The Jashn-e-Rekhta conundrum: Can a cultural festival scale without losing its soul

The success of the festival echoed on the faces of people who wore their hearts on their sleeves while assimilating into the myriad moments of Jashn-e-Rekhta—celebrating Urdu, Persian poetry, and Sufi sagas.

A cultural juggernaut

Jashn-e-Rekhta evolved into an emotion over a decade, attracting masses in huge numbers. On record, it grew from thousands to over 100,000 attendees by 2025. Between 2015 and 2025, these 10 years carried tumultuous waves across society—economic, social, and political—yet the graph of its triumph continued climbing a higher track. Even during the hiatus owing to COVID-19, it emerged as a resilient cultural anchor; however, now the foundation appears to be in shackles.

It has been subject to criticism, and time will tell whether that criticism is for the right reasons. Jashn-e-Rekhta’s core strength earlier was the people who genuinely confided in Rekhta’s vision to overt the beauty of the Urdu language, its poetry, verses, scripts, and underrated maestros.

Nevertheless, many Urdu aficionados felt bamboozled—out of place. During this three-day event, the slogan “I Love Urdu” was prominently visible and did attract people, but on the other hand, it sparked rising concerns with English signboards carrying the same message. This contradiction unsettled many. “Agar Urdu mar rahi hai, toh main usi tarah marna chahta hoon” (If Urdu is dying, I’d love to die the same way). We were not ready for this slip.

Jashn-e-Rekhta has long been a homecoming for many. However, it is now available only at a cost. Urdu upholders remain bamboozled. The festival segregated access into four bands—bronze, silver, gold, and platinum. Does purpose remain accessible only to the privileged? This recalls Shirley Chisholm’s words: “When morality comes up against profit, it is seldom that profit loses.”

To some degree, Rekhta is now seen as digressing from its founding purpose. When the aim was to make the echo of Urdu louder than impact, why was there such a sudden shift in ticket prices for an “Urdu festival” and “Celebrating Urdu”?

An entry fee is certainly viable, but what justifies a pass priced at a figure ending with three zeroes? The Jashn risks jeopardising emotions and paving the way for elitism. The conflict of capitalism is inherent in one way or another and is slowly developing into a cultural, transactional business.

This growing commercialism has not gone unnoticed by the loyal followers of Jashn-e-Rekhta. The glaze of glimmer is somewhat blurring the lines of Urdu. It begs the question: is it filling the lanes of Jashn-e-Rekhta with an overpowering love for Urdu—or with the wannabe?

Javed Akhtar and Shabana Azmi at a previous edition of Jashn-e-Rekhta. (Express File)

Concert-like culture

The homecoming for devoted Urdu adherents now feels misplaced. The concert-like culture at the Jashn is stealing the essence of its originality, diminishing the charged air of verses spoken aloud on stage—verses meant to rescue Urdu from the wraps of unheard, unknown, and unread prolific writers. On one shore, Rekhta aims to shorten the distance to Urdu through its trilingual (Urdu–Hindi–English) approach; on the other, it fills a societal void by deepening the ditch of consuming commercialism. I would not call it a capitalist circus, because shreds of its original spirit still live in the hearts of people who continue to look forward to Jashn-e-Rekhta every year. It has crossed borders, and we saw it again earlier this year in Dubai. But once more, we must ponder: how high are the stakes for culture versus commerce?

Before I sign off, I add that Jashn-e-Rekhta, at one point in time, reverberated the Urdu language not just geographically, but in the very hearts of people whose soul is Urdu. The goonj of Jashn-e-Rekhta should not be confined to binaries of barter. If there must be a transaction, let it be one of cultural exchange—panegyrics in honour of Urdu and eulogies for its eloquent voices.

Allow me to quote my personal favourite, Bashir Badr’s sher:

na udaas ho na malāl kar kisī baat kā na ḳhayāl kar
ka.ī saal ba.ad mile haiñ ham tere naam aaj kī shaam hai

With this note, cheers to Jashn-e-Rekhta. Let us hope to meet again next year—without a misplaced homecoming.

(The author is a literary editor and publishing professional who has worked with the National Book Trust and Rupa Publications India.)