Raag Dhanashri

I was listening to a recording that I did with Santoor maestro Pt. Sandeep Chatterjee. We did a couple of recordings of raags that were new to him and I asked him for a raag that he would teach me. And he explained Kalashri (also spelled Kalashree) to me.  We recorded Mool Mantra and "Aad Sach" (See 19141-1.3 Kalashri Mool Mantra with Santoor). 

I randomly listened to this today and did some mixing and effects on the track. But it sounds like the recording that we did was much like Kalavati. So I looked up Kalashri on YouTube and seems like it was a raag conceived by Pt. Bhimsen Joshi.  Pt. Bhimsen Joshi defines it in the following recording. This is obviously is a mix of Kalavati and Rageshri.  It is similar to Raag Jansamohini, and Madh Kalyan (Also spelled Mudh Kalyan, Explained by Salamat Ali Khan). 

Sometimes I find myself in a song. 
But I love being lost in a song more. 
Raag Sri is about being found. Raag Dhanasri is about being lost. Each color has it's own charm. 

John Steinbeck was  probably thinking of Amazing Grace when he said this. 
1.	Amazing grace! How sweet the sound 
	that saved a wretch like me! 
	I once was lost, but now am found; 
	was blind, but now I see. 

2.	'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, 
	and grace my fears relieved; 
	how precious did that grace appear 
	the hour I first believed. 

3.	Through many dangers, toils, and snares, 
	I have already come; 
	'tis grace hath brought me safe thus far, 
	and grace will lead me home. 

4.	The Lord has promised good to me, 
	his word my hope secures; 
	he will my shield and portion be, 
	as long as life endures. 

5.	Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail, 
	and mortal life shall cease, 
	I shall possess, within the veil, 
	a life of joy and peace. 

6.	When we've been there ten thousand years, 
	bright shining as the sun, 
	we've no less days to sing God's praise 
	than when we first begun. 

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.

There is a particular ache Bhairavi carries, the kind that does not shout but simmers gently just beneath the voice. In Indian classical music, every raag is more than a melodic framework; it is a living, breathing emotional state. And Bhairavi? Bhairavi is longing incarnate. It is the sound of someone missing their beloved so deeply that music becomes prayer.

This isn’t just poetic interpretation. While textbooks and academic systems tend to reduce raagas to their scale structures—ascending and descending notes, permitted ornamentations—the deeper tradition, especially among vocalists and folk musicians, holds on to something more essential: bhaav, the emotion.

Raag Bhairavi, with its flattened notes (komal re, ga, dha, ni), evokes pathos. But not the heavy, somber kind of grief we hear in Raag Darbari or the majestic pain of Raag Todi. Bhairavi’s sorrow is more personal. It's the sound of a woman at her doorstep, glancing down the road again and again. It's a village girl carrying her earthen pot to the well, humming Main To Paniya Bharan, her voice both gentle and full of unspoken yearning. It’s the song of Heer, waiting for Ranjha, echoing through Punjab’s fields at dusk.

Consider Ka Karoon Sajni, the timeless Bhairavi composition first immortalized by Bade Ghulam Ali Khan. The translation is simple: What am I to do, my love? Yet every syllable, every glide between notes, carries the depth of someone whose heart has gone searching beyond the physical world. It’s a universal question wrapped in an intimate melody.

The Freedom of Thumri

Part of what allows Bhairavi to carry such richness of emotion is the flexibility of the genre in which it often appears: the thumri. Unlike the strict and rule-bound khayal or dhrupad, the thumri gives the artist freedom to explore raag beyond orthodoxy. In thumri, the raag is not a cage but a suggestion—a fragrance more than a formula.

This is why in thumri, Bhairavi can flirt with notes outside its formal structure, sometimes borrowing shuddha (natural) notes, sometimes gliding into neighboring raagas. You’ll often hear elements of Khamaj, Pilu, or even Sindhu Bhairavi making an appearance. But the soul of the piece—the longing, the bhairav-ness—remains.

This is where Bhairavi differs from Sindhu Bhairavi. While Sindhu Bhairavi is a modern, more malleable cousin that openly accepts all twelve notes of the scale, it lacks the anchored emotional gravity of the original. Sindhu Bhairavi is excellent for devotional and film compositions because of its inclusiveness, but it often feels like a patchwork of possibilities rather than a singular emotional current.

Kirwani, on the other hand, belongs to the Carnatic system and has found popularity in film and fusion contexts. It’s closer to the harmonic minor scale in Western music and carries a darker, more melancholic feel. Kirwani is sadness with sharp edges—sophisticated, intense, and brooding. Bhairavi’s sadness is warmer. It’s rural. It has dust in its feet and anklets in its rhythm.

Bhairavi as a Feeling, Not a Scale

This is why Raag Bhairavi appears everywhere—from classical concerts to folk festivals to Bollywood to Qawwali. Because its emotional register is universally understood. Even if a listener doesn’t know the raag by name, they recognize its feeling. That’s the true power of Indian music—it bypasses the brain and walks directly into the heart.

When Rahat Fateh Ali Khan sings Aa Ja O Aa Sajna, he is not merely performing notes; he is channeling centuries of separation songs, Heer’s whisper, Meera’s cry, Radha’s ache. Bhairavi isn’t just a sound—it’s a state of being.

So yes, while I wait for my wife to return from work, it is Bhairavi that comes to me. Because love, even when it’s just a few hours late, always carries a thread of longing. And music, like love, doesn’t need permission to break the rules—only devotion to follow the feeling.

Suggested Listening Playlist:

• Ka Karoon Sajni – Bade Ghulam Ali Khan

• Main To Paniya Bharan – Girija Devi

• Aa Ja O Aa Sajna – Rahat Fateh Ali Khan

• Mohe Panghat Pe Nandlal – Lata Mangeshkar (light classical Bhairavi)

• Heer – Various Punjabi renditions, including Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan

Come, My Love

Some of my Favorite Bhairavi Songs:

Holi is a very old festival. The first mention of Holi in literature comes from Kalidas' poem Kumarasambhava and his play Malvikagnimitram, dated between 4th and 5th centuries CE. Personally holi is one of the two most memorable festivals that we celebrated when I grew up in Delhi (the other own being Diwali). Holi marks the end of winter and beginning of the spring season in India and often turns into a mad playful celebration of color and love. It is a celebration that includes playing with water and color with everyone, whether it is a friend or stranger, rich or poor, man or woman.   Truth be said I didn't like being all drenched in water and colors on holi.  But on the occasions and gave in to the celebrations I fondly remember. Especially a holi we celebrated in Ajmer which involved being drenched in water filled with flowers. 

This season I hear the raags and compositions of Holi.  Every year at Holi I come back to some of these raags and bandishes. Here are some of my favorite ones: 

Raags and Songs of Holi

Of the raags that are played most often at holi, my favorite are Raag Kafi and Raag Pilu. Additionally Raag Pahadi, Maand, Des, Khamaj, Gara, Bhairavi and Tilang are also often played. Among Sikhmat raags there are Raags Maajh and Asa that are also sung in addition to the ones above.  I would add Raag Hindol and Basant to this list although some of these compositions can be in the more serious category. 

Of special mention are Hori thumris, semi-classical songs based on holi often exploring flirtation, love, jealousy and romance. Taal Deepchandi and dadra are often preferred, but several other taals are also used in these holi songs. While these are all playful songs, they are at the same time very metaphorical and spiritual. 

Aisi Holi Na Khelo by Girija Devi

Raag Pilu or Peelu originates from the word peela or yellow. I wonder if its the same root as the word "pale" which is off-white.  It reminds me of genda phool - the yellow flowers that are used in playing Holi.  In this playful song Radha says don't play with in such a way. You have drenched my whole saari with your water gun.

Raags

From: Preet 
Date: February 28, 2010 9:08:18 PM PST
To: Shivpreet 
Subject: Holi 'Ragas'

In the early days of the Indian republic, the end of February and beginning of March would usher the humming of Kaafi (also Kafi) and Piloo (also Pilu) on the radio, in the temples, in parks and auditoriums. For as long as one can remember, the two ragas have been associated with the singing of perennially magical Holi songs, which celebrate the romance of the impish god Krishna and his beautiful consort Radha. Some musical experts would throw in a dash of Raag Tilang to decorate the songs but generally, as a rule, no other melody would be tapped for this very exclusively traditional moment.
 

preet mohan

Holi Ragas