Baithaks have long been an intimate listening tradition in India, originating in the Mughal era as private musical gatherings for royalty. Over time, these spaces became crucial for nurturing gharanas and allowing musicians to deepen their craft beyond institutional settings. In contrast to today’s large-scale, high-production concerts, baithaks foreground skill, presence, and deep listening. Reviving this tradition is Ayat, a Bengaluru-based collective founded by Vishnupriya Srivastava, which brings Indian classical music into living rooms through small, monthly gatherings.
Baithaks have long been a listening tradition in India. Emerging during the Mughal era, they were intimate gatherings where court musicians performed for royalty in private settings. The word itself literally means “to sit” or “to gather,” and that meaning carries through in the experience: baithaks are immersive and intimate, making the act of listening feel almost tangible. Over time, this format nurtured several gharanas (schools of performance), allowing them to develop their own intricacies and specialities.
Historically, the baithak was rooted in exclusivity. Attendance was limited to the nobility, and these gatherings were typically held within palace walls or secluded spaces. However, during the 19th and 20th centuries, as music gradually moved beyond temples and royal courts, baithaks became crucial spaces for musicians to hone their craft, experiment, and deepen their practice outside rigid institutional settings.
Today, as large-scale and high-production concerts become the norm, smaller, intimate gatherings like baithaks often get lost in this space. Beyond the spectacle of production, baithaks foreground skill and artistry, allowing the musician’s craft to shine through without distraction.
Championing this intimate format of listening is Ayat, a Bengaluru-based collective that is bringing classical music concerts into living rooms. By creating a shared space for both patrons and artists who continue to keep the traditions of Indian classical music alive, Ayat is actively reviving the spirit of the baithak, one rooted in closeness and attentiveness.
Founded by Vishnupriya Srivastava, a software developer by profession, Ayat derives its name from a word that means “sign” or “miracle.” In conversation with Homegrown, Srivastava says: "I myself am a classical musician, and I love listening to classical music. But it always felt like there was a taboo around it, and honestly it doesn't sound "cool" according to other people. And I wanted to start something of my own, because it felt like there was something missing." The collective hosts monthly, small-scale music gatherings set up in domestic spaces, most often a living room. Stripped of elaborate staging or amplification, these events place their sole focus on the music itself.
For this month’s edition, Ayat is hosting vocalist Tanmaya Kshirsagar, accompanied by Sumith Nayak on the tabla and Tejas Katoti on the harmonium, on 14 February. Each baithak concludes with a shared meal, an evening of breaking bread with fellow listeners, extending the intimacy of the music into conversation and community. Srivastava pointed out that in intimate settings like these, it's not just the artists that are driving the evening. There is a transfer of energy, a direct alchemy that is created because of the gasps, sighs and pauses taken by the listeners.
While speaking about what she has learned as Ayat has grown, Srivastava says she has come to realise how unorganised the music industry can be. “People still ask me how I pay the artists, and that question comes from the age-old idea that artists shouldn’t run behind money. I’m doing my little bit to remove this taboo, because at Ayat, artist costs are independent of audience footfall, and I don’t want to negotiate with artists. Now that I’m learning classical music myself, I know how much it takes to be classically trained.” The long-standing discomfort around money in the arts ecosystem, where passion is often expected to substitute fair compensation is deeply ingrained around the idea that artistic integrity is assumed to diminish the moment money enters the conversation. And Srivastava's insistence on not negotiating with artists is incredibly telling as a non-negotiable acknowledgment of years of training and discipline.
In our age, where everything is shaped by scale and speed, baithaks remind us of a more patient way of listening: one that asks for presence rather than attention spans. The baithak, once bound by palaces and privilege, now finds new life in ordinary homes, where listening becomes collective, unhurried, and deeply human once again.
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