Interview | This Collective Of Storytellers Is Redefining Nirgun Music For Modern Times
From their latest single 'Aadhi Gagri' to their upcoming community initiative Hashiye Se, discover how The Aahvaan Project is reimagining folk and mystic traditions.
Published : September 18, 2025 at 4:55 PM IST
At first glance, The Aahvaan Project might look like another “folk-meets-fusion” band that India’s indie scene seems to birth every few years. Scratch the surface, though, and what you find is not a band in the conventional sense, but something more slippery, layered, and difficult to package.
Rooted in the nirgun philosophy (the mystical stream of thought associated with Kabir and other saint-poets), The Aahvaan Project isn’t simply about revisiting ancient couplets with modern arrangements. It is about rethinking the divide between the spiritual self and the social self, and dissolving that artificial boundary through sound, story, and collective experience. “The supple strength of love, and the fierce grounding in one’s truth felt like home,” Vedi Sinha tells ETV Bharat, speaking of her first encounter with Kabir’s music during a yatra in 2016. That moment became the seed from which The Aahvaan Project has grown.
Since then, the collective has evolved from Vedi and her iktara wandering from villages to towns, into a confluence of musicians, storytellers, and theatre practitioners. Collaborators like Sumant Balakrishnan and Makrand Sanon brought in their artistry and encouraged experimentation with pitch, tempo, and soundscapes, allowing Vedi (who insists she doesn’t see herself as a “singer” in the traditional sense) to create a living dialogue between the old and the new.
Their latest singles, Daud and Aadhi Gagri, with their powerful visual narrative, speak directly to the relentlessness of modern life: the ticking clock of productivity, the exhaustion of constant motion, the rebellion of pause. And yet, Aahvaan is not limited to music videos or stage shows. Their performances often take place in educational institutions, community spaces, even under trees... anywhere people are willing to sit, listen, and share.
Storytelling is the spine of their work. Whether through lyrics, conversations, or audience interactions, The Aahvaan Project positions itself closer to the tradition of the griot (the travelling storyteller) than to mainstream musicianship. They don’t see songs as stand-alone pieces of entertainment but as containers for urgent stories: about mental health, about society, about love, about the revolution within.
Equally important is their vision for the future. Beyond touring festivals and venues like Kabiriyat in Delhi, Depot 48, the Dehradun Literature Festival, and the Repertwar Festival in Lucknow, they are laying foundations for something larger. Through workshops in vocalisation and storytelling, and a new initiative called 'Hashiye Se', they are creating spaces for young artists from marginalised communities to perform, exchange, and bring art back to literal chaurahas (the crossroads where voices once gathered freely).
Of course, in today’s cultural climate, there is always the risk of tokenisation: folk and Sufi music being repackaged as soothing background playlists or wellness gimmicks. The Aahvaan Project pushes back against this by refusing to become mere custodians of tradition. Instead, they use the philosophies of Kabir and others as springboards to create their own dialogue, their own songs, and their own truths. As Vedi tells us, Kabir has become “a property”: claimed by scholars, singers, activists, each with their own version. Rather than replicate him, Aahvaan chooses to learn from him, but sing in their own words. Excerpts from an interview with Vedi:
1. Your music is rooted in the nirgun philosophy. What drew you personally to this philosophy?
When we look at Kabir's work or nirgun as a spiritual philosophy in today's world, we miss an essential element of what nirgun stands for. In my years of study and attempt at living nirgun, I realised that it is as much societal as it is spiritual. Under the umbrella of nirgun, we see conversation and grounding in mental health, society, politics, collective and individual behaviour, and we find the nirgun love through these. Not parallel to these, not apart from these. I resonated with the idea that the social self can’t be removed from the spiritual self. And that love can’t be lived in a vacuum or in pockets. In a world where everything we have created, the many webs we find ourselves in, continuously divides these two and forces them to further apart.
Grounding has become a buzzword and a quick fix to the otherwise relentless lives we are supposed to live. Nirgun talks of the grounding that comes while we stand within the society, even while disagreeing or straight out calling it out. It talks of a liberation that is within, the revolution that love is, and the ripples that seep into the surroundings. The supple strength of love, and the fierce grounding in one’s truth felt like home.
As I was licking my wounds as a young woman, making peace with my own trauma and the disenchantment of this world, I found myself volunteering in a yatra. I heard Prahalad ji and even though not all his words reached me, the music touched a part I never knew existed. There in 2016, a churning began. I hope it never stops.
2. Daud is your latest single, and the video has a powerful visual narrative. What was the inspiration behind this track, and how did you conceptualize its visual storytelling?
Between the intense commercialisation, information and not enough time to pause, it feels like living is (and is supposed to be) relentless. A strong reluctance to stop, reflect, reassess, maybe change course. Some of this society does, and as we grow accustomed, some we do ourselves. A metaphorical clock ticking, a pressing need to be and have productivity as the main goal.
3. The Aahvaan Project performs across educational institutions and community spaces, not just traditional concert venues. How do these spaces shape your performance and interaction with the audience?
We rework our language and stories, the themes we might discuss depending on the age of our audience, or the community/ purpose of the event. But the most beautiful thing we always find is that the response and involvement remains somewhat similar across all the differences. I think one thing that resonates is the vulnerability we bring. People might agree or disagree but each one of us is looking to pause, even if just for a minute.
Another thing we have understood is, while tech, concentration, and the ‘artist requirement’ list is important, it is not essential for a good show. A good show needs artists with something to share and people eager to hear. Under a tree/ on a stage/ with a set up/ with crackling sound, they all just give you ambience, and sometimes prompts.
4. Storytelling is central to your music. Do you see yourself more as musicians or modern-day griots?
I get to play with beautiful accomplished artists, but honestly I don’t think I am one. I see it, think it, say it, and I find stories to be the best way to do that. I’m closer to a writer who needs to put my writings out in the world as fast as possible. Even the songs come alive out of the need to underline the story... We write and create a story that engages and make sure more time, direction and focus goes into them. Sometimes we also invite the audience to share or talk. It has thankfully resulted in people enjoying and talking about the stories as well as the songs equally.
I think if you bare it all, on some level we all connect with similar emotions, struggles and stories. However, we haven't achieved that balance in the things we share online. In a show, it's easier because one is not just sitting with the intention of listening but also is cut off from the outside stimulus to a certain point. Online though, patience is low and time seems to be rushing. We personally also love performing, being with people, much more. It gives us the space to really connect. And so many times our energy or even bits of the story comes from the people present there. Aahvaan is best felt, live.
5. Which saint, poet, or philosopher do you feel most connected to?
While I connected most with Kabir’s approach and words, the deeper we dive into the ideas, it becomes clear that a lot of the other poets, saints and philosophers have spoken about similar or even the same idea across the world over the centuries. You read Taoism and suddenly you’ll find Kabir. You are reading Kabir and you'll find Shamz. And in Shamz, of course, Rumi. You’ll hear Meera Bai and Akkamahadevi talking of the same thing Lalon is, only their gender, geography and metaphors are different.
Having said that, Kabir uses khadi bhasha (a mix of various dialects). Linguists call it a khichdi but he’s completely convinced that the only thing that matters the most is the essence of the story, and everything else is a crutch or a medium. Which is probably also why he stayed alive through the oral tradition. Aside from language, I also resonate with the layered but simple ideas of being he talked about.
6. Where do you see The Aahvaan Project going in the next 3-5 years?
We are currently working in three directions. The first is singing and sharing in more places, bigger and smaller stages both. We are working on a children's show and a non-verbal experiential show. We also want to keep collaborating and expanding our understanding of mediums and enjoy working not only with people from other musical genres but also other forms of storytelling.
The second direction is workshopping vocalisation, expression and sharing. These spaces have proved to be really wholesome and we are working on bringing more such sessions to more spaces and people.
Third, we are in the process of creating and structuring a small organisation called Hashiye Se, to bring young artists from marginalised communities for both performances and exchanges, and bringing art to actual chaurahas. All of this is still in its planning stage but we have been able to create a beautiful exchange between Mahila Kabir Yatra and artists from Delhi, Philippines and Cambodia last year.
7. Is there still a risk that folk or Sufi traditions might become tokenized in contemporary music?
I believe it is already happening. In the fast-paced, time-is-money life, Sufi music, mystics' words and singing them feels hollow. We have taken the ‘bhajan’ part of it and turned it into entertainment. But these sufis and mystics would have been on the road today as they were back then. Not to say that artists should only sing them on the streets. Bringing them into popular dialogue is important and beautiful. But what they said isn’t easy to practice even today. You’ll always ruffle feathers. Today we are afraid of it to the extent that we back off before we even try to dive deeper.
We have always sung what we wrote but we reduced how much Kabir we sing. Because Kabir has become a property. On his death, it was Hindus or Muslims, today it's the scholars with their own kabir, singers with their kabir, and activists, their own. We don't want to offend anyone by ‘taking their kabir’ so we sing what we learn from him and many others... in our words, with our stories.
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