Call him Jaan. Everyone does. In fact, I can’t recall ever being in his company and anyone, family or students — an impressive roster that includes the likes of Ali Sethi and Zeb Bangash — referring to him by his full moniker: Ustaad Naseeruddin Saami.

I suppose his full title is reserved for more formal matters, such as when he is being presented with the esteemed Patron’s Award, alongside his sons — The Saami Brothers — at the 2025 Aga Khan Music Awards, during a glitzy ceremony in London on November 22.

When I last spoke with Jaan, we were sitting in his lofty penthouse in Garden West, a stone’s throw away from Karachi’s famous ‘Qawwal Street’. That afternoon, back in 2023, as Jaan sat flanked by two of his sons, Rauf Saami and Urooj Saami, we spoke at length about the dire straits khayaal [a form of South Asian classical music that focuses on melodic improvisation] and riwayati [traditional] qawwali were facing in Pakistan.

Rauf, the front man of the The Saami Brothers and a skilled khayaal practitioner in his own right, told me then, “We are blessed in many ways, but we are struggling artistically because our fikr [thinking] is different.

“Our work demands that we not only preserve what has been handed down to us but also present it to the rest of the world. In Pakistan, it is being stifled and dying a slow death. Many people today may not be able to easily distinguish between khayaal and qawwali. Both these beautiful traditions are heading in a direction where they risk losing their deep spiritual roots and rich artistry.”

Having grown frustrated with the lack of avenues in Pakistan for the music they wished to practise, Rauf had told me back then that Jaan and his sons were focusing on trying to establish a foothold for themselves and for classical music in the US. I remember being rather sceptical about this. After all, how much headway could they make in trying to introduce Western audiences to this centuries-old musical tradition without having to compromise, in some capacity, on their commitment to preserving its sanctity?

As it turns out, my scepticism was unwarranted.

Now, as I catch up with them two years later via a Zoom call — shortly before they depart for England to attend the Aga Khan Music Awards — Jaan and the Saami Brothers have established a base for themselves in New York, where they perform at various venues and also teach students through their khayaal residency programme. As New Yorkers turn up to listen to the Saami Brothers and Jaan is bestowed with international awards and adulation, I’m reminded of a couplet Rauf often uses: “Woh phool sar charrha jo chaman se nikal gaya/ Izzat usay mili jo watan se nikal gaya [That flower was cherished when it left the garden and adorned her hair/ Respect was given to he who left his homeland].”

Becoming Ustaad Naseeruddin Saami

“When I went to learn from my ustaad [teacher],” Jaan narrates, “I was standing at the shore of the sea. Now, even today, I am standing at the shore of the sea,” in response to which Rauf quips, “We [the Saami Brothers] aren’t even at the shore yet. We’re still on the other side of the Seaview boundary.”

Often called “the last living master of the 49-note microtonal scale”, Jaan is the custodian of a rare lineage and is the Subcontinent’s foremost khayaal maestro. Over the years, he has passed down both riwayati qawwali and khayaal to his sons — guiding their ensemble in carrying forward these intertwined traditions as they strive to keep aflame an art form that might otherwise have dimmed.

Hailing from Delhi’s famed Qawwal Bachcha gharana [musical lineage], Jaan traces his musical ancestry back to the likes of the 19th century Delhi gharana luminary Tanras Khan and Mian Saamat bin Ibrahim — with the latter being the principal disciple of Amir Khusrau. As the Saamis put it, their ancestors were chosen not by happenstance but by what the family believes to be Divine designation, stating, “Knowledge is given to whoever has a right to it, who deserves it. This is chosen and sent by God.”

In this vein, Jaan sees himself and his sons not simply as musicians but as carriers of a spiritual directive. Traditionally, these gharanas have maintained and safeguarded their expansive knowledge by transmitting centuries’ worth of musical heritage and experimentation seena-ba-seena [from ustaad to pupil]. But that knowledge has to be earned and serves as a rite of passage.

Jaan was trained in khayaal by his paternal uncle, who would also later become his father-in-law, Munshi Raziuddin — father of the celebrated Farid Ayaz and Abu Muhammad. But within Jaan, Raziuddin saw a different kaifiyat [temperament]and hence chose to train him in khayaal — a complex musical tradition that is passed down only to a select few.

So what made Raziuddin choose Jaan as the recipient of this guarded tradition? Rauf is philosophically cryptic in his response to this — as many proponents of classical music, at least in my experience, quite often tend to be — coyly reiterating, “Knowledge is given to whoever has a right to it, who deserves it.”

Since then, Jaan has devoted over half a century to khayaal. Speaking on the delicate potency of this music, Jaan says, “Within khayaal is a transformative power. There comes a moment when one begins to speak with the depths of one’s own soul, as the music becomes a pathway to the Divine… For centuries, my family has protected this knowledge so that it may heal hearts and bring peace.”

He adds: “In today’s fast-paced world, khayaal invites us to listen closely. Every note contains within it an entire universe.”

This link between music, the cosmos and any higher powers that may be is a long-standing one, with the Sufi saint Khawaja Nizamuddin Auliya famously proclaiming after hearing Mian Saamat sing, “I heard God’s voice in Amir Khusrau’s Raag Poorvi.”

Venturing out

While Jaan is basking in the glow of standing ovations and honours now, he has had to endure years of sacrifice and even obscurity to arrive at this juncture, as audiences for khayaal in Pakistan were scarce and the appetite for classical forms of music paltry.

But through sheer stubbornness, Jaan remained steadfast and kept his faith in a musical form many dismissed as archaic. This refusal to dilute or commercialise one’s art, particularly in the realm of Pakistani music, is rare.

And now, the tide is turning. As Rauf puts it, “My father dedicated decades to his art, persevering without ever backing down. Those who once overlooked him eventually came to sit in the front row, fully immersed in his performances. In Pakistan, many gifted artists go unrecognised for far too long, but through a lifetime of unwavering commitment, Jaan not only sustained his art but helped revive it — and now the moment for the musical traditions he has guarded has truly arrived.”

This is a bitter reality faced by many artists struggling to find their artistic anchorage in Pakistan — after all, in a country that is starving, the arts will never be on the carte de jour [menu of the day]. Urooj further elaborates on this, “Jahan koi cheez hoti hai, wahan uss ki qadar kam hoti hai [Where something exists, it is valued less]. But, in the US, our work is respected. They recognise our music and want to learn from it.”

So, two years ago, the Saami brothers packed up their harmoniums and flew to New York — a city that itself was in the middle of an unlikely cultural renaissance. A post-pandemic wave of Muslim entrepreneurs had been reinventing the city’s nightlife — not through bars or clubs, but through Yemeni-style coffeehouses and com­munity-run ‘third spaces’, where music, poetry and spiritual expression thrived.

“New York is undergoing an arts and cultural renaissance, especially with regards to music from the Muslim world,” says Nermeen Arastu, who also joins us on the Zoom call. Nermeen is a New York-based law professor who is a student of Rauf’s and helps direct strategy and residencies for the Saami family. Her efforts to help Jaan and his sons plant their feet in the US are described by the Saamis as nothing short of “God-sent.”

A community in New York

According to Nermeen, “It was Rauf’s vision. He said, ‘Why don’t we try performing khayaal or riwayati qawwali every week and connect with the young people?’ It changed the way we thought about classical music, as an event that happens once a year, making it something that happens every weekend instead — a mehfil [gathering] for people looking for spirituality outside of the traditional systems, such as the masjid [mosque].”

So what types of New Yorkers are coming to listen to the Saamis? “It’s a multicultural mix,” Nermeen says, “The South Asian diaspora, Arab communities, Hindustani classical musicians, non-Urdu speakers and even those versed in Tibetan mantras. The Saamis have made khayaal and riwayati qawwali mainstream here, which is evidenced by the fact that they will be performing both musical forms at New York’s iconic Lincoln Centre next year.”

For Jaan, this serves as an affirmation of his lifelong commitment to his music. “Performing in America with my sons reassures me that they are preserving the true essence of the shudh sur [pure notes] with complete fidelity,” he says. “Each time we bring new meaning to these pure notes on stage, it proves that one can progress while still safeguarding the sanctity of tradition.”

One of the Saamis’ most strategic decisions in the US was to use riwayati qawwali, their most accessible form, to open doors for listeners to the more complex world of khayaal. This approach is reshaping New York’s musical landscape. Last summer, Rauf recalls, five families from the same gharana performed regularly across the city. One could listen to qawwali every single night of the week — a phenomenon unimaginable a few years ago.

Increasingly, the audiences are craving greater depth, too. Rauf reflects on this transformation when he says, “People here are now moving beyond the likes of Tajdar-i-Haram. When they come to listen to us, they want to hear Kanhaiya and Guftum Ke Roshan Az Qamar. They want to understand them, translate them and know their meaning.”

And once they’ve been enticed by qawwali, their appetites are whetted for what treasures khayaal may hold. Touching upon why khayaal is gradually beginning to resonate increasingly with audiences in the Big Apple, Urooj explains, “Khayaal gives a sense of peace and tranquillity. New York is a fast-paced city, so the people there are thirsty for depth, authenticity, and something that is quiet and healing.”

Jaan further expands on this: “Khayaal is not just an art form, it is a spiritual meditation. To truly hold a note requires complete surrender. Our notes convey those emotions, those sentiments that cannot be expressed through words.”

Ustaad Ghar

Alongside their performances, the Saamis have also started a khayaal residency at their rented homes in Brooklyn and the Bronx, which is now entering its second year and hosts about 15 to 20 students from across the US and Canada. Their students lovingly call the home ‘Ustaad Ghar.’

“There is a wide variety of people interested in learning from the Saami Family through their residencies and programmes,” Nermeen says. “Many Western musicians who are interested in microtonal singing can understand its nuance. We have opera singers, people into sound therapy, yoga practitioners and instrumentalists. There’s a lot of openness in New York. People want to hear newer sounds.”

She continues: “On a daily basis, at least two or three students come for classes. On Eid or someone’s birthday, everyone wants to be here with their ustaads. For many New Yorkers whose families are not here, this place has become home.”

And at the centre of it all, quietly but powerfully present, is Jaan. Rauf says, “He [Jaan] watches over the music with a discerning eye, stepping in only when his guidance is most needed. Though his primary focus remains on his own performances, he is shaping the next generation, ensuring that the traditions he has guarded continues to thrive.” After all, his presence is the axis around which the Saamis’ tradition rotates.

There is, of course, still a palpable struggle behind New York’s growing romance with classical South Asian music. The Saamis admit that promoting khayaal, even in America, remains difficult. At times, listeners lean towards more commercial, mainstream sounds rather than the more intricate musical style of khayaal and riwayati qawwali. Yet, even in the face of these challenges, the Saamis now step onto stage after stage to sold-out audiences — whether in small, intimate rooms or expansive concert halls.

Despite the hurdles, the momentum is unmistakably upward. The commitment of the Saamis has never wavered and the renewed, growing hunger for their music has become the most powerful proof of its enduring vitality. For them, the continuity of their music is the true measure of success.

A spiritual mandate

And this idea of continuity is exemplified by the honour the Aga Khan Music Awards have chosen to bestow upon Jaan and his sons, which serves as a recognition of the entire tradition the family embodies.

As Nermeen puts it, “They [Jaan and his sons] are known for preserving the authentic and pure arts of Amir Khusrau. They could easily take more commercial avenues but, instead, they are laser-focused on their mission.”

For Rauf, the award reiterates what Jaan has strived for across his decades of musical practice. “My father has spent his entire life protecting the sacred sound of khaayal — its microtonal beauty, its emotion and its soul. For us, this award is not just an honour but a reminder of our family’s mission: to keep this ancient music breathing and to share its light with new listeners everywhere, from Pakistan to the furthest parts of the world.”

So, as Jaan and his sons make New York their new base (with a few yearly trips to Karachi scattered in between), their music continues to traverse geographical borders and generations. This serves as an affirmation that the sounds Jaan has protected for decades still hold great sway and relevance in a changing world.

And, as Jaan stands at the shore of the sea, his disciples stand right behind him, ready to carry the tradition forward.

The writer is a member of staff. He can be reached at hasnain.nawab1@gmail.com

Published in Dawn, ICON, November 30th, 2025

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