Barnali Chattopadhyay: “When I sing Sufiana kalaam, I forget my gender”
The Hindustani classical exponent on singing the poetry of Amir Khusrau and singing playback for Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Heeramandi
From your vast repertoire, why did you choose to sing the poems of Amir Khusrau during your concert at the Rajasthan International Folk Festival (RIFF) in Jodhpur?
I am in love with Mehrangarh Fort, especially the Zenana Courtyard where the evening programmes of Jodhpur RIFF are hosted. The last time when I performed on this stage, I focused on thumri — a part of my musical repertoire that is really special to me because I learnt from Girija Deviji and Shobha Gurtuji, who were the queens of thumri.
The ambience of this performance space helps me connect with God, so I thought that there could be nothing better than to present the Sufi poetry of Amir Khusrau, who is much loved and respected for the greatness of his devotion to his master Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya.
What drew you to the poetry of Amir Khusrau?
When I read his poetry, the first thing that struck me was his tremendous love for his guru. He went to such great lengths to serve his teacher. He left no stone unturned. I was deeply moved by that. In the poems that he addressed to Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya, I can feel not only the passion of Amir Khusrau’s bhakti (devotion) but also a heightened sense of shringaar (adornment and beauty) and the pain of viraha (separation and longing). All these qualities, which are present in abundance in his writing, attracted me to his poetry. I am a very spiritual person myself, so I can connect with his words from the depth of my soul. I feel blessed to be able to sing his verses, and share their richness with people who come to listen.
How did you prepare yourself?
I like to research before I sing because every song has a profound meaning and significance. I need to immerse myself so that I can present it with the right mood and flavour. Without this kind of preparation, the song does not become part of you. You have to feel it, live it, embody it, and then share it. This does not happen overnight. It takes effort.
Lovers of Khusrau’s poetry often pay their respects at the dargah in Delhi where he lies buried close to Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya. Is this something you like to do as well?
Yes, of course! It is a special place that cannot be described in words. You have to just go there, and feel the presence and the vibrations. Apart from visiting the dargah, I have also been going to Delhi to sing at the Jahan-e-Khusrau World Sufi Music Festival, which is organized by Muzaffar Ali who has done a lot of work to promote Sufi music in our country.
Growing up in a Bengali family, how did you learn to appreciate Khusrau whose poetry is a blend of Farsi, Hindavi, Urdu, Brajbhasha, Awadhi, and other languages?
You are right. I was raised in a family that mainly spoke Bengali. But my maternal grandfather was a zamindar. He was very interested in music, so he used to invite and host a lot of musicians from Lucknow quite regularly. The respect that he, as a patron, gave these artists influenced me right from the time that I was a child. I started learning very early, at the age of three, and I grew interested in the sounds of Awadhi, Farsi, Urdu and other languages.
Which Bengali poets address themes similar to what one finds in Khusrau’s poetry?
I would say Rabindranath Tagore and Lalon Fakir. Their poetry is deeply spiritual.
Shemeem Burney Abbas, who has written a book called The Female Voice in Sufi Ritual: Devotional Practices of Pakistan and India, talks about how “male singers assume the female voice” when they sing Sufiana kalaam. What are your thoughts on this?
All I can say is that, when I sing Sufiana kalaam, I forget my gender. I sing from my soul, from a space where labels and classifications cease to matter. The power of this poetry lies in pushing us to think about the question “Who am I?” in a much more meaningful way.
Do you feel concerned about the dilution of Sufi music, thanks to Bollywood?
Yes, singing in a loud and powerful voice does not make a song Sufi. There is something sacred about Sufiana kalam. You have to internalize it. You cannot pretend. Let us talk about Abida Parveen for a moment. She is so intense but there is not even the slightest hint of showing off. You have to quieten down and listen first, then sing. That’s how it works.
Would it be accurate to say that you see music as your sadhana (spiritual practice)?
Absolutely! My musical training has been a tapasya. I have learnt not only from Girija Deviji and Shobha Gurtuji but also from Haider Bakshji, Purnima Chaudhariji and Kumar Prasadji. My music is what it is because of my gurus, their grace and their kindness.
Could you share anecdotes from the time you spent with Girija Deviji in Banaras?
When you learn in the guru-shishya parampara (tradition), your learning is not restricted to music. You learn lihaaz (deference) and tehzeeb (etiquette). You learn how to sit, stand, walk, eat and speak. She taught us to have a bath using a single bucket of water. To avoid any waste was an important lesson that I learnt from her. We ate what was given to us by the guru. We did not ask for more. We learnt to control our greed. This kind of discipline prepares you to understand what Khusrau Sahab means when he sings about his guru.
And what was it like to be Shobha Gurtuji’s student?
She was very strict and very affectionate. She knew how to strike a balance.
Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Netflix show Heeramandi: The Diamond Bazaar (2024) received mixed reviews but your playback singing for Aditi Rao Hydari was appreciated by everyone. How was the experience of singing Phool gendwa na maaro and O Saiyan hato jaao for an OTT platform, as compared to performing for a live audience?
Working with Sanjayji was a brilliant experience. I am grateful that my work has been appreciated by people of all age groups. I will not deny that there is a difference between recording in a studio and performing in front of a live audience. On the stage, you can sing more freely. You can explore a raag for a longer duration. That is not possible when you are singing for a show. You are bound by time constraints. The medium is different. I am open to both kinds of opportunities, and to all the love that my listeners shower on me.
Chintan Girish Modi is a Mumbai-based journalist who writes about books, art and culture. He can be reached @chintanwriting on Instagram and X.
From your vast repertoire, why did you choose to sing the poems of Amir Khusrau during your concert at the Rajasthan International Folk Festival (RIFF) in Jodhpur?
I am in love with Mehrangarh Fort, especially the Zenana Courtyard where the evening programmes of Jodhpur RIFF are hosted. The last time when I performed on this stage, I focused on thumri — a part of my musical repertoire that is really special to me because I learnt from Girija Deviji and Shobha Gurtuji, who were the queens of thumri.
The ambience of this performance space helps me connect with God, so I thought that there could be nothing better than to present the Sufi poetry of Amir Khusrau, who is much loved and respected for the greatness of his devotion to his master Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya.
What drew you to the poetry of Amir Khusrau?
When I read his poetry, the first thing that struck me was his tremendous love for his guru. He went to such great lengths to serve his teacher. He left no stone unturned. I was deeply moved by that. In the poems that he addressed to Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya, I can feel not only the passion of Amir Khusrau’s bhakti (devotion) but also a heightened sense of shringaar (adornment and beauty) and the pain of viraha (separation and longing). All these qualities, which are present in abundance in his writing, attracted me to his poetry. I am a very spiritual person myself, so I can connect with his words from the depth of my soul. I feel blessed to be able to sing his verses, and share their richness with people who come to listen.
How did you prepare yourself?
I like to research before I sing because every song has a profound meaning and significance. I need to immerse myself so that I can present it with the right mood and flavour. Without this kind of preparation, the song does not become part of you. You have to feel it, live it, embody it, and then share it. This does not happen overnight. It takes effort.
Lovers of Khusrau’s poetry often pay their respects at the dargah in Delhi where he lies buried close to Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya. Is this something you like to do as well?
Yes, of course! It is a special place that cannot be described in words. You have to just go there, and feel the presence and the vibrations. Apart from visiting the dargah, I have also been going to Delhi to sing at the Jahan-e-Khusrau World Sufi Music Festival, which is organized by Muzaffar Ali who has done a lot of work to promote Sufi music in our country.
Growing up in a Bengali family, how did you learn to appreciate Khusrau whose poetry is a blend of Farsi, Hindavi, Urdu, Brajbhasha, Awadhi, and other languages?
You are right. I was raised in a family that mainly spoke Bengali. But my maternal grandfather was a zamindar. He was very interested in music, so he used to invite and host a lot of musicians from Lucknow quite regularly. The respect that he, as a patron, gave these artists influenced me right from the time that I was a child. I started learning very early, at the age of three, and I grew interested in the sounds of Awadhi, Farsi, Urdu and other languages.
Which Bengali poets address themes similar to what one finds in Khusrau’s poetry?
I would say Rabindranath Tagore and Lalon Fakir. Their poetry is deeply spiritual.
Shemeem Burney Abbas, who has written a book called The Female Voice in Sufi Ritual: Devotional Practices of Pakistan and India, talks about how “male singers assume the female voice” when they sing Sufiana kalaam. What are your thoughts on this?
All I can say is that, when I sing Sufiana kalaam, I forget my gender. I sing from my soul, from a space where labels and classifications cease to matter. The power of this poetry lies in pushing us to think about the question “Who am I?” in a much more meaningful way.
Do you feel concerned about the dilution of Sufi music, thanks to Bollywood?
Yes, singing in a loud and powerful voice does not make a song Sufi. There is something sacred about Sufiana kalam. You have to internalize it. You cannot pretend. Let us talk about Abida Parveen for a moment. She is so intense but there is not even the slightest hint of showing off. You have to quieten down and listen first, then sing. That’s how it works.
Would it be accurate to say that you see music as your sadhana (spiritual practice)?
Absolutely! My musical training has been a tapasya. I have learnt not only from Girija Deviji and Shobha Gurtuji but also from Haider Bakshji, Purnima Chaudhariji and Kumar Prasadji. My music is what it is because of my gurus, their grace and their kindness.
Could you share anecdotes from the time you spent with Girija Deviji in Banaras?
When you learn in the guru-shishya parampara (tradition), your learning is not restricted to music. You learn lihaaz (deference) and tehzeeb (etiquette). You learn how to sit, stand, walk, eat and speak. She taught us to have a bath using a single bucket of water. To avoid any waste was an important lesson that I learnt from her. We ate what was given to us by the guru. We did not ask for more. We learnt to control our greed. This kind of discipline prepares you to understand what Khusrau Sahab means when he sings about his guru.
And what was it like to be Shobha Gurtuji’s student?
She was very strict and very affectionate. She knew how to strike a balance.
Sanjay Leela Bhansali’s Netflix show Heeramandi: The Diamond Bazaar (2024) received mixed reviews but your playback singing for Aditi Rao Hydari was appreciated by everyone. How was the experience of singing Phool gendwa na maaro and O Saiyan hato jaao for an OTT platform, as compared to performing for a live audience?
Working with Sanjayji was a brilliant experience. I am grateful that my work has been appreciated by people of all age groups. I will not deny that there is a difference between recording in a studio and performing in front of a live audience. On the stage, you can sing more freely. You can explore a raag for a longer duration. That is not possible when you are singing for a show. You are bound by time constraints. The medium is different. I am open to both kinds of opportunities, and to all the love that my listeners shower on me.
Chintan Girish Modi is a Mumbai-based journalist who writes about books, art and culture. He can be reached @chintanwriting on Instagram and X.
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