“Each Kabir poem is like a wake-up call” – Vasu Dixit

His wisdom! Kabir says the most profound things but in a simple manner. He reminds us that the wisdom is within all of us because we come from the same source. The whole point of life is to reconnect with that source. Our mind keeps us disconnected from the deepest parts of ourselves and from each other because we get carried away by the superficial way in which the world functions. Kabir questions things, and he urges us to do the same. Each poem of his is like a wake-up call, or a gentle and loving knock on the head.

The fact that he lived a few centuries ago does not matter. Human nature remains the same. For example, let’s take this doha (couplet) that I really like: Dheere dheere re mana, dheere sab kuchh hoye/ Maali seenche sau ghada, ritu aave phal hoye. Kabir is asking us to let things be. He is talking about the virtue of patience that we keep forgetting. We are always trying to be smarter, bigger, and faster than nature instead of living in harmony with it.

His poetry has many shades to it apart from the devotional aspect. It is philosophical, social, spiritual and political. Kabir knows how to convey a strong message without being hurtful.

What was your thought process behind Electro Kabira, the set that the Vasu Dixit Collective presented at the Mahindra Kabira Festival?

I have been listening to Kabir for a while now but the invitation to perform at the Mahindra Kabira Festival gave me the space and opportunity see how Kabir’s words could be presented in a new way. My approach was to move away from the conventional band sound and give it a more folksy, electronic and acoustic touch. I have been exploring this for a little more than a year now but it has taken its own time to evolve. I am lucky to have collaborators like Manu Shrivastava and Joel Sakkari. Manu is great with arrangements. He plays the synth keyboard and the melodica. Joel plays the synth keyboard, synth bass and guitar. He is a learned production engineer, and he is great with mixing. We enjoy jamming as a collective.

To be honest, I was a bit sceptical about the kind of response we might get because Kabir’s words are still being sung today in traditional formats. I was not sure if people would accept our way of exploring and interpreting Kabir. Bands like Indian Ocean and Kabir Café have found acceptance when they have tried out new things, so that gave us the courage to share our take on Kabir. It was important for us to be sensitive to the words, and not drown them out with the electronic sounds. We had to be conscious about striking a balance so that we would not alienate the audience even as we wanted to give them a taste of something new.

Tell us a bit about the context in which you learnt the Kabir bhajans you sang at the Mahindra Kabira Festival, and what they mean to you personally.

I learnt Sunta Hai Guru Gyani by listening to Kumar Gandharva, by falling in love with how he just becomes the song. It puts me in a difference mind space. I picked up Thaara Rang Mahal Mein from Prahlad Singh Tipanya, Vaari Jaaun Re from Mooralala Marwada and Naiharva from my wife Bindhumalini Narayanaswamy. I heard Shabnam Virmani singing Mann Mast Hua Phir Kya Bole many years ago at an amphitheatre in Bangalore, and I loved it the minute I heard it because of the meaning. What is there to say when your heart is intoxicated with bliss? O Sadho is a compilation of different dohas.

How has Electro Kabira been received by folk musicians who sing Kabir?

When I shared a couple of our songs with a folk singer friend, he was taken aback. Electro Kabira is perhaps too much of a departure from the traditional manner in which Kabir is performed. Whether we have failed or been welcomed with open arms is for the audience to say. I have a lot of gratitude for traditional forms, and I draw inspiration from them. But as a musician, I feel the need to explore and experiment. This means that I have to be true to my journey, and cannot make everyone happy. I hope that the Vasu Dixit Collective can introduce Kabir to new ears. His words can make them look at life from a new perspective.

For me, singing Kabir is not just about singing a set of lyrics. It is a personal encounter. His words have sunk in deep. A few months ago, when I had a ligament tear and a knee surgery, I had to stay home and recover. It was a low period, emotionally speaking. There was a lot of introspection and questioning, so much sadness and sorrow to reflect on. I learnt to meditate and be with myself. I also joined a philosophy course to understand my inner world better. In some ways, Kabir brings all these strands together. The images and metaphors that he uses are so powerful. The body, for example, is compared to a pot that is going to break one day.

How did being in Varanasi add to your appreciation of Kabir?

Knowing that we were at the place where Kabir came from, knowing that the river Ganga and the people living on its banks had inspired his poetry, was very inspiring for us as musicians. I thought about what the place must have meant to Kabir himself. His poems speak a lot about death, and that makes sense because Varanasi is a city that is synonymous with death for many people. My mother passed away last year, and being in Varanasi also helped me let go of some of the things that I had been holding on to. The city teaches you that your life is not permanent, so you have to let some things be and let some things go.

What challenges did you encounter with the language of the poetry?

It was not very easy to understand on my own, so I referred to translations that are available online and in books. It was helpful to know what scholars have written and how poems have been interpreted. But it was equally important to develop my own interpretation.

What are some of the similarities and differences that you notice across Kabir, Basavanna and Purandaradasa – the three saint poets that you sang?

All of them talk about consciousness, the soul, oneness, and being centred. Kabir and Basavanna spoke against the caste system. Basavanna uses a lot of dark humour. Kabir can be direct but gentle. Purandaradasa is purely devotional. Singing their words pushes me to bring their wisdom into my everyday life. Singing them only for applause is not enough. I am glad that the festival gave me a chance to present songs in Hindi as well as Kannada.

How do you distinguish between the work that you do for Swarathma and the Vasu Dixit Collective? Why does it feel important to maintain separate identities?

With Swarathma, we write our own songs. We do not sing the work of saint poets. The Vasu Dixit Collective fulfils my need to break out of the typical band set-up and also immerse in the world of saint poets that I was introduced to way back in my childhood. A visible demarcation between the two bands makes things clear for us and for the listeners.

Tell us about your PaDa project, which focuses on documenting folk music.

The perception that folk music is dying out was worrying for me, so I wanted to document young folk music practitioners from various parts of India. We recorded their songs in their own homes and villages across five states – Karnataka, Tamil Nadu, Sikkim, Manipur and Meghalaya. All five episodes are available on my YouTube channel. Believe India, an online music distribution company, funded it along with Snehadhara Foundation.

The PaDa project gave me a chance to absorb new things, see new places and put the filmmaking skills that I learnt at the National Institute of Design in Ahmedabad to some good use. It gets its name from “Pada”, which means a word, lyric or verse in folk music. The name is also a play on “Pa” and “Da”, which are important notes in Indian classical music. Since we were recording people’s own settings, the sounds of birds and animals beautifully merged with their music. We had to bring the footage to the studio, add some elements, and edit it into episodes. It was an exciting creative process, and also a way of showing my gratitude to folk music because that’s where my inspiration to be a musician comes from.

Folk music cannot be reduced to either art or entertainment. It is a part of everyday life and culture. It is passed from one generation to the next. It gives a sense of belonging. It expresses philosophical truths through story and poetry. It has a simplicity that allows everyone to participate. It makes us open our hearts, and connect with the larger community.

Chintan Girish Modi is a freelance writer, journalist and book reviewer.

What inspires you to sing the poems of Kabir, a man who lived way back in the 15th century? What strikes you when you think about the meaning of his words?

His wisdom! Kabir says the most profound things but in a simple manner. He reminds us that the wisdom is within all of us because we come from the same source. The whole point of life is to reconnect with that source. Our mind keeps us disconnected from the deepest parts of ourselves and from each other because we get carried away by the superficial way in which the world functions. Kabir questions things, and he urges us to do the same. Each poem of his is like a wake-up call, or a gentle and loving knock on the head.

The fact that he lived a few centuries ago does not matter. Human nature remains the same. For example, let’s take this doha (couplet) that I really like: Dheere dheere re mana, dheere sab kuchh hoye/ Maali seenche sau ghada, ritu aave phal hoye. Kabir is asking us to let things be. He is talking about the virtue of patience that we keep forgetting. We are always trying to be smarter, bigger, and faster than nature instead of living in harmony with it.

His poetry has many shades to it apart from the devotional aspect. It is philosophical, social, spiritual and political. Kabir knows how to convey a strong message without being hurtful.

What was your thought process behind Electro Kabira, the set that the Vasu Dixit Collective presented at the Mahindra Kabira Festival?

I have been listening to Kabir for a while now but the invitation to perform at the Mahindra Kabira Festival gave me the space and opportunity see how Kabir’s words could be presented in a new way. My approach was to move away from the conventional band sound and give it a more folksy, electronic and acoustic touch. I have been exploring this for a little more than a year now but it has taken its own time to evolve. I am lucky to have collaborators like Manu Shrivastava and Joel Sakkari. Manu is great with arrangements. He plays the synth keyboard and the melodica. Joel plays the synth keyboard, synth bass and guitar. He is a learned production engineer, and he is great with mixing. We enjoy jamming as a collective.

To be honest, I was a bit sceptical about the kind of response we might get because Kabir’s words are still being sung today in traditional formats. I was not sure if people would accept our way of exploring and interpreting Kabir. Bands like Indian Ocean and Kabir Café have found acceptance when they have tried out new things, so that gave us the courage to share our take on Kabir. It was important for us to be sensitive to the words, and not drown them out with the electronic sounds. We had to be conscious about striking a balance so that we would not alienate the audience even as we wanted to give them a taste of something new.

Tell us a bit about the context in which you learnt the Kabir bhajans you sang at the Mahindra Kabira Festival, and what they mean to you personally.

I learnt Sunta Hai Guru Gyani by listening to Kumar Gandharva, by falling in love with how he just becomes the song. It puts me in a difference mind space. I picked up Thaara Rang Mahal Mein from Prahlad Singh Tipanya, Vaari Jaaun Re from Mooralala Marwada and Naiharva from my wife Bindhumalini Narayanaswamy. I heard Shabnam Virmani singing Mann Mast Hua Phir Kya Bole many years ago at an amphitheatre in Bangalore, and I loved it the minute I heard it because of the meaning. What is there to say when your heart is intoxicated with bliss? O Sadho is a compilation of different dohas.

How has Electro Kabira been received by folk musicians who sing Kabir?

When I shared a couple of our songs with a folk singer friend, he was taken aback. Electro Kabira is perhaps too much of a departure from the traditional manner in which Kabir is performed. Whether we have failed or been welcomed with open arms is for the audience to say. I have a lot of gratitude for traditional forms, and I draw inspiration from them. But as a musician, I feel the need to explore and experiment. This means that I have to be true to my journey, and cannot make everyone happy. I hope that the Vasu Dixit Collective can introduce Kabir to new ears. His words can make them look at life from a new perspective.

For me, singing Kabir is not just about singing a set of lyrics. It is a personal encounter. His words have sunk in deep. A few months ago, when I had a ligament tear and a knee surgery, I had to stay home and recover. It was a low period, emotionally speaking. There was a lot of introspection and questioning, so much sadness and sorrow to reflect on. I learnt to meditate and be with myself. I also joined a philosophy course to understand my inner world better. In some ways, Kabir brings all these strands together. The images and metaphors that he uses are so powerful. The body, for example, is compared to a pot that is going to break one day.

How did being in Varanasi add to your appreciation of Kabir?

Knowing that we were at the place where Kabir came from, knowing that the river Ganga and the people living on its banks had inspired his poetry, was very inspiring for us as musicians. I thought about what the place must have meant to Kabir himself. His poems speak a lot about death, and that makes sense because Varanasi is a city that is synonymous with death for many people. My mother passed away last year, and being in Varanasi also helped me let go of some of the things that I had been holding on to. The city teaches you that your life is not permanent, so you have to let some things be and let some things go.

What challenges did you encounter with the language of the poetry?

It was not very easy to understand on my own, so I referred to translations that are available online and in books. It was helpful to know what scholars have written and how poems have been interpreted. But it was equally important to develop my own interpretation.

What are some of the similarities and differences that you notice across Kabir, Basavanna and Purandaradasa – the three saint poets that you sang?

All of them talk about consciousness, the soul, oneness, and being centred. Kabir and Basavanna spoke against the caste system. Basavanna uses a lot of dark humour. Kabir can be direct but gentle. Purandaradasa is purely devotional. Singing their words pushes me to bring their wisdom into my everyday life. Singing them only for applause is not enough. I am glad that the festival gave me a chance to present songs in Hindi as well as Kannada.

How do you distinguish between the work that you do for Swarathma and the Vasu Dixit Collective? Why does it feel important to maintain separate identities?

With Swarathma, we write our own songs. We do not sing the work of saint poets. The Vasu Dixit Collective fulfils my need to break out of the typical band set-up and also immerse in the world of saint poets that I was introduced to way back in my childhood. A visible demarcation between the two bands makes things clear for us and for the listeners.

Tell us about your PaDa project, which focuses on documenting folk music.

The perception that folk music is dying out was worrying for me, so I wanted to document young folk music practitioners from various parts of India. We recorded their songs in their own homes and villages across five states – Karnataka, Tamil Nadu, Sikkim, Manipur and Meghalaya. All five episodes are available on my YouTube channel. Believe India, an online music distribution company, funded it along with Snehadhara Foundation.

The PaDa project gave me a chance to absorb new things, see new places and put the filmmaking skills that I learnt at the National Institute of Design in Ahmedabad to some good use. It gets its name from “Pada”, which means a word, lyric or verse in folk music. The name is also a play on “Pa” and “Da”, which are important notes in Indian classical music. Since we were recording people’s own settings, the sounds of birds and animals beautifully merged with their music. We had to bring the footage to the studio, add some elements, and edit it into episodes. It was an exciting creative process, and also a way of showing my gratitude to folk music because that’s where my inspiration to be a musician comes from.

Folk music cannot be reduced to either art or entertainment. It is a part of everyday life and culture. It is passed from one generation to the next. It gives a sense of belonging. It expresses philosophical truths through story and poetry. It has a simplicity that allows everyone to participate. It makes us open our hearts, and connect with the larger community.

Chintan Girish Modi is a freelance writer, journalist and book reviewer.