Rekhaber Rup – this song was part of Kabir Suman’s album Bose Aanko (Draw While Sitting).
It is a piece cherished by many. However, its use of symbolic expressions drawn from classical Indian music renders the meaning elusive for some.
Let us, then, attempt to make the matter a little more accessible.
The entire song is, in essence, a celebration of the komal rekhab — the soft ‘Re’.
‘Komal Rekhab’ refers to the flattened ‘Rishabh’, often called simply Komal Re. On the harmonium, it is the note that lies delicately between the pure ‘Sa’ and the standard ‘Re’.
This note bears an especially intimate connection with the morning. In nearly every raga of that time of day, komal rekhab reigns supreme. It manifests in myriad forms, each celebrated in its own right.
Around the Brahma Muhurta — that liminal hour just before or after dawn — the natural world assumes a certain delicate stillness, and this note resonates with a particular potency.
It enlivens the inner feelings of living beings and stimulates a profound sense of self-connection. Simultaneously, it eases our communion with nature. Hence, from the Brahma Muhurta to roughly ten in the morning, most morning ragas are dominated by this komal rekhab.
Though merely a single note, komal rekhab has many incarnations — gentle, ultra-soft, firm, elongated, oscillated, and so on. Its expression varies depending on the raag-ang (the raga family) and the movement within the raga — where it comes from, where it leads, and how it travels.
So, when a performer chooses just the right form of komal rekhab for a given raga, it often brings them a distinct joy. And then, there are those rare days when the note lands with absolute perfection — and ananda, pure bliss, follows.
The song Rekhaber Roop (The Form of Re) is essentially centred around Raag Jogiya — a raga of quiet melancholy.
In this piece, we hear Pandit Bhimsen Joshi performing at around 6 a.m., immersed in Raag Jogiya. When he reaches komal rekhab — when he applies that note — it clings to his voice with sublime resonance. That wistful beauty, that udas ruposi, carries him deep into the chambers of memory.
As the melody flows, the inner artist — his very soul — momentarily appears before us, clothed in the innocence of a young girl, glimpsed through the eyes of Nazrul.
There may be another reason for referencing Nazrul’s song Kaveri Nodir Jole Ke Go. That same komal rishabh once again makes its presence felt.
Nazrul had named the raga Karnatak Samant. Little is known of its formal structure, but in its sound, one can detect the fragrance of Jogiya and Gunakali blended delicately together.
Altogether, this piece is a glorious tribute to the soft rekhab of the morning — a musical ode to tenderness, memory, and spiritual resonance.