The lights dim. The audience is asked to put on blindfolds. As the first notes fill the room, a voice urges them to clap, get up and dance. Soon, people are swaying, singing, shouting and even crying. Drinks in hand, they shed their inhibitions, liberated by the knowledge that nobody is watching. This is 'Music in the Dark', an immersive experience curated by Anhad, a seven-member collective of visually impaired musicians. Held once a month, it is as much about experiencing music differently as challenging perceptions of disability. For Rajeev, the band's lead vocalist and founder, the experience has a larger purpose. “People often look at us through a lens of sympathy, reducing us to mere objects of pity. We cannot even joke around,” he says.
Rajeev's journey began in Bhagalpur, where his family was uncertain about the future of a visually impaired child. “In villages, people call visually impaired children Surdas,” he says, referring to the blind poet-saint. Such children were often expected to become saints or renunciants. His grandmother, however, insisted that he go to school. His uncle eventually learnt about the National Association for the Blind in Delhi, where Rajeev found his first exposure to performing and a group of young musicians who shared his disability and love for music. Informal jam sessions and school performances gradually evolved into professional gigs. By 2017, the group had christened itself Anhad, meaning limitless.
Today, the collective comprises seven musicians in their twenties: Rajeev (lead vocals), Rajat Panchal (keyboard), Ankit Jha (dholak), Deepak Nagar (tabla), Saurav Vaishnav (drums and music production), Raj Kumar (acoustic guitar) and Manglyam Tomba (bass guitar). Growing up in Bihar, with cultural roots in Uttar Pradesh, Rajeev found his early musical education at home. “In UP, Bihar, there’s a song for every occasion. When I was four years old, my grandma would teach me lots of folk songs,” he recalls.
Delhi introduced him to classical music. He studied at Gandharva Mahavidyalaya and Prayag Sangeet Samiti, and learnt under Ustad Amjad Ali Khan of the Kirana Gharana and Pandit Pradeep Mishra of the Benaras Gharana. The experience eventually brought him back to folk. “Every musician can’t be an Ustad Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan collaborating on Western music with Peter Gabriel,” he says. His focus turned to making traditional music appeal to younger audiences.
“If the youth want to take to drinking, we’ll make sure they drink the expensive stuff,” he says with a chuckle. In 2018-19, when clubs were dominated by Bollywood remixes, Anhad began performing Kabir's verses. The unlikely combination worked, drawing young audiences to poetry that had travelled across centuries. The repertoire soon expanded to Amir Khusro, Mirabai, Bhikhari Thakur, Kazi Nazrul Islam and Rabindranath Tagore, alongside Sufi compositions. Today, it spans Nazrul Geeti, Baul gaan, Bhatiyali, Kajari, Chaiti, Sohar Geet, Dadra, Kafi and Abhang. Pairing traditional compositions with guitars and drums, the band believes folk must evolve to remain relevant.
Anhad has since performed at college festivals and corporate events, with its keyboardist appearing at the G20 in 2023. Yet recognition has not translated into equal pay. While able-bodied musicians could command Rs 40,000 for a gig, Anhad was often offered around Rs 11,000. “After all, our faces are not conventionally attractive or pleasing to look at. One of us may have an eye turned out, another may have a different visible eye condition,” Rajeev says, pointing to the prejudice that shapes opportunities for disabled performers.
He also questions the assumption that hiring disabled artists entails additional costs. “When you invite an artist to perform, there is a protocol to follow, whether the artist is big or small. You arrange a car, someone receives them when they arrive. This is standard practice everywhere. So, what extra do you think disabled artists are asking for?” he asks. At a recent Janmashtami engagement, organisers invoked the familiar argument that “art has no price” before asking him to perform for free. His response was blunt: “Pay my monthly grocery bills and office rent, and I will come and perform for free.”
Rather than abandon music after repeated encounters with discrimination, Rajeev decided to fight back. “I felt that I will have to fight somewhere,” he says. That resolve led to the Anhad Arts Foundation, launched around six months ago to help disabled musicians access professional training and fair livelihood opportunities. With music courses in Delhi costing Rs 6-7 lakh, formal training remains beyond the reach of many.
“Eighty per cent of disabilities have a relation with poverty,” Rajeev says, pointing to the lack of access to training. The foundation's Artist Development Programme will offer free vocal and instrumental coaching, alongside skills in audio production, event management, digital marketing and live sound management, with placement support. “That’s why we thought we would teach for free. We will also provide placement,” he says.
With mentors and brands such as Tata and Yamaha lending support, the foundation has already helped four to five visually impaired artists. For Rajeev, the ambition is to build an ecosystem where disabled musicians are recognised for their talent, paid fairly and equipped to make a living from their craft. Anhad, after all, means limitless.
