Rabbi Shergill on Lucknow’s Khuli Hawa and What Cities Mean for Live Music

When Rabbi Shergill spoke about Lucknow’s khuli hawa while performing in the city, it wasn’t a throwaway remark. Comparing Lucknow’s open air to Delhi’s chronic pollution, his observation landed as both gratitude and quiet critique. Coming from an artist whose music has always thrived on thoughtfulness rather than spectacle, the moment felt deeply in character.

For decades, Rabbi Shergill has stood apart from mainstream noise musically and philosophically. His songs don’t shout; they question. So when he spoke about the simple act of breathing freely, it connected to something larger than a concert anecdote. It became a reminder of how cities shape creative experience, and how environmental realities increasingly influence live music culture in India.

Lucknow, often celebrated for its history and cultural grace, offered more than a stage that evening. It offered space literal and emotional. Open air, calmer pace, and a sense of presence that many Indian metros have lost. For artists, especially those who value connection over performance excess, such environments matter. Music doesn’t just fill space; it responds to it.

Rabbi’s comment also highlighted a growing contrast in India’s urban experience. Cities like Delhi have become symbols of opportunity, but also of compromise where cultural vibrancy exists alongside environmental strain. Artists who move between cities feel this difference acutely. Breathing becomes conscious. Movement becomes restricted. Energy shifts.

What makes this moment significant is not criticism, but awareness. By acknowledging Lucknow’s cleaner air with gratitude, Rabbi subtly reframed privilege. Not as access to bigger stages or louder crowds, but as the ability to exist comfortably within one’s surroundings. In a time when live music is often about scale and visibility, this perspective feels grounding.

There’s also a deeper connection between environment and listening. Open spaces invite patience. They allow audiences to stay, absorb and reflect. Rabbi Shergill’s music rooted in lyricism and introspection naturally finds resonance in such settings. The city doesn’t overpower the music; it supports it.

This moment speaks to a larger shift in India’s live music ecosystem. As festivals and concerts expand beyond traditional metros, artists are rediscovering what smaller or calmer cities offer: attentiveness, comfort, and genuine engagement. It challenges the idea that cultural significance must always centre around the biggest cities.

Rabbi Shergill’s observation wasn’t a political statement, but it carried truth. It reminded us that art doesn’t exist in isolation. It breathes the same air we do. And sometimes, recognising that air clean, open, taken for granted is the most meaningful thing an artist can do on stage.

In listening to music, perhaps we should also listen to the cities hosting it.