Some evenings begin with sound. But Ibtida–Ek Mehfil’s evening of Archival at Gaurang’s Kitchen began with silence, a silence that lingered, expanded, and drew the room closer until Nizami Bandhu took over and the first note of Allah Hu emerged, carrying something both intimate and infinite.
“Our music is deeply rooted in qawwali. On a large stage, you project outward, reaching the last row. But in a baithak, we sit with the audience. Every note, every pause is shared — you see it in their eyes. Not every platform offers this, where artist and listener breathe the same air,” says Sohrab Faridi Nizami.
That closeness shapes not just the sound, but the direction of the evening. Tanvi Singh Bhatia, curator of Ibtida, reflects, “We are perhaps the last generation attuned to this culture of music passed down by our parents. It is our duty to pass it on. We live in an age of the abbreviated. Archival resists that. It creates a space where nothing is rushed or clipped, and audiences remember what it feels like to truly listen. We seek artists comfortable in the unplanned, who read a room rather than perform at it. Nizami Bandhu carries a tradition built for this — never meant for a stadium, but for a gathering, close and interactive.”
Ibdita returns to this format not out of nostalgia, but because it is honest enough to hold what these artists can do. “The stage limits them; the baithak frees them. Ibtida reimagines this, approaching Indian culture with the detail often seen in the West, while staying rooted in authenticity. In many ways, we see ourselves as an export of culture, presenting India in an elevated form,” adds Anubhav Jain, CEO, Ibtida-Ek Mehfil.
The invocation eases into Bhasha ke liye kyu ladte ho, lifting into the playfulness of Aaja Ve Maahi Tera Rasta Udetliya. The tune of Tere Sang Pyaar Nahi Chodhna draws the room in, while Naina Milaike flows into Chaap Tilak, guided not by structure but instinct.
The evening unfolded the baithak but also qissa — the story, which is at the heart of what the Nizami Bandhu are known for. “We don’t choose it in advance; we feel the room. Our family has sung qawwali for over 600 years, and still, every performance teaches us something new,” says Shadab Faridi Nizami.
Shayari moves in and out of the music, deepening it. A line lingers: ‘Chaandni chaand se hoti hai, sitaaron se nahi… mohabbat ek se hoti hai, hazaaron se nahi’. It lands softly, but completely. From Hari Hari Churiyan Gori Gori Baiyan to Main Tenu Samjhawan Ki, from Humko Bhi Murali Waale Ki to Aaj Chaand Nikla, the mehfil moves through devotion, romance, and memory. At one point, a simple line — Mera mehboob sirf mera hai — shifts the room into quiet intimacy.
In Hyderabad, that intimacy comes with recognition. “Hyderabad has always carried Sufi music in its soul — the dargahs, the mehfils, the poetry of the old city. Even today, qawwali continues through the night at shrines. Here, we don’t need to explain what we do. The audience already knows,” says Sohrab.
Echoing this, Tanvi adds, “Hyderabad does not need to be taught the mehfil. This city has tehzeeb in its bones, its relationship with Urdu, music, and gathering runs deep. The inheritance is already here. Our role is simply to create a room worthy of it and let the city remember.”
As the evening deepens, the energy opens outward. Mere Rashke Qamar, Afreen Afreen, Kaali Kaali Zulfein, Kajra Mohabbat Wala — they are not just performed, but echoed back. The line between artist and audience blurs. Then comes the inevitable shift — Kun Faya Kun, Dama Dam Mast Qalandar. The stillness gives way to movement. People rise, clap, sway — the mehfil expanding into something collective.
“For us, devotion and performance are not separate,” reflects Shadab, adding, “Our elders taught us that no one knows everything. Even after centuries, we are still learning. That is what keeps the music honest.”
In a time that demands speed, their music insists on patience. “Today everything is shorter, quicker. But qawwali is a deep river — it needs time. An evening like this gives us that space. Unhurried. Close. We trust that if we stay true, people will feel where it takes them. Some things cannot be shortened,” concludes Sohrab.