Sound over spectacle at Satori’s Raga Odyssey

December in Dhaka has the odd habit of promising everything at once: a dozen openings, a concert on every weekend, pop-up events, festivals crowding the calendar. 

Most things lean toward the new, pop, fusion, experimental theatre. So when I stepped into Satori Academy of Arts on Friday, expecting the festive vibe "festivals" usually bring, what met me felt like a different proposition altogether—small, deliberate, and uncompromising.

Satori stands slightly apart from Banani's busy streets, yet inside the venue felt less like a formal concert space and more like a lived-in sitting room — warm wood, soft lighting, and chairs set so the audience could see one another as much as the musicians. That intimate setting shaped the forthcoming experience.

Satori began as a meditation centre about ten years ago and later added art to the program. "When we first started with meditation, we realised that to practice conscious living we need to incorporate creative expression," Rashida Akhter, one of the administrators of Satori, told me. That origin shaped the night, this was music meant to be lived with, not shown off.

By the end of the night, in the loosest sense of the word, the festival had done what a good small-scale event should: it clarified why the music mattered to the people who make it and the people who come to hear it. There was no grand manifesto, no attempt to rebuild tradition wholesale. 

The festival, 'Raga Odyssey—Eastern Classical Festival 2025', ran over two nights. On the first evening the program opened with Suhrid Shourjo Rahman on sarod, Anindo Swapno on esraj, and Akif Al Wasi on tabla. They did not perform to impress, rather they settled into the room, and the music settled around us. 

Khayal came next. Anindita Sarker sang with Pancham Shanyal on tabla and Dhrubo Sarker on harmonium. Khayal thrives on improvisation; it pulls and pushes, asks for attention and then rewards it. That night the vocals made the room feel like a conversation. No grand gestures, just careful phrasing that drew listeners in.

Photo: Courtesy

Instrumental pieces threaded through the evening. Ashikul Abir's esraj with Kumar Protibimbo's tabla kept that quiet intensity. A visitor beside me, a regular audience member, said, "The way both artistes were playing on such a high and low scale and shifting from one to another, literally blew my mind. I wasn't expecting such a performance when they started at first from such young artists."

Then came one of the most awaited performances, Advocate Manzur al Matin, who gained a lot of popularity last year through his efforts during the student protests and mass uprising, performed sarod with his guru Shamim Zahir and Zakir Hosen on tabla. 

Sarod is an introspective instrument; in expert hands it turns inward and opens up the listener's thoughts. When they played, it was not dramatic, rather it was steady and so much introspective that for a few minutes the audience could forget all their worries..

The choice of venue, a hall for about fifty to sixty people made a difference. It narrowed the usual gap between performer and audience. Applause felt direct; the performers could see the faces that received their music. 

Rashida explained the festival's intent: "We have events on classical music every now and then, but this is the first time we are arranging an event as a festival format. As an art academy we tried to bring in junior and senior artists on one platform so that it creates the bridge between them." 

That mix of experience levels did not feel like tokenism. It felt like a practical way to make learning visible, a young player learns from being in the same line-up as a seasoned one.

The lineup — sixteen performances across two nights, twenty-four artistes in total, including names such as Priyanka Gope, the Fuljhuri Sisters, Murtaza Kabir Murad, and Avijit Kundu — read on paper like a generous roll call of the classical world. 

But what mattered at Satori was the quality of connection, choices that favoured listening over spectacle. Samir, Satori's social media manager, laughed when he told me they'd been surprised by the turnout. 

"We didn't expect such overwhelming responses that we got. The amount of people registered and came to visit today exceeded our past experiences and events." The hall brimmed at times; some stood in the doorway, content to hear without sitting.

There is a kind of silence in small rooms that big venues rarely give, not the kind of silence you get while waiting for the next number, but a silence that grounds you with the music. Hence, the applause between pieces was measured, conscious as if each clap answered the music directly. 

By the end of the night, in the loosest sense of the word, the festival had done what a good small-scale event should: it clarified why the music mattered to the people who make it and the people who come to hear it. There was no grand manifesto, no attempt to rebuild tradition wholesale. 

Instead, there was a cluster of thoughtful choices — a venue that prioritised closeness, a program that balanced reverence with experiment, and an audience willing to let the music take its time.