Indian classical music is one of the most intricate and spiritually charged musical traditions in the world. Rooted in centuries of practice, it is not just a system of melody and rhythm but a way of perceiving reality—where sound becomes a vehicle for silence, and discipline leads to transcendence. Broadly, it is divided into two streams: the Hindustani tradition of North India and the Carnatic tradition of the South.

Within the Hindustani tradition, several vocal styles have developed over time, each with its own grammar, emotional texture, and aesthetic philosophy. Of these, the most prominent today is khayal.

Khayal: The Imagination of Sound

Khayal, meaning "imagination" or "thought," is the most widely practiced form of Hindustani vocal music in classical circles today. It emerged from earlier forms like dhrupad and reflects a more flexible, expressive approach to rendering ragas. Unlike the austere, meditative gravitas of dhrupad, khayal is built for improvisation. It is both a performance and a philosophical exploration—a journey into a raga’s emotional and spiritual terrain.

A khayal performance typically includes two parts: a slow, expansive bara khayal in vilambit laya (slow tempo) that allows for deep contemplation, followed by a faster chhota khayal in drut laya, which builds intensity and showcases rhythmic virtuosity. The structure, however, is only a vessel for the artist’s imagination. Within the boundaries of raag, taal, and cheez (composition), the artist paints with phrases—alap, taan, sargam, boltaan—in a way that is never quite the same twice.

Multiple gharanas or stylistic lineages—Gwalior, Patiala, Jaipur, Kirana, Agra—have given khayal its rich diversity. And while it was historically the domain of royal courts and elite patrons, today it has a global audience.

Other Classical Forms: Dhrupad to Thumri

Beyond khayal, Hindustani music includes several other vocal forms:

• Dhrupad, the oldest and most disciplined, emphasizes austere, devotional singing.

• Dhamar, akin to dhrupad, is joyful and often linked to the celebration of Holi.

• Tappa, originating in Punjab, features fast, intricate ornamentation and emotive bursts.

• Tarana is rhythmic and syllabic, mimicking the agility of instruments.

• Thumri is light-classical, romantic, and rich in emotional nuance—often evoking the love play of Radha and Krishna.

• Bhajan and Hori are more devotional or seasonal forms, often found in temples and folk traditions.

Each genre has a distinct relationship with the divine, with the self, and with the audience. Some forms demand silence and surrender; others invite participation, joy, and expression.

Shabad Kirtan: Music as Prayer

At the heart of Sikh devotional life is Shabad Kirtan—the singing of shabads (hymns) from the Guru Granth Sahib. What sets it apart from other genres is its purpose: not performance, but presence. Every raga used in the Guru Granth Sahib is chosen not just for musicality but for mood (rasa), aligning the sonic environment with the spiritual message.

In its purest form, Shabad Kirtan is a sacred dialogue between the shabad (Word), the raag (melodic intention), and the surat (consciousness of the listener). It can be rendered in dhrupad, khayal, or lighter forms, but always with a view to dissolving ego and invoking devotion.

Over time, Shabad Kirtan has been influenced by many musical cultures, including classical, folk, and more recently, film music.

Film Music and the Fluid Boundaries of Devotion

The influence of Bollywood and Indian film music on shabad kirtan is undeniable. Many raagis have adapted tunes from popular films into kirtan melodies. Some blend ragas with cinematic phrasing; others lift tunes wholesale, merely replacing the lyrics. This practice has sometimes raised questions about authenticity and reverence. I’ll admit that in my earlier years, such shabads often distracted me. I would find myself caught in the familiarity of the movie tune, rather than the depth of the shabad.

But with continued practice—especially through shabad surat yoga, the meditative focus on the feeling (bhaav) of the shabad—my approach changed. I began to tune in not to the origin of the melody, but to the emotional sincerity and devotional intensity of the rendition. Sometimes, even the borrowed tune became a doorway rather than a distraction.

Still, I find joy in returning to the original ragas as prescribed in the Guru Granth Sahib. I often compose new music—rooted in these ragas but using contemporary instrumentation, or sometimes none at all. In that silence, the shabad sings most clearly.

From Sound to Silence

While khayal explores the imagination, and thumri caresses the heart, Shabad Kirtan points inward. It is less about innovation than about immersion. Less about musicality than about merging—with the sound, with the Sangat, with the One.

In a way, Shabad Kirtan holds hands with all forms—dhrupad’s stillness, khayal’s improvisation, bhajan’s devotion—but always with its eyes fixed not on applause, but on awakening.

This is why Shabad Kirtan remains such a powerful and living tradition. It accepts the world’s musical gifts, but transforms them—melody becomes meditation, rhythm becomes remembrance, and voice becomes vessel.