Latest news with #JagjitSingh
Hindustan Times
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- Hindustan Times
Singer Papon on love for ghazal: Students ask me to sing ghazals at concerts
Besides soulful film and non-film tracks, a genre of music that's extremely close to singer Papon's heart is ghazal. An integral part of all his concert setlists, the musician admits that a large section of the audience that requests him to sing ghazal at gigs are college students. 'After Jagjit Singh (late singer), no one has created fresh sound for ghazal; what we hear today are mostly classics. I'm trying to change that and the response has been encouraging. Nowadays, college students and young audiences request me to sing ghazal at my concerts, which proves that Indians still have a deep-rooted love for the art form. We must revive it,' says the singer, who is set to release two ghazal albums. Speaking about the albums he's working on, the Moh Moh Ke Dhagey (Dum Laga Ke Haisha, 2015) singer adds, 'I'm just giving the final touches to the album before jetting off for my international (US) tour. I will release them as soon as I am back.' Lamenting the 'shortage of good ghazal writing today', which had been mastered by poets such as Nida Fazli, Qateel Shifai and Bashir Badr, the 49-year-old shares, 'Ghazal writing is an art, and just knowing Hindi and Urdu isn't enough. While some still write ghazal, the numbers are few.' However, he is hoping to revive the music form. 'Film music overshadows the genre, but with the internet, non-film music can thrive again. The void left by Jagjit Singh and Pankaj Udhas is vast, but there's potential for ghazal to flourish even now,' says the singer. Papon adds, 'I now curate ghazal-only shows in large auditoriums and most of them are sold out. At Jashn-e-Rekhta, I performed for 13,000 people. My concert series, Shaam-e-Mehfil, has garnered tremendous interest. We're taking it slow—so far, I've mostly performed covers. Once my original ghazals are released, we'll have a robust playlist.' What's next? 'My upcoming film song is in Metro… In Dino, where I'll also appear as a band member and narrator. I also have a bank of singles—some collaborations—which I'll release monthly during and after my US trip.'
Indian Express
6 days ago
- Entertainment
- Indian Express
How to raise a boy: As we raise our boys, we also raise ourselves
As a teacher with nearly 18 years of experience, at different schools in Ranchi, Kolkata and Delhi, I have taught young boys and girls from the age group of 11 to 17 years. I have seen several generations transition from boys to men, and the odyssey of emotional growth is never easy. My first challenge was in 1998, as an eager-eyed and bushy-tailed teacher stepping into a gallery of rowdy 16-year-old Class XI students in a school in Ranchi, where the boys rudely, though rather jauntily, demanded my 'introduction'. They preferred to be taught in Hindi, notwithstanding the fact that I was being paid to teach English. They, not I, ruled the classroom, and the 23-year-old avatar of this now grey-haired teacher soon figured out that if one could not snatch their attention in the first five minutes, there was no way anything could be taught or learnt. The principal of the school, a former English teacher himself, understood my frustration and said, 'Madam, upar waale ne kisi ko nikamma nahi banaya. Aapke paas to duniya bhar ke khazaane hai (Madam, god has not created anybody without talent. You have, in your possession, a treasure from across the world)'. He meant the world of literature. A timeless route into young hearts and minds that seemed to have the least hurdle appeared to be poetry. Young men going into battle were known to carry books of poetry with them. I hoped the 'experiment' would somehow work. The sound of the words, the rhythm of the verses, and the lyricism of language (Urdu, Hindi or English) did magically open pathways — to libraries, to bookshops, to friends' bookshelves, or dusty gullies with second-hand book or magazine stalls. Slowly, but surely, a few started striding into class with a poem or a song and read it out or simply talk. A class could begin with a Jagjit Singh ghazal or a latest Euphoria hit, with the loud fists-on-desk rhythm of back-benchers that can never be replicated outside classrooms or canteens. And on one occasion, a Class V boy blithely sang 'Dashing through the snow' in sun-beaten May. The principal, a gentleman who had served for many years in a Sainik School, encouraged my efforts. He was vocal in his critique of corporal punishment long before it was banned. 'It is a form of violence,' he said categorically. He presented me with a tape-recorder to play music in class and the freedom to teach students a song or two in English. Though I spent just two years in that school, the boys started reaching out whenever they found the time or the quiet confidence to sing a song, read aloud a poem or nazm or talk about a film they had watched. The schoolboys I taught appeared sensitive and empathetic by nature, they nurtured a genuine love for Urdu couplets or shayari, and some wrote in their spare time — all this without any encouragement from adults. It was, however, the era of 'tough love', which meant a reproach, if not a sound thrashing, was believed to be the cure for most things. Teachers and parents would tear down the efforts of these young boys with hurtful comments about how they were only trying to win the attention of girls. It was no surprise, then, that we adults were always viewed with suspicion and the boys had their own 'secret societies'. In my small-town world, it was also the era when 'roadside Romeos' would occasionally be subjected to a forced 'shearing' or a haircut by the self-appointed moral police outside women's colleges or girls' schools. 'Privacy', 'autonomy', or 'space' were alien concepts. Then there was the usual complaint, 'Teachers like girls more; they are biased.' Newspaper headlines screaming 'Girls outshine boys in the Board' were furnished as proof. Confronting such allegations proved to be tricky, but the whining seemed indicative of a feeling of being invisible or unmentored. Given an opportunity to express their feelings without being judged, these very same boys seemed more open to ideas or engagement. The spirit of adventure, rather misadventure, dogged their steps like a shadow. Since the school was on the outskirts, several boys drove their motorbikes to school at full speed. It was a 'flex', I was told. An accident left one severely injured and bedridden for weeks. How does one talk to teenage boys without sounding preachy? After I met the injured boy, I suggested to the class that they paint get-well-soon cards for him. I shared details about his long treatment, physiotherapy, the pain, his depression and the need to be with him in his hour of crisis. Soon after, the situation was reversed. His friends took it upon themselves to visit him and follow up on his treatment, filling me in with all the details of his recovery. Their cockiness faded when they saw a peer in distress and a circle of empathy was forged. Boys whose parents were doctors turned to them, drawing them into offering timely help and advice. But let us return to poetry. A few years ago, a boy who was the 'topper' from his batch, and is now studying in the college of his dreams, came to meet me. As we walked around the serene campus of the big-city school where I now teach, he mentioned casually, 'You know the poem I often come back to — Robert Frost's The Road Not Taken. We read it in Class IX. There are times I have lain awake at night, thinking about the lines, about myself… Two roads diverged in the yellow wood/ And sorry I could not travel both/ And be one traveller…' I returned home that day deep in thought. Young boys who are in our homes, our neighbourhoods, our classrooms, and out of whom we expect the world — stable and upward career graphs, nurturing homes, secure bank balances — are sensitive young people, dealing with emotions they find hard to grapple with. Do we pause to read or listen, or sing to them as they grow up? Are we 'raising' them or are we failing them, if we do not? As we 'raise' our boys, we also raise ourselves. The principal I mentioned earlier in this write-up is someone who imparted life lessons on how to 'raise' a teacher. The boys we 'raise' will pay forward what they receive today. The writer teaches English in a school in Delhi. She hails from Jharkhand
Indian Express
6 days ago
- Entertainment
- Indian Express
In a world on fire, Jagjit Singh helped me make sense of the chaos
In the small town of Jabalpur, my mother raised me on a healthy diet of middle-class values, the Marathi language, and Jagjit Singh. The singer and music composer known for his ghazals was one of the earliest male role models I had — the other being my grandfather, an honest, hardworking man who loved to meet and help people. The downside of being exposed to Jagjit Singh's ghazals from an early age, though, was that I stuck out like a sore thumb. Not many 12- and 13-year-olds listened to him. My references fell flat in the company of others my age. During impromptu antakshari sessions, I realised they hadn't heard or weren't remotely interested in the songs I knew. It was like singing 'Tere Liye' from Veer Zara when the one from Vivek Oberoi-starrer Prince was all the rage. As I journeyed through my 20s, a quiet transformation began to unfold. I moved out of my hometown for the first time, and met people from different parts of the country. Reciting a sher from a Jagjit Singh ghazal under the moonlit sky or humming to the tunes among friends became a way to connect. Many of my new friends confided that growing up, it was always their parents — and never them — who listened to this brand of music. But now, something had shifted. It did not feel alien to them. It was as though Jagjit Singh, with these verses on heartbreak, yearning and loss, was lending his voice to their thoughts. His musical genius gently allowed the words to take over only when required, leaving space for the melody to wash over you once the singer's voice faded. His calm, yet emotional baritone, trained as he was in Hindustani Classical music, always played its part earnestly, never overshadowing the song at hand. It was only when you tried singing one of his ghazals that you realised the elegant and elaborate harkaten (vocal movements) inherent to the piece, which Jagjit ji would perform with no fuss. But beyond this cultural reappraisal, which was part of a larger romanticisation of everything that Gen Z and Millennials now consider vintage, I rediscovered Jagjit Singh in my 20s on a deeply personal level. For one, his extensive body of work meant I continued to unearth songs I hadn't heard before. And two, as I encountered life-altering moments, both personal and political — the falling standards for what passed as news, the Delhi riots, the Covid-19 pandemic, my first romantic relationship and my first break-up — I began to find greater meaning in his songs. As the public sphere and the family WhatsApp groups became more savage and bloodthirsty, demanding a pound of flesh from 'the other', Jagjit Singh's voice felt like a balm. As he sang 'Main na Hindu, na Musalman, mujhe jeene do (I am neither Hindu nor Muslim, let me live)', it reminded me of the enduring value of human decency, compassion, and kindness. 'Sab ke dukh dard ko bas apna samajh kar jeena, bas yahi hai mera armaan, mujhe jeene do, (Treat the sorrow of others as your own, that's my hope, let me live)', he pleaded. Like many in their 20s, I had other worries too — something more mundane and crushing: money and whether I was making enough. So, when he sang 'Itni mehengai ke bazaar se kuch laata hoon, apne bacchon me use baant ke sharmata hoon (I manage to bring little home from the overpriced market, and feel embarrassed as I divide it among my children)', I felt he captured the inadequacy I felt when I compared my salary to others. And he wasn't beholden to the purists, using a guitar, no less, in a ghazal. Despite the backlash he had to face, he came out of it, having liberated ghazal as an art form. While a cultural revival has made Jagjit Singh 'cool', the characterisation of his work as a library of 'sad songs' or 'breakup-core' ghazals is a lazy and reductive assessment. Make no mistake. He sang some of the most heartwrenching songs. I feel something stir deep inside me when he asks, 'Koi ye kaise bataye, ke woh tanha kyun hai… yahi hota hai to aakhir yahi hota kyun hai, (How does one tell, why they are alone… if this is the way things happen, why do they)'. But there's more to him than that. I hope everyone opening up their hearts to Jagjit Singh for the first time gets to experience him in all his multitudes. Of course, listen to 'Tere khushboo main base khat main jalata kaise' (How could I burn the letters that smelled of you) and 'Chitthi na koi sandes… kahan tum chale gaye' (Without a letter or a message…where have you left for) — they will help you put into words many of life's tragedies. But don't miss out on 'Suna tha ke woh aayenge anjuman mein' (I had heard they would come to the gathering) and 'Ye tera ghar ye mera ghar' (This is your house and mine), two lovely songs in the voice of Jagjit and his wife Chitra Singh, which speak of reciprocated love. When faced with injustice, these two tracks, 'Jo bhi bhala bura hai, Allah jaanta hai' (God knows all that is right and wrong) and 'Badi haseen raat thi' (The night was beautiful), will help you reason, or come to terms with the lack of one. If you seek a religious prayer to calm your racing heart, there's 'Mere mann ke andh tamas mein, jyotirmay utaro' (Appear as radiance to rid my heart of darkness). And when you find a song that speaks to you, share it with others. Jagjit Singh's voice always sounds sweeter, drifting in from a neighbour's open window or an Instagram story marked Close Friends. Before you know it, you will find yourself humming along: 'Hothon se chulo tum, mera geet amar kardo (Lend your lips to my song, make it immortal)'. ... Read More
Time of India
11-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Time of India
Anup Jalota to pay tribute to Jagjit Singh and Pankaj Udhas at his Sydney Opera House debut
Anup Jalota After gracing prestigious stages around the world, Padma Shri Bhajan Samrat Anup Jalota is all set to make his debut at the iconic Sydney Opera House later this month. Speaking to us in his trademark humorous style, he quipped, 'Mujhe lagta hai uski repairing chal rahi hogi, isliye delay hua bulaane mein (laughs)! I've been performing in Australia for the past 35 years and have done over 100 concerts across nearly every city. Now, the organisers want to see me at the Sydney Opera House. For them, I'm not new, but this combination is. What's even more special is that Talat Aziz will also be performing with me. So, the audience will get to experience his beautiful ghazals too. While I visit Australia every couple of years, Talat is returning after 15 years.' Reflecting on the significance of this performance, he shared, 'It means a lot to me. I've performed at venues like Madison Square Garden in New York, the Royal Albert Hall, Wembley Conference Centre, and Lincoln Centre. So, why not the Sydney Opera House?' This time, however, he's decided to keep the focus exclusive. 'When you're performing at the Sydney Opera House, you need a big audience — around 2,200 people. If we do shows in nearby cities, it splits the crowd. So, apart from Sydney Opera House, I will perform in only two other cities that are geographically distant and unlikely to draw the same audience,' he explained. Jagjit Singh and Pankaj Udhas When asked whether he has tailored his performance for the international stage, Jalota said, 'It's being presented as a ghazal mehfil, but I know the audience won't let me leave without singing Aisi Lagi Lagan — that's a must. So yes, I'll include that along with a few other songs. We also plan to pay tribute to Jagjit Singh and Pankaj Udhas by performing some of their popular tracks. They were not just beloved artistes but dear friends. I can't think of a better place than the Sydney Opera House to honour their legacy.'
News18
26-05-2025
- Entertainment
- News18
Rekha Bhardwaj Says Jagjit Singh 'Never Said Anything Negative' About Her
There's a reason why Rekha Bhardwaj enjoys a massive fan following. Her distinct voice, stage presence, calm demeanour, and grace are major crowd-pullers. The singer, known for chartbusters such as Namak, Iktara, Aise Kyun, and others, once had an interaction with Jagjit Singh that made her 'feel small". Well, not as a human but as a performer, which further propelled her to work on herself and achieve mastery at her craft. Speaking exclusively to News18 Showsha, Rekha Bhardwaj bared her heart out and recalled that one conversation with the late ghazal singer that changed her life. The celebrated singer reflected on a pivotal moment early in her musical journey — a moment that was shaped by none other than the late ghazal maestro, Jagjit Singh. She recalled how a seemingly harsh comment from Jagjit Singh, where he had said that the 'chamak in her voice is missing" (the spark in her voice), shook her deeply, but eventually became the catalyst for her transformation as an singer.
