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The Hindu
05-05-2025
- Entertainment
- The Hindu
Hindustani vocalist Smita Bellur shares journey of breaking new ground, bridging music genres
It would seem that the more the Hindustani classical-trained vocalist Smita Bellur's career progressed and her repertoire diversified, the narrower the common ground she shared with her contemporaries. The singer, who was in Puducherry recently, spoke about her journey as a vocalist – early Hindustani training, the deep engagement with mysticism, and the convention-defying transition from a classically-trained musician to a sought-after Sufi singer. Of how small acts of rebellion as an aspiring singer and contrarian life choices culminated in her becoming the first accomplished woman singer to be accepted for tutelage by the Warsi Brothers, Qawwali exponents of the Delhi Gharana, whose lineage can be traced back to 13th century poet-singer Amir Khusro. Originally from North Karnataka, but now settled in Mumbai for several years, Smita was here to perform the opening act of Adishakti's 11th Remembering Veenapani Festival, with an evening of Sufi genre in collaboration with SAZ, a trio of Rajasthani folk musicians. And, 'Ilham', the Sufi-SAZ set too was distinct as it is unusual for an ensemble of folk musicians to serve accompaniment to a Sufi singer, though in a sense, it marked a reconnecting between interesecting music traditions. 'It is believed that both Hazrat Amir Khusro and Khwaja Garib Nawaz always used folk music as a route to get into the minds of lay listeners. Folk music was a great way to weave Sufi themes into everyday life situations. The best thing is that they did so not by disrupting the song structure to create anew, but by seamlessly integrating it with the folk culture'. On her transition to a Qawwal, Smita recalls how, at a low point in life, she encountered the rendition of 'Allah Ho Allah' by the Warsi Brothers, who sustain the legacy of the Delhi Gharana — the only institution to acknowledge Qawwali as a legitimate form of music — as descendants of the disciples of Amir Khusro. Their version is not only slow but also references an incident that the Persian poet Rumi has written about... of Moses admonishing a shepherd for the hubris of praying that he would take loving care of God if he ever met him. After the repentant shepherd leaves, Moses hears God's voice explaining how he had given each one a unique way of gaining and expressing knowledge, and that one way of worshipping is not to be rated as being better than the other, she says. The philosophical depth of the Rumi parable and the rendition left a deep imprint in the mind of a software professional caught up in the grind of everyday Bengaluru life. 'I realised that it was extraordinary for someone like me, who had been practising Hindustani music for a while, and used to a bit of spiritual orientation, to be so deeply affected by the music... and resolved that this was a genre I must delve into'. She recalls how much of a rebellious step it was for someone hailing from a Kannadiga Brahmin family, who had spent years of rigorous training in Hindustani classical music, to make a switch to Sufi music tradition. The Hindustani-to-Qawwali choice was regarded just as outrageous as foregoing a well-paying job for the singer who had trained for more than 25 years from gurus such as P.R. Bhagwat, late Pt. Arjunsa Nakod, briefly from late Pt. Rajabhau Sontakke and Shri Bhalachandra Nakod. 'After years of undergoing training in Hindustani classical under various gurus, and in different gharanas such as Kirana, Gwalior and Jaipur, switching to Qawwali was met with disbelief and opposition in the family circle, not to speak of the resistance to the idea of abandoning a lucrative career as an IT professional,' Smita said. Her decision prevailed, and she moved to Mumbai in 2015-16 to explore pathways to becoming a traditional Sufi singer, a step which was 'more a response to an inner calling than a desire for commercial success'. The city, which has attracted generations of aspiring cinema-theatre artistes, singers and dancers, offered a nourishing environment to explore new classical-to-lighter music genres, collaborate with different sets of musicians, and to discover more about her own skills. The immersion for over two decades in khayal has reshaped her performances into a profound experience. It was also a means to access the diverse spiritual poetry of the subcontinent — across the Nirguni, Bhakti, Sufi, Veerashaiva and Haridasa traditions dating back to the 12th century. She has also explored ghazals, some of which engage with Sufi kalams. The Qawwali, she says, is much more than what mainstream understanding makes of it as a performance by a group of people with harmonium, dholak, tabla and rhythmic hand-clapping. Qawwali, as a form of Sufi music, derives from the term 'Qual' or utterance of the prophet. The rendition of a Sufiana kalam, or devout poetry, is a means to connect with the spiritual dimension of existence, she explained. Unlike lighter forms, such as the aashiqana (love of the amorous kind), the Qawwali in its truest essence is about 'ishq haqiqi' or love for the divine, she said. 'The traditional Qawwali presentation in the time of Amir Khusro was not just about singing verse... it would explore a gamut of classical forms such as qaol, qalbana, chota khyal, tarana, naqsh and gul... all those diverse forms would being presented at the sama mehfil in those times,' she said. The Khayali gharana of Delhi is the only lineage to accept Qawwali as a legitimate classical genre. And, this is also why the Delhi Gharana trained Qawwal, is very much competent in forms within the Hindustani classical framework. In the Indian subcontinent, Sufi music arrived and developed against the backdrop of Vedanta tradition, and the Bhakti stream. 'Interestingly, the Sufi music of the subcontinent has been imbued with Vedantic flavour. Over centuries of interaction, the musical expression of devout poetry has created this beautiful syncretic mosaic,' Smita said. Sufism represents a lofty thought, rather than a set of doctrines. In fact, a Tamil composition like 'Kurai ondrum illai' — near synonymous with Carnatic stalwart M.S. Subbulakshmi — or the Kannada vachana 'Naanondu Kanasa Kande' of 12th century mystic Akka Mahadevi, echo Sufi thoughts about unconditional love for the divine, she said. 'This is something unique that needs to be celebrated... my academic pursuit has been to study the interweaving threads of the two religions... and better understand from where what influence was derived,' she added.
Indian Express
02-05-2025
- General
- Indian Express
A ‘paan' for all seasons: Chewing on India's favourite leaf
Paan is an acquired taste. I've seen many foreign visitors to India, enthusiastic about Indian food generally, choke and splutter after biting into one. Paan is a betel leaf wrap containing betel nuts, cardamom, fennel seeds, lime paste, and sometimes tobacco. It's chewed after meals as a digestive and palate cleanser. It is something Ibn Battuta and Amir Khusro wrote paeans to. Even Marco Polo mentioned it after arriving on the Coromandel Coast of southern India in 1292, noting how many locals avoided alcohol but were addicted to chewing tambur, a leaf sometimes mixed with camphor, spices and lime. Battuta documented that palace meals in the Delhi Sultanate always ended with paan, and that the exchange of betel leaf/tambulam finalised pacts between kingdoms. In Kerala, still, dakshina — the honorarium you offer to gurus and elders during occasions — is kept in a betel leaf, along with nutmeg. In Bengal, paan plays a different role. A Bengali bride covers her eyes with betel leaves before she glimpses her groom, arguably, a royal pact of its own. I am going to focus on the Bengali paan. Many upper-class Bengali homes once prepared paan at home before street-side paan stalls became ubiquitous. Making paan was a craft: Paan leaves are typically stored in copper paan daans, or containers that resemble mini trunks but are made of copper. When you open the clasp and lift the top, you see compartments holding different ingredients. Under this is another layer holding washed green paan leaves. To make the paan, each heart-shaped paan leaf is split down the middle and the two halves are placed together. You would usually dip your fingers into a copper urn containing a thick white lime and water solution (choon), with which the top leaf would be coated. The alkaline in this choon is supposed to protect the mouth from the sharp pungency of the paan leaf's juice. Then, a brown liquid made by grinding the resinous substance from a tree – I've forgotten which – mixed with water, goes over the white paste. Finally, chopped supuri/supari (betel nuts), were followed by a few cardamom seeds and sometimes cardamom coated with silver foil. Saunf/fennel seeds and a little spot of keora water completed the paan. This was then rolled into a cone, held together by a clove. The cloves, cardamom, and saunf act as cooling agents after a heavy Bengali meal, and paan is always served after lunch and dinner. But it's not all kosher in Bengali paan. Many chew paan wrapped around perfumed tobacco called jarda. The terrible practice of spitting out paan – usually when wrapped around tobacco – is considered to have started around the 16th century when tobacco was introduced into India by the Portuguese. The name 'betel' was also first used in the 16th century by the Portuguese, and is possibly derived from vetila—the Malay word for leaf. The Malayalam and Tamil names for betel leaf are also similar-sounding, vettila and vettilai, respectively. In Kannada, betel is taamboola, kwa in Manipuri and naagavaela in Marathi. Today, there are 32 varieties of the leaf, cultivated across India and Bangladesh, from Benarasi to Calcutta to Magai. If you want to feel virtuous, according to Ayurveda, paan has medicinal properties and health benefits. Paan leaves are high in carotenes, calcium and Vitamin B3, B2, B1 and C. Paan is often given to new mothers as it is said to stimulate the salivary glands and gastric juices, reducing bloating in the stomach and boosting calcium production. Indian classical singers are known to eat paan to train their voices as it helps with throat infections. For babies with colic, betel leaves coated with castor oil are heated and placed on the baby's stomach to alleviate their pain. In Sushruta Samhita, an Indian text on medicine and surgery dating to the sixth century, it says that meals should be chased with paan. Ancient texts also mention how different parts of the betel leaf represent different Hindu gods: the front is Lakshmi, Shiva around the edges, and Yama – the Lord of death – residing in the stalk, which is to be cut off. I'm not much of a fan of today's paan stall concoctions. If you're not careful, you will find your meetha paan/ sweet paan full of coconut flakes and gulkand, a rose petal jam. Now that no one has the time or interest to make paan for you from a copper box with freshly washed paan leaves from Bengal or Benaras, I would still recommend that you hotfoot it to the neighbourhood paanstall and try a meetha paan and a saada paan. My tip – ask for geeli supari, which are softened betel nuts. Having paan is an experience that everyone should have at least once. Author of The Sweet Kitchen, and chef-owner of Food For Thought Catering ... Read More
The Hindu
25-04-2025
- Entertainment
- The Hindu
Soulful music to connect with the Sufism core
As the torchbearers of the classical Qawwali legacy bequeathed by Amir Khusro, the 13th century Sufi poet-musician, the Warsi Brothers embellished the finale of Adishakti's 11th Remembering Veenapani Festival, with a concert for the ages as they rendered several gems from their repertoire. For close to two hours, the Hyderabad-based duo of Naseer and Nazeer Ahmed Khan Warsi, never looking like they were playing for the first time in these parts. Accompanied by a large ensemble of instrumentalists and backing vocalists, the Qawwals of the Delhi gharana quickly struck a rapport with the audience — each appeared to pick cues of the other, like old friends at a reunion. Mentored in Sufi music by their grandfather, Padma Shri Aziz Ahmad Khan Warsi, these Sangeet Natak Akademi awardees are custodians of the Khayali gharana of Delhi, and sustain an unbroken lineage as descendants of disciples trained by Amir Khusro, mystic poet and founder of traditional Qawwali, inventor of the sitar and creator of the tarana. Divya Bhatia, curator of the Jodhpur RIFF while presenting the brothers, noted that the Delhi gharana, that has curated over centuries a gayaki that blends poetry, music, and mysticism, is the only musical lineage to accept Qawwali (derived from the Qual, or prophet utterance), as a legitimate art form. The duo opened with 'Aley Nabi', a Qawwali-na'at by Amir Khusro, and soon the audience has sprung into the act, synchronising their hand-clapping with the rhythm kept by the accompanists. Whether it was the exhilaratingly-paced 'Meri Piya Ghar Aaya' (a kalam by the Sufi saint Bulleh Shah) or the gently flowing melody of 'Sanson Ki Mala Pe Simron Mein' (On the rosary of breath), the brothers essayed variations of particular phrases, or repeated lines to emphasise the spiritual essence or depth of emotion, ranging from unbridled joy and infinite grace to the sense of fulfilment, in associating with the divine. As the pace of the 'radif' (refrain) of 'Allah Ho Allah Ho' spirals, the senior Warsi, Naseer Ahmed Khan, raises his left index finger and lets out a cry from the depths of his soul, eliciting instant appreciation from the audience. And, lest the melody distract from the import of the lyrics in kalams like 'Yeh jo halka halka suroor hai' (that speaks of intoxication of love and desire, and in the same breath implores forgivance), the senior Warsi, would pause to restate a line, resort to gesticulations and engage in a back-and-forth with the audience, to add emphasis to the lofty idea. The concert also featured infectious Qawwalis such as 'Kaali Kaali Zulfon' and 'Ye Shan Tumhari Hai Aaqa'. As the ensemble of support singers, sometimes interjecting a stream of sargam, added a hymnal aura and depth to the renditions, they were joined by a hundred voices from the crowd who formed a mass choir. One will never figure out how the enthusiasts managed to bend the laws of physics, with an already over-saturated venue turned into a dance floor, as the last couple of rollicking Qawwalis are rolled out. By now, a human wall has entirely blocked the view of the stage. Amid the wild cheers and thundering applause, one barely hears Adishakti's Artistic Director Vinay Kumar offer the customary courtesies, and remarking how the concert perfectly reflected Veenapani Chawla's vision of a vibrant community art space. The finale, in a sense, also closed the loop of the 11th edition of the free-entry festival, that had begun with an evening of Sufi music by the protegee of the Warsi Brothers, Smita Bellur, in collaboration with SAZ, a trio of Rajasthani folk musicians.
Time of India
23-04-2025
- Entertainment
- Time of India
When Bhagyashree called Switzerland a "Mini-Kashmir"
Bollywood veteran Bhagyashree , who stole hearts in the early '90s with her memorable debut in Maine Pyar Kiya , once again captivated fans — not with a role, but with her words — during a soulful visit to Kashmir in late 2023. Speaking to PTI back then, she offered a heartfelt tribute to the region that wasn't just poetic; it became a proud moment for every Indian who holds the beauty of Kashmir close to their heart. While enjoying the pristine landscape a resort in Anantnag, Bhagyashree found herself completely taken in by the valley's untouched charm. She quoted the timeless words of Amir Khusro: 'If there is paradise on Earth, it is this, it is this, it is this' — echoing the sentiment that many have felt but few have voiced so eloquently. Bhagyashree Stuns in Red Gown What made her visit go viral was her passionate comparison between two of the world's most talked-about travel destinations. 'People call Kashmir mini-Switzerland,' she remarked, 'but I feel Switzerland is the mini-Kashmir.' It was more than just a statement — it was a celebration of India's natural grandeur and cultural richness. The actress didn't just stop at appreciating the landscape. She opened up about the emotional impact the valley had on her. 'You feel an inner peace here,' she said, describing the almost spiritual calmness that envelops visitors. She admired the hospitality and warmth of the Kashmiri people, comparing their nature to gur (jaggery) — sweet, genuine, and unforgettable. During her trip, Bhagyashree also indulged in authentic Kashmiri cuisine , which she described as a delightful experience. From Kahwa to Rogan Josh , she praised the region's culinary richness that beautifully complements its scenic beauty. She also acknowledged the evolving perception of Kashmir, emphasizing how safe and welcoming the region had become for tourists, especially solo travelers and women. Her words encouraged many to consider Kashmir as not just a tourist destination but a soulful retreat. However, her visit — filled with admiration and peace — now resonates even more powerfully in the wake of the tragic Pahalgam terror attack in 2025. The contrast between her serene experience and the recent violence is a somber reminder of the fragile peace that defines Kashmir. It underscores the importance of preserving the harmony and natural beauty of a region that continues to enchant and inspire, even in turbulent times. While her trip was part of the promotional run for her film Sajni Shinde Ka Viral Video , co-starring Radhika Madan and Nimrat Kaur, it was her affectionate ode to Kashmir that stole the spotlight.
Indian Express
22-04-2025
- Politics
- Indian Express
Hindi and Urdu, a common tongue
'Language is not religion. Language does not even represent religion. Language belongs to a community,' ruled Justice Sudhanshu Dhulia in a recent landmark Supreme Court judgment. It went on to call Urdu 'the finest specimen of Ganga-Jamuni tehzeeb, or the Hindustani tehzeeb'. One must thank the apex court for reminding us that India has always been a deeply multilingual nation. Each region had a language, each language had its own tradition of oral literature and dialects that fed into the pool. Until the 18th century, Urdu and Hindi were among the various names used for a common spoken tongue in the northern plains, from the borders of Punjab to the principality of Awadh. The name Urdu means an army camp in Turkic. The language initially grew among the residents of an area where Persian-speaking army personnel were stationed as far back as the 14th century. It was created as they interacted with local citizens speaking a mix of north Indian dialects, which Amir Khusro also termed Hindavi. He used it copiously in many of his poems and songs, mixing various dialects spoken in Braj, Awadh, and also the Khadi Boli of what is now western UP. Urdu mutated as it moved from Delhi to Awadh. Among the Urdu cognoscenti, it was a subject of debate whether the standardised form of Urdu was the one spoken in the camp area in Delhi or the Awadh durbar. It was assumed that Hindavi was a common base for both Hindi and Urdu. Controversy first began to crystallise around the script. The four clerics or bhakha munshis appointed by the British were ordered to carve out two languages from spoken Hindustani: Hindi written in the Devanagari (or Nagari for short) script borrowed from Sanskrit and Urdu written in a slightly indigenised version of the Persian script. Interestingly, with literacy levels low in the Hindi belt and more Persian script writers being available courtesy of the Mughal court, by the 1820s, Calcutta, and not Delhi or Awadh, rose to be a major centre for publishing books in both Urdu and Hindi. Two popular newspapers came up under the ownership of not Muslims but Bengali Hindus: Raja Ram Mohan Roy's Persian weekly Mirat-ul-Akhbar, and Harihar Dutta's (originally a publisher of Bengali books) Urdu newspaper, Jam-i-Jahan-Numa. Once cost-effective and portable litho publishing reached Bihar, Agra and Awadh, Urdu publishing began to flourish there as well. Demand for school texts for Anglo-vernacular government schools created a big market for Hindi and Urdu text books by the early 20th century. Hindus being numerically larger and Hindi script being marked out as 'nagari' by the government, the market for Hindi books began to overtake that for Urdu. In 1868, Raja Sivaprasad, a member of the British-fostered educational elite and an inspector of government run Anglo-vernacular schools, was tasked with writing textbooks in Hindi. He earned handsome royalties as also the coveted title of Sitara-e-Hind (The Star of India). With that, a typically Indian politicisation of Hindi-Urdu was spurred. Soon, Sivaprasad attacked Urdu as a 'foreign' language foisted on India and, following him, the Allahabad Institute also made a declaration in favour of Hindi. The battlelines were thus drawn. As the commerce in printing popular tracts on religion, medicine and fiction grew, alongside the demand for school texts, literary patrons, educators, industrialists and Indian publishers all began to take sides. Detractors of Urdu alleged it was throttling the indigenous language or bhakha. This charge is baffling. Bhasha or bhakha has actually been the term for an inclusive melange of dialects spoken in the northern plains, including in Braj, Awadh, Mithila and Bhojpur, in both Hindi and Urdu. This was the common language of the Hindi belt trickling down since the 16th century through bands of pilgrims, fakirs and sadhus reciting orally the exquisite poetry of Tulsidas, Kabir and many others. Like Elizabethan English, this Hindi-Urdu mix has always been more of a liquid bubbling with a certain fury against the system. To call it alien and unworthy of sharing space on government signboards of a municipal council building, like the Akola councillor who filed the petition in the Supreme Court did, defies not only the law of the land but also historical facts about the birth and growth of our very own bhakha Urdu. Make no mistake, the Hindi that the government today wishes to crown as the national language is a vastly associational Sanskrit with many of its caste and gender biases intact. Also, while daggers are out on both sides over the language issue, the young in the Hindi belt are willingly abandoning Hindi en masse for English. Their parents, including the most vociferous supporters of the BJP leadership, and of Hindi, will root for an English-medium education in (relatively expensive) private schools when it comes to their own children. Parents and children are in agreement that superior job opportunities and upward social mobility are accessible only if they master English first. Various filmmakers and musicians from Bollywood are disturbed by the shrinking popularity of their films colonised by English-speaking actors and pop singers of no great talent. If there is any hope for popular Hindi films to regain their lost glory, writers, musicians and film/TV makers and mediapeople must master their Hindi-Urdu once again and translate more and more. As for literary historians, they have remained trapped into writing angry competing historical narratives of Hindi and Urdu for too long. What we now need is a calm, composite, comprehensive history of Indian literature that spans both Hindi and Urdu as people's languages, differing little but in scripts.
