SAMEER RAHAT IS A COLLABORATOR DISRUPTOR by Mihir Srivastava

Sameer Rahat was performing Urdu blues at a private function when I saw him first. It’s a novel fusion, I thought, of two rich traditions set to music. He did it very well.

A gypsy by temperament, he has a need to lose himself in the quest of self-discovery, freedom from contexts: where I belong, parents, situations in life.

It came to me, almost, as a rude awakening: he’s so different from his father, yet that difference has something familiar—certain continuity in disruption.

The mix is original and exciting. He’s carving a niche for himself, which, to some extent, entails breaking, or reengaging, with the past. Larva has become a butterfly and learned to fly.

A musician, poet, singer; he’s the right mix of varied skills of expression, and has the necessary courage to experiment. He has a strong aura that’s reflected in his engaging screen presence.

I was mighty impressed. “I would love to write your profile to get to know you and your art better,” and after a pause, with greater emphasis, I added, “will name your parents only in the last sentence.” He smiled a charming smile.

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I saw his music video, and it was revealing; something occult about it: "Roshni ki andheroṅ se, guftagu ek jaari ha" (a conversation between the light and darkness goes on.). He's in a good relationship with his physical being, and a bit of a dreamer, and a bit of a performer, too —he relives his dream for a camera to capture. He's an artist to watch out for. He'd be a collaborator-disruptor.

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We had two long conversations. We talked about life in specifics and how the decisions we make shape us. He shared his music videos, and I got to know more about him.

The thing that I came to know about him is that he’s a dreamer, and has the gumption to realise his dream; he’s unformed in certain measure so is open to what life has to offer. Needless to add, very talented and courageous enough to risk his reputation.  

The first few years of his life were spent in a small town, Guna, before he shifted to Bhopal with his mother, for better schooling. There he started a band at the age of 14; it was unheard of, the locals called it an orchestra. They made good music, but, soon, he outgrew Bhopal, and went to “Bombay.”

There he, as they say, panned out; did many things with many people in the domain of art, music being his forte. Also pursued post-graduation in filmmaking, made some arty friends, also made music, collaborated with the best in the industry.

He’s amongst the most talented composers, with an earthly charm, and he can so easily be the face of his music. He seems comfortable in front of a rolling camera and reminds me of the initial days of Irrfan Khan. Worked with with the director, Hansal Mehta. Did well, his music resonated with many. Mahesh Bhatt loved his work, approached him, and when they met, Bhatt greeted him with a tight hug. Sameer is a great hugger too.

That he took up music was a sort of rebellion, he did not want to do what his parents were very good at, and would always be judged and compared. Don’t get me wrong, he loves them, is inspired by them, and that has given him the necessary courage to chart his distinct destiny, choose the difficult, the uncharted path laced with uncertainty. And uncertainty is the path to self-discovery.

The thing was, his famous parents, and their love for him was like deep shade of a big banyan tree; comforting all right but grass doesn’t grow in shade. His existence had been contextualised by the fame of his parents, and it almost felt like an obligation to carry the burden of the family name. It opened many doors unto him, but also closed many windows; he felt stifled and the need to break free grew stronger as he grew older.

One of the many things that’s admirable about Sameer, is that he’s true to what he feels, and he acts when he feels strongly. Luck favours the brave. He happened to come across some German folks in Goa and they hit it off. He travelled to them and it was an easy decision to work together and collaborate.

In Berlin, he cohabited with his newly acquired family of friends. It was a cultural melting pot, leading to fusion of ideas and mingling of talents—to bridge two distinct cultures into a seamless melody. Urdu blues is one such outcome. It’s just the beginning. I suggested: why can’t you try to write/sing English ghazals?

Photos by Trupal Pandya

He visits people instead of places (like me), that explains why he likes to spend a month or two every year in Berlin and Cologne—his hometowns in a foreign land.

So, what changes when you fly to Germany? “Everything,” he says. It's a kind of emancipation from the context that has defined him all his growing up years. He feels free, free of obligations, existential contexts, and the space is non-judgemental about who you’re, who your parents are.

And you start to get a sense of your undiluted self in everything you do, create, collaborate, and it all feels so expansive as if standing in front of an ocean, hands stretched out in either direction.

I saw his music video, and it was revealing; something occult about it: "Roshni ki andheroṅ se, guftagu ek jaari hai" (a conversation between the light and darkness goes on). He's in a good relationship with his physical being, and a bit of a dreamer, and a bit of a performer, too —he relives his dream for a camera to capture. This amiable relationship with self is played out beautifully in his music videos. He's an artist to watch out for. He'd be a collaborator-disruptor.

Sameer is son of Dr. Rahat Indori and Anjum Rehbar, legendaryfigures in the world of Urdu poetry and mushairas.