There is something deeply haunting about the music of the gaanewalis — voices that carried longing, rebellion, devotion, and heartbreak through forms like thumri, dadra, ghazal, and hori, while history refused to acknowledge the women behind them as artists. With O Gaanewali, vocalist, curator, and writer Avanti Patel, attempts to reclaim those voices through a performance as emotionally stirring as it is historically layered. Coming to Windmills Craftworks on May 29 and 30, the production, directed by Mallika Singh and Meghana AT, blends live music, storytelling, and theatre to revisit legends like Gauhar Jaan, Begum Akhtar, and Shobha Gurtu. Ahead of the Hyderabad shows, Avanti speaks to CE about reclaiming forgotten histories and why these stories still urgently need to be told.
“O Gaanewali wasn’t inspired as much by a moment than it was by years of learning and performing as a woman in the music space — be it as a student or a professional,” she begins. Having studied thumri, dadra, and ghazal since her teenage years, she found herself increasingly drawn to the artists who performed these forms and the layered histories surrounding them. She adds, “It was only after I started studying sociology and anthropology during my Bachelor’s degree that I began to develop a more critical lens to look at my own taaleem, the politics that exists within the practice of Hindustani Classical Music, and the stigma attached to women who are performers.”
Avanti wanted the show to resonate equally with connoisseurs of semi-classical music and younger audiences hearing terms like tawaif for the very first time. She expresses, “I had to be careful about not compromising on the musicality and musical complexity of the show, while finding a way to draw in people who may be hearing the word tawaif for the first time.” One of the most fascinating aspects of O Gaanewali is that no two performances are ever exactly the same. “I have a huge bank of stories and anecdotes,” she says with a laugh, “I keep changing these up depending on the city we’re performing in, or the audience demographic.”
When asked about the most misunderstood aspect of the gaanewali tradition, Avanti answers with a mix of frustration and humour. “The one that has done us the most harm is creating a singular identity to define who a tawaif should be, recognising the gaanewalis by their sexuality, and not by their artistic abilities,” she notes.
As both curator and writer — in addition to being a performer — Avanti says the process demands constant shifts in perspective, with historical accuracy remaining non-negotiable. “I don’t include anything in the show without verifying and cross checking its historical accuracy, source and authenticity. The music which has been created and performed by the gaanewalis has done 90 percent of the work for us,” she states.
Ironically, the biggest challenge was ensuring the spoken portions could emotionally stand beside the music itself. “The fun part was convincing and training a bunch of introverted musicians to speak loudly and address a crowd without their instruments,” she adds.
Even though the show deals with difficult themes — erasure, prejudice, gendered stigma, and artistic invisibility — Avanti hopes audiences leave feeling moved rather than burdened. “There’s usually tears during the music, and laughter during the rest of the show,” she shares.
The most surprising discovery has been the response from younger audiences. “Many of them don’t know much about the music, but that’s the best part! O Gaanewali gets to be the reason they have an Iqbal Bano’s song on their playlist. Effective storytelling and beautiful music have the power to attract anyone — age agnostic. I feel a lot of hope,” she concludes.