to widen the daaira (scope) of the programme, to include homage to other towering voices. Naturally, the choice fell upon Lata Mangeshkar, Mehdi Hassan, and the recently departed Asha Bhosle.

 

We retained the buniyaad (foundation) of the Jagjit Singh segment, making space by gently setting aside a few pieces, and wove in these new tributes, each bringing its own kaifiyat (mood), its own roohaniyat (spiritual resonance).

 

The evening opened with ‘raheñ na raheñ hum...’ as the curtain rose softly and the melody lingered in the air. As it ended, I stepped onto the stage and began: “Yeh thi hamari aaj ki peshkash ki shuruaat, aur kyon? Hamare mulk ki beshqeemati mausīqī ki duniya mein ek naam hai Asha Bhosle ka…” (This was the beginning of today’s presentation, and why so? In the priceless world of our nation’s music, a name stands out: Asha Bhosle…)

 

There was a stillness, a sukoon (quietude), as the audience absorbed the khirāj-e-‘aqīdat (tribute). It did not feel like an introduction. It felt like a collective sajda (reverence).

 

After a few ghazals of Jagjit Singh, the narrative turned gently towards Lata Mangeshkar and the album Sajda. I spoke of how two rivers of sur (melody) flowed together, āhista (gently), so that even the shā‘ir (poet) might rediscover his own kalām (verse). Her voice, with its pākīzgi (purity), seemed to grant each lafz (word) a rare kind of immortality. The medley that followed, including the evergreen song ‘ek pyaar kā naghma hai...’, was not merely a remembrance, but a mehfil within a mehfil.

 

Then came Mehdi Hassan. I spoke of how alfaaz (words) may belong to the poet, but their rooh (soul) often finds completion in the gayaki (rendering). His voice, with its depth and saans (breath control), carried a khamoshī (silence) that was never empty, always filled with ehsaas (feeling). His ghazals do not overwhelm; they draw you in, quietly, into the tanhaai (solitude) where memory itself seems to breathe. As ‘shama jo jalāī hai meri wafā ne…’ unfolded, one could feel that gentle girah (knot) tightening within.

 

Asha Bhosle’s segment brought with it an entirely different hue. I spoke of her lachak (fluidity), her ability to move across zamāna (eras) and zauq (tastes), touching every dil (heart) with effortless grace. From the tehzeeb (refinement) to the playful energy of her lighter songs, she remains a dastān (story) in herself. Her life, with its uttar-chadhāv (ups and downs), only deepened the quwwat (strength) of her art. The medley that was presented, including ‘in aankhon ki masti...’, was not merely a tribute, it was a jashn (celebration) of a virāsat (legacy).

 

Subsequently, we turned to Lata Mangeshkar once more. I spoke of her versatility, her ability to give voice to jazbāt (emotions) that remain alive across generations. Listening to her often feels like a khamosh guftagu (silent conversation) with oneself. As the medley unfolded, beginning with ‘na jaane kyuuñ hota hai ye zindagi ke saath…’, there was a palpable sense of khud-nigāhī (self-reflection) in the hall.

 

And then, as before, we returned to Jagjit Singh. The evening closed with ‘chitthi na koi sandesh...’ In that lamha (moment), time seemed to pause. The sur hung in the air like an unspoken dua (prayer). One could sense a shared heaviness, a mushtarka (collective) silence where both audience and artists stood on the same emotional zameen (ground).

 

In my earlier writing, I had said we were blessed by Jagjit Singh. But after Jaipur, one wonders if the daaira (circle) of that blessing is wider. When an audience listens with such tawajjoh (attention), when artistes perform with such ikhlās (sincerity), and when the voices of legends continue to breathe through us, can one not then say that we are blessed by an entire riwāyat (tradition)?

 

Perhaps that is what remains. Not applause, not even memory, but a lingering kaifiyat, as though the mehfil has ended, yet its rooh refuses to take leave. It is as if the music has woven itself into the very air, reminding us of the words of Prospero in the Bard’s  The Tempest that "we are such stuff as dreams are made on," and that the souls of these legends continue to sing long after the curtain has fallen.

...

Reference:

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

and

https://anindecisiveindian.blogspot.com/2026/04/blessed-by-jagjit-singh-echo-that-stayed.html

...


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