Music—once so freely accessible and embraced across social classes, professions, and identities—has slowly begun to narrow its reach. Today, it increasingly lives behind the gates of expensive concerts and curated experiences made for a selective socio-economic class. For the fourth edition of Shaam-Ah-Awadh, I wanted to change that. I decided to organize a musical evening in a scrap shop—yes, a kabadi shop—where 15 workers live and work from day to night.
In urban centers like Kathmandu, these workers are often treated with disregard. Many of them feel ashamed of their roots, the cultures they belong to, and the languages they speak. Our humble initiative aimed to offer them a short, joyful break from their exhausting routines—and to help our wider audience understand, connect with, and celebrate the lives and stories behind those working hands.
There’s this scrap collection store near UN Park that I came across during one of my evening walks to Patan. I paused for a few minutes outside, unsure whether to go in. The owner noticed me and invited me to enter. I explained the concept of the show and showed him photos and videos from past editions. He told me that he had previously lent the space to a film crew, so he assumed we were doing something similar. He agreed without hesitation. I took his number and returned home.
Months later, I reached out to him again and visited the shop to share more details and formally ask for permission. There’s a difference between using a space for a shoot and creating a community event: participation. The workers at the shop were excited and immediately offered to help clean and decorate the space. I returned a couple of times with friends to plan the setup.
Two days before the event, the cleaning began. We chose the platform where goods were weighed as our stage and began to plan accordingly. There was a large, four-stepped rack that we transformed by decorating it with old electronic items—radios, telephones, computer sets, and cassettes. Tires became stage seating, and crates served as chairs. Supriya, our creative producer, came up with the idea of making flags out of newspaper and stringing them around with fairy lights. The setup was almost ready. I asked the workers if they could help make a rangoli on the day of the event—and they did so beautifully. The floor was rough, so we poured water to settle the dust. The workers were so dedicated they wouldn’t even let us sweep the place—they insisted on doing it themselves.
Event Day
Our biggest challenge was to get the workers to take time off. Every day, I had seen them working from 5 a.m. to 9 p.m. But after much convincing, they finally agreed to take half a day.
The rented carpets and sound system started arriving gradually. The owner was slightly frustrated because the workday had been interrupted. “You said you’d use just a side, but you’ve taken over the whole space,” he said. I didn’t have a good answer, but when people began arriving and the music started playing, I could see the stress lift from his face. His wife and two children were smiling too, enjoying the flow of people and the spirit of the event unfolding in their home.
We served masala chai in traditional clay cups, which guests sipped while listening to music. This time, we dedicated the event to Saint Kabir, known for his profound dohas, and Kavi Vidyapati, who helped shape languages like Maithili and composed over 6000 songs.
The set opened with a sitar recital by Prakash ji, followed by Subash’s performance on Kabir’s verses. I performed some Kabir dohas I had composed specifically for the event, along with a few Awadhi folk songs. Just before my set began, Rupesh ji arrived—though I hadn’t confirmed the event with him beforehand. He lit up the night with a soulful flow of Vidyapati’s bhajans, transitioning into ghazals, qawwalis, and finally a full kirtan session to close the evening.
Around 60 people attended. Everyone was clapping, dancing, and singing along. We gifted each performer, volunteer, and host a copy of Heran Bachpan, a book by Bairagi Kavi filled with Awadhi poetry.
The most touching part? Seeing the workers and their families take part in the event with full hearts—singing, requesting bhajans, and dancing. Their children were adored by the guests. And in the end, that’s what truly matters: joy, dignity, and shared moments of peace—for all.
