This paper attempts to answer a fundamental question – what is kīrtan? Much emphasis has been laid on the singing of gurbani in rāgas (classical Indian melody systems), the use of tālas (rhythmic patterns unique to Indian classical music) and the use of musical instruments related to the Sikh gurūs. Uniquely, all these three aspects are mentioned without elaboration in gurbani itself. Only the rāga and tāla names are mentioned, but no written specifications are given about their forms and modes of performance. Furthermore, though certain instruments are mentioned in gurbani, such as the rabāb, pakhawaj, kinnari vina and khartal, it contains no descriptions of their making, tuning, stringing and/or playing techniques. The implications of this mismatch are explored in this article, where it is argued that the oral tradition and its particular pedagogy and training is still extant and provides many of the answers that are highly sought after in the recent turn to ‘traditional’ methods, styles and instruments. The author argues that four major elements (rāga, tāla, shabad and avadhanu or surat) are essential factors in the performance of kīrtan. Due to the various social and political upheavals that Punjab has undergone in the last 150 years, much of the tangible and intangible wealth has been lost. The loss of many pedagogical streams has led to an apparent hermeneutic chaos. The author argues that the research carried out in this field in the last three decades lacks academic integrity and has yet to be responded to academically, and assesses the relevance of kīrtan in the current social order and the institutions currently offering education in this field. The transformations that have occurred in kīrtan due to the methodological changes in the teaching of gurbani are considered, and suggestions are made for future research. The author argues that the proud oral history of gurbani kīrtan and kīrtaniye has not received serious and sound academic attention. He offers his reflections while suggesting ways to intervene in order to facilitate the recovery of this near-extinct oral tradition. One evening in the fall of 1990, Amarjeet, my dad, knocked on my door and announced that my grandmother, Sant Kaur, has decided to shift to our house. ‘Clean up your bed’, he ordered. ‘She has asked to stay in your room and with you!’ he responded to my obstinate ‘why?’. The neighbours around bore the brunt of my still out-of-tune wailings and sometimes I would find solace in the film song, ‘can't touch the notes, what song can I…’ My grandma would start her nitnem at midnight till 5am and she would stop in between to tell me as I sang, ‘your grandpa sang this too … uncle Jwala Singh sang this very well’ and, so on!One night as my voice was near hoarse yet again, she asked me to never underestimate and undervalue this gurūs' treasure. I teased her back, ‘Grandma, I have renounced my flying career and all that came with it – what else do I need to prove?’ Ignoring my remark she told me, ‘Your great ancestor, Baba Tehel Singh, during the years of persecution walked in the jungle at times with battle bloodied bare feet, a khanda in one hand, a rhino skin-shield in another but, with a saranda slung at his back’ … ‘You must remember the journey this gurūs’ treasure has taken to reach you' … ‘There are just too many comforts these days – never forget this!’
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