Saundh

About The Event

Our musicians

Sitar — Helmed by someone who treats each string like a vein. Their meends don’t accompany the voice — they shadow its longing. Our sitar player is half-musician, half-storyteller, pulling ragas out of silence.

Flute — Appears only when the verse demands air, not ornament. For him it doesn’t lead — it listens. One long note can carry the weight of a misra that never got its qafiya.

Violin — When it sighs, it does so under the fingers of our player who was taught to follow the voice, not chase it, find the ache between the words and let the bow stay there.

Keyboard — The youngest voice in this gathering of elders, yet it enters with tehzeeb. No presets for flash, no pads to fill silence. Just careful voicings that hold the sur, playing harkats on ivory that echo the meend of strings.

Tabla — In the hands of one who believes a theka should breathe, not beat. Trained to listen before striking, they know that in ghazal, the khaali is as powerful as the sam.

Guitar — The newest guest in this old mehfil, yet it arrives barefoot. No frets for show, no chords to impress. Just nylon strings tuned to dard, playing harkats that even the purists won’t object to.

Together, they don’t perform. They converse.

With the singer. With the voice.