Report: The Mahindra Kabira Festival

Poets are given to fawning, you might think, and dismiss their ecstatic utterances. But each of Ghalib’s words is true to the core. I too am lovestruck, and lovers are allowed to wax eloquent about their beloved. I jump at every opportunity to visit Varanasi. I would be foolish not to. When the itinerary for the seventh edition of the Mahindra Kabira Festival was announced, I promptly begged my editor to let me go. “Go ahead,” she said “Bulaava aaya hai (You have been called).”

The festival, held from 15 to 17 December 2023, put together by the Mahindra Group and Teamwork Arts, unfolded over three magical evenings and two eventful days soaked with poetry, music, art, food, walks and conversation. I haven’t yet recovered. Perhaps I choose not to. Mornings and afternoons were spent at Guleria Ghat with the action shifting to Shivala Ghat in the evening. Though the schedule was packed, it did not feel hectic. Perhaps it was the calming effect of the Ganga. Huge gatherings tend to overstimulate but I felt at ease in Varanasi because the words and philosophy of Kabir kept me company. Though the man lived in the 15th century, he is certainly a living presence to many, including myself. As Vipul Rikhi notes in Drunk on Love: The Life, Vision and Songs of Kabir, “Kabir is a name that throbs powerfully through the very veins of India. Almost everyone has at least heard of him, if not actually heard his poetry, especially in north, west and central India.”

The traditional Ganga aarti on the evening of December 15 made for a befitting start to the programme. You do not have to be religious, Hindu, or of a spiritual bent of mind to feel a connection with the river and when it speaks to you, it is stupid not to listen. It has been flowing for centuries, providing nourishment and solace, witnessing the rise and fall of governments and empires, and inspiring poets through Time.

Ridhima Gupta and Sveta Hattangdi Kilpadi ushered in a mahaul of stillness with their melodious singing and heartfelt commentary, urging festival delegates to make the best of their time at the festival in keeping with Kabir’s advice to slow down and go within. While that made perfect sense, most of us have become so habituated to photographing every special occasion that it was hard to put smartphones away and just live in the moment.

The programme for the next day opened with Sandeep Singh, who plays the peacock-shaped taus, also known as the mayuri veena. A man of few words who prefers to let his music do all the talking, he was ably supported by Avirbhav Verma on the tabla. The gentle and stirring notes put me in a contemplative mood; I felt like a boat being carried by the river.

Hindustani classical vocalist Bhuvanesh Komkali paid a musical tribute to his grandfather, the legendary Kumar Gandharva, who introduced several generations of urban Indians to Kabir and other poets of the Nirgun tradition. I could not hold back my tears when he began singing Main Jaagun Mhaara Satguru Jaage Alam Saari Sove, a song about waking up, leaving one’s comfort zone, and allowing oneself to be led by the guru. Kumar Gandharva would have been proud. The theme of awakening came up again in the Gorakhnath bhajan, Shunya Gadh Shahar. Here, Gorakhnath asks, “Kaun soota, kaun jaage hai?” (Who is asleep? Who is awake?) The words are packed with yogic imagery that is hard to decipher without being initiated into the Nath yogi tradition. The body and mind, for instance, are compared to a mortar and pestle, and the yogi is described as a person who grinds wisdom using these two instruments. I stayed with the feeling the words and music evoked instead of getting caught up with extracting meaning.

The highlight of that day was listening to American scholar Linda Hess, who has translated the Bijak of Kabir with Shukdev Singh, and written about communities of folk singers in Madhya Pradesh, who have kept the poetry of Kabir alive in the oral tradition. Moderator Sanjoy K Roy got Hess to talk about her academic research, her experience of living in Varanasi as a young student several decades ago, and her views on how the city has changed. Hess has deep regard for Kabir as a poet and a mystic but does not put him on a pedestal. She allows herself the freedom to think on her own when she engages with his words, and there is room in their relationship for her to question him and even disagree with him. Umesh Kabir, a theology professor, who lives at the city’s Kabir Chaura Math, joined the conversation and spoke about living in accordance with Kabir’s philosophy instead of turning him into yet another icon to be venerated from a distance.

In the evening, festival delegates were treated to renditions of Kabir in two distinct and powerful styles – Ashwini Bhide Deshpande, an accomplished voice in Hindustani classical music, and Anwar Khan Manganiyar, who represents the finest in Rajasthani folk music. Main kehi samjhaoon, sung by the former, has stayed with me as it is about the frustration of a mystic whose heart goes out to those who are suffering due to their sheer ignorance. The latter won me over with his rendition of Andar mandir, andar masjid, a song about purifying one’s own heart and finding the place of worship within oneself.

On December 17, I listened to Hindustani classical singer Purnesh Bhagwat, and a flute and percussion duet by Kartikeya and Makrand, alongside some people-watching on the ghats. Next, I set out for the Kabir Chaura Math, believed to be the place where Kabir lived and meditated. The route demanded that I break out of the festival bubble, walk without a map, talk to locals, and take in the city with all that it had to offer. Imagine a montage of temples, chaat stalls, funeral pyres, sweet shops, and cows in narrow bylanes. Add to that the voices of pilgrims, mourners, pandits and tourists. And, of course, the smells of food and burning flesh. I wonder if things were different when Kabir lived in the city.

Walking past Manikarnika Ghat, where dead bodies are cremated, I thought of Radhika Iyengar’s book, Fire on the Ganges: Life among the Dead in Banaras – an excellent introduction to the Dom community, that takes care of last rites. As I watched people carrying corpses and selling wood, I thought about how different their world is and wondered what Kabir meant to the Doms, and what music they listened to.

The Kabir Chaura Math continues to be an oasis. The walls here bear couplets composed by Kabir and paintings of scenes from his life. The silence is a welcome break from the lively banter of the ghats and I sat there in solitude watching the workings of my mind.

That evening was devoted to Vasu Dixit, Manu Shrivastava and Joel Sakkari of the Vasu Dixit Collective. Their set, Electro Kabira, was a stark departure from the folk and classical ways of rendering Kabir. Playful, energetic and a bit irreverent, it would have probably appealed to the saint, who often challenged conventions.

It was also interesting to watch artist Paresh Maity at work as he began painting a large canvas on the first evening and completed it on the last. Titled The Eternal Journey, the black and white work focussed on boats – boats that were still and boats that were in motion; boats that were closer to land and boats that were far away. I was struck by the minimalism and serenity of the image.

The festival concluded with a scintillating performance by Indian Ocean, a band known for seeking inspiration from folk music and giving it a contemporary twist. Since the audience had one farmaish after another, they performed not only Kabir but many popular numbers including Jhini, Tu Kisi Rail Si Guzarti Hai, Are Ruk Ja Re Bande and Ma Rewa.

As always, I left Varanasi feeling uplifted and fulfilled. God has indeed kept Banaras from the evil eye.

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

Have you ever fallen so deeply in love with a place that you’ve wanted to protect it with all your might? Poet Mirza Ghalib felt this way about Banaras, the city also known as Varanasi and Kashi. In his Persian masnavi Chiragh-e-Dair, he wrote: “ta’ālallah banāras chashm-e-bad dūr/bahisht-e-khurram-o-firdaus-e-ma’mūr”. Maaz bin Bilal’s Temple Lamp: Verses on Banaras, a recent English translation, presents this as: “May God keep Banaras/ from the evil eye, / it is heavenly bliss, paradise established”.

Poets are given to fawning, you might think, and dismiss their ecstatic utterances. But each of Ghalib’s words is true to the core. I too am lovestruck, and lovers are allowed to wax eloquent about their beloved. I jump at every opportunity to visit Varanasi. I would be foolish not to. When the itinerary for the seventh edition of the Mahindra Kabira Festival was announced, I promptly begged my editor to let me go. “Go ahead,” she said “Bulaava aaya hai (You have been called).”

The festival, held from 15 to 17 December 2023, put together by the Mahindra Group and Teamwork Arts, unfolded over three magical evenings and two eventful days soaked with poetry, music, art, food, walks and conversation. I haven’t yet recovered. Perhaps I choose not to. Mornings and afternoons were spent at Guleria Ghat with the action shifting to Shivala Ghat in the evening. Though the schedule was packed, it did not feel hectic. Perhaps it was the calming effect of the Ganga. Huge gatherings tend to overstimulate but I felt at ease in Varanasi because the words and philosophy of Kabir kept me company. Though the man lived in the 15th century, he is certainly a living presence to many, including myself. As Vipul Rikhi notes in Drunk on Love: The Life, Vision and Songs of Kabir, “Kabir is a name that throbs powerfully through the very veins of India. Almost everyone has at least heard of him, if not actually heard his poetry, especially in north, west and central India.”

The traditional Ganga aarti on the evening of December 15 made for a befitting start to the programme. You do not have to be religious, Hindu, or of a spiritual bent of mind to feel a connection with the river and when it speaks to you, it is stupid not to listen. It has been flowing for centuries, providing nourishment and solace, witnessing the rise and fall of governments and empires, and inspiring poets through Time.

Ridhima Gupta and Sveta Hattangdi Kilpadi ushered in a mahaul of stillness with their melodious singing and heartfelt commentary, urging festival delegates to make the best of their time at the festival in keeping with Kabir’s advice to slow down and go within. While that made perfect sense, most of us have become so habituated to photographing every special occasion that it was hard to put smartphones away and just live in the moment.

The programme for the next day opened with Sandeep Singh, who plays the peacock-shaped taus, also known as the mayuri veena. A man of few words who prefers to let his music do all the talking, he was ably supported by Avirbhav Verma on the tabla. The gentle and stirring notes put me in a contemplative mood; I felt like a boat being carried by the river.

Hindustani classical vocalist Bhuvanesh Komkali paid a musical tribute to his grandfather, the legendary Kumar Gandharva, who introduced several generations of urban Indians to Kabir and other poets of the Nirgun tradition. I could not hold back my tears when he began singing Main Jaagun Mhaara Satguru Jaage Alam Saari Sove, a song about waking up, leaving one’s comfort zone, and allowing oneself to be led by the guru. Kumar Gandharva would have been proud. The theme of awakening came up again in the Gorakhnath bhajan, Shunya Gadh Shahar. Here, Gorakhnath asks, “Kaun soota, kaun jaage hai?” (Who is asleep? Who is awake?) The words are packed with yogic imagery that is hard to decipher without being initiated into the Nath yogi tradition. The body and mind, for instance, are compared to a mortar and pestle, and the yogi is described as a person who grinds wisdom using these two instruments. I stayed with the feeling the words and music evoked instead of getting caught up with extracting meaning.

The highlight of that day was listening to American scholar Linda Hess, who has translated the Bijak of Kabir with Shukdev Singh, and written about communities of folk singers in Madhya Pradesh, who have kept the poetry of Kabir alive in the oral tradition. Moderator Sanjoy K Roy got Hess to talk about her academic research, her experience of living in Varanasi as a young student several decades ago, and her views on how the city has changed. Hess has deep regard for Kabir as a poet and a mystic but does not put him on a pedestal. She allows herself the freedom to think on her own when she engages with his words, and there is room in their relationship for her to question him and even disagree with him. Umesh Kabir, a theology professor, who lives at the city’s Kabir Chaura Math, joined the conversation and spoke about living in accordance with Kabir’s philosophy instead of turning him into yet another icon to be venerated from a distance.

In the evening, festival delegates were treated to renditions of Kabir in two distinct and powerful styles – Ashwini Bhide Deshpande, an accomplished voice in Hindustani classical music, and Anwar Khan Manganiyar, who represents the finest in Rajasthani folk music. Main kehi samjhaoon, sung by the former, has stayed with me as it is about the frustration of a mystic whose heart goes out to those who are suffering due to their sheer ignorance. The latter won me over with his rendition of Andar mandir, andar masjid, a song about purifying one’s own heart and finding the place of worship within oneself.

On December 17, I listened to Hindustani classical singer Purnesh Bhagwat, and a flute and percussion duet by Kartikeya and Makrand, alongside some people-watching on the ghats. Next, I set out for the Kabir Chaura Math, believed to be the place where Kabir lived and meditated. The route demanded that I break out of the festival bubble, walk without a map, talk to locals, and take in the city with all that it had to offer. Imagine a montage of temples, chaat stalls, funeral pyres, sweet shops, and cows in narrow bylanes. Add to that the voices of pilgrims, mourners, pandits and tourists. And, of course, the smells of food and burning flesh. I wonder if things were different when Kabir lived in the city.

Walking past Manikarnika Ghat, where dead bodies are cremated, I thought of Radhika Iyengar’s book, Fire on the Ganges: Life among the Dead in Banaras – an excellent introduction to the Dom community, that takes care of last rites. As I watched people carrying corpses and selling wood, I thought about how different their world is and wondered what Kabir meant to the Doms, and what music they listened to.

The Kabir Chaura Math continues to be an oasis. The walls here bear couplets composed by Kabir and paintings of scenes from his life. The silence is a welcome break from the lively banter of the ghats and I sat there in solitude watching the workings of my mind.

That evening was devoted to Vasu Dixit, Manu Shrivastava and Joel Sakkari of the Vasu Dixit Collective. Their set, Electro Kabira, was a stark departure from the folk and classical ways of rendering Kabir. Playful, energetic and a bit irreverent, it would have probably appealed to the saint, who often challenged conventions.

It was also interesting to watch artist Paresh Maity at work as he began painting a large canvas on the first evening and completed it on the last. Titled The Eternal Journey, the black and white work focussed on boats – boats that were still and boats that were in motion; boats that were closer to land and boats that were far away. I was struck by the minimalism and serenity of the image.

The festival concluded with a scintillating performance by Indian Ocean, a band known for seeking inspiration from folk music and giving it a contemporary twist. Since the audience had one farmaish after another, they performed not only Kabir but many popular numbers including Jhini, Tu Kisi Rail Si Guzarti Hai, Are Ruk Ja Re Bande and Ma Rewa.

As always, I left Varanasi feeling uplifted and fulfilled. God has indeed kept Banaras from the evil eye.

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