Less than two days before the event, there was no plan. After the magic of the first Shaam-Ah-Awadh, Ravi was certain he wanted to host it again. Our friends and I knew we’d be part of the next iteration—not just as the audience but as the team making it happen. But when? Where? How? Nothing had been figured out.
As much as we loved immersing ourselves in the rhythms of Madhesh, recreating that atmosphere wasn’t easy. A café wouldn’t work—where would we put all the decorations? Event halls were too expensive. Ravi couldn’t always host at his home either; the thrill of something new would disappear. But all these questions only mattered if we had a date.
Then, less than two days before the event, Ravi called me.
“Can we do it on your terrace?”
“Of course, that would be amazing.”
“Great, so…” His voice faded in and out.
“Ravi, I’m outside. I can’t hear you. Let’s talk when I’m free.”
“Dai, no! Listen. We have to do it the day after tomorrow.”
For a few seconds, I was speechless. There was no time to think—just an urge to agree.
“Yeah, let’s do it!”
The Rush Begins
That night, Ravi, Aarjit, and I jumped on a video call. All three of us were exhausted, each with a busy day ahead, yet here we were, planning a sequel to a musical evening that had left everyone mesmerized—attendees and even those who had only seen it on Instagram stories. But this time, it had to be bigger.
We decided to open it to a wider audience with ticketed entry. More performances, more poetry, more magic. By 1 AM, we had divided our tasks and finally went to sleep.
The next day was a blur. Somehow, without much discussion, we functioned like a well-rehearsed orchestra—each playing our part, trusting the others to do theirs.
Ravi worked on his musical pieces, invited guests, and planned the decorations to bring the essence of Madhesh alive. Aarjit printed and arranged decor items, including souvenirs for the guests. As the host, I prepared my house—particularly the terrace—and handled registrations and promotions.
That evening, we had a quick call to update each other, and that was it. The stage was set—figuratively, at least.
The Morning of Shaam-Ah-Awadh
I braced myself for chaos, and chaos arrived at 9 AM—packed into a single cab. Ravi and Sujeet, another integral part of Shaam-Ah-Awadh, showed up at my house with a harmonium, guitars, ghungroo, mic stands, traditional mats and sacks, village-style baskets, mud pots for serving tea, and framed photographs for display.
My mother, ever so kind, had prepared lunch for us. We filled up on home-cooked food before diving into what was going to be a long, exhausting, but thrilling day.
First, we had to clean the terrace. Out came the pressure washer. Taking turns pretending to be James Bond, we blasted away the dust and grime. We repositioned the swing to ensure the “stage” had enough space. The mud cups for tea had to be washed and left to dry in the sun.
Sujeet and I rushed to the vegetable market while Ravi started setting up the stage. Potatoes, eggplants, bitter gourd—we gathered everything for the pakodas.
By the time we returned, it was clear: we were running out of time. The guests would arrive soon, and there was no way we could both finish setting up and cook the snacks in time. Thankfully, my mother stepped in. With the help of my sister, Selina, and Ravi’s college senior, Anjali, they took over the kitchen. And honestly? We could never have made them as delicious as they did.
The Evening Unfolds
Guests started arriving. Ravi, freshly showered and dressed in traditional attire, was warming up for his performance. Rupesh Bhaiji, the star of the first Shaam-Ah-Awadh, had arrived. By the time I returned from my own quick shower, everyone was smiling and ready to begin.
Ravi and Rupesh Bhaiji opened the evening with a performance that could only be described as majestic.
Shaam-Ah-Awadh 2.0 was happening.
Aarjit arrived with beautifully crafted bookmarks featuring images of Madhesh—a simple yet thoughtful souvenir for the guests. But his arrival wasn’t just about souvenirs. He brought his flute, and as he played, the experience of Shaam-Ah-Awadh was elevated to something almost transcendental. The terrace, framed by softly glowing diyas, felt like a dream.
Meanwhile, my mother, sister, and Anjali continued preparing and serving snacks. Sujeet, Aarjit, and I helped pass around steaming plates of spicy pakodas and sweet masala chai. Anjali then took the stage, reciting a beautifully crafted poem, setting the tone for others to share their words and thoughts.
The Perfect Finale
As more guests trickled in, Sujeet and I finally sat down to enjoy the show.
Stepping onto the terrace, I took in the scene. The audience sat cross-legged, immersed in Ravi and Rupesh Bhaiji’s encore performance. the screening of Docomentry of “Kashi Ram Yadav” an Awadhi folk poet and singer added more vibe to the sitting . The glow of diyas flickered around them, the air rich with music and conversation.
The sun had set. The night was perfect.
Shaam-Ah-Awadh had returned, and it had never been more beautiful.
