The announcement arrived without fanfare—almost in keeping with the quiet radiance of the work it celebrated. Meditation: Reflections of His Holiness the Dalai Lama, an intimate collaboration featuring the Tibetan spiritual leader with sarod virtuoso Ustad Amjad Ali Khan and his sons Amaan and Ayaan Ali Bangash, has been nominated for a Grammy in the category of Best Audio Book, Narration and Storytelling Recording.
In an age ruled by spectacle and algorithm-driven sound, the stillness of this album lands with an unusual force. Its nomination has become one of the year’s most meaningful cultural surprises, drawing in listeners who may have little prior connection to Indian classical music, Buddhist philosophy or spoken-word albums. Yet the project’s originality—anchored in the Dalai Lama’s voice and the Bangash family’s six generations of musical lineage—has generated a quiet but sustained global resonance.
The album weaves His Holiness’s reflections on compassion, harmony, and interconnectedness with original sarod compositions by the Bangash family. Produced by multi-Grammy and Emmy Award winner Kabir Sehgal, it also features contributions from artistes such as Andra Day, Ted Nash, Debi Nova, Maggie Rogers, Tony Succar and Rufus Wainwright. But at its emotional core, the work is a contemplative dialogue between the Dalai Lama’s measured voice and the Bangash family’s restrained, spiritually aligned musical phrasing.
For Amaan, 48, the project was much more than a recording. “Every time we met His Holiness, there was a moment when the entire room seemed to fall into silence. Not the silence of emptiness, but of presence. Our music had to honour that quietness,” he says. He recalls a particular interaction in Dharamshala when the Dalai Lama greeted him not with words, but by taking his hands gently and examining them. “He looked at my hands for a few seconds,” Amaan says, “and then smiled and said, ‘These hands must never lose their kindness. Music without kindness is just noise.’ I have carried that line with me ever since.”
Another memory stands out. While discussing the album’s themes, the Dalai Lama suddenly began laughing—a full-bodied, infectious laugh that rippled across the room. “He told us, ‘Don’t think so hard. Peace is not made by effort. Peace is what remains when you stop trying to be important.’ We were supposed to be discussing recording logistics, but he turned it into a life lesson. That was his way.”
These encounters shaped the album’s deliberate minimalism. “We weren’t trying to dazzle anyone,” Amaan explains. “His message was the real melody. Our sarods merely held space for it.”
The collaboration unfolded over two slow, reflective years. The production team, based partly in the US, required extensive coordination, but the pace felt organic. “You can’t rush something rooted in silence,” Amaan says. “Working with His Holiness felt like entering a different sense of time.” The prolonged exchange became a form of musical meditation, where the Dalai Lama’s voice acted as the primary instrument and the sarod responded with breathlike phrases and carefully placed pauses.
The seven reflections anchoring the album—heart, harmony, water, health, peace, essence and journey—function like small rituals. Each piece invites listeners not to consume, but to inhabit a soundscape shaped as much by stillness as by melody.
The album’s subtlety may be its most radical gesture. In a world of shrinking attention span and hyperactive media consumption, it offers a cultural counterpoint—a reminder that introspection still has a mass audience. Its success reflects an unexpected global yearning for contemplation, proof that serenity can travel across borders even more effectively than spectacle.
Behind the project lies the Bangash family’s nearly two-century-old musical lineage. Ustad Amjad Ali Khan’s sarod style—lyrical, precise, imbued with emotional depth—has shaped the international identity of the instrument. Amaan and Ayaan continue to carry this legacy while extending its vocabulary. Yet, in this album, virtuosity gives way to simplicity. The brothers chose emotional clarity over technical flourish, guided by the classical idea of music as seva, or service.
Amaan’s views on classical music reflect a similar faith. The suggestion that the art form is losing relevance doesn’t persuade him. “People never lose interest,” he says. “Art has phases—high tide and low tide. If a concert doesn’t connect, that’s not the audience’s fault.” He rejects age-based assumptions as well. “A 10-year-old is as important to me as a 100-year-old. And social media hasn’t diminished classical music. It has multiplied it.” His own experience confirms this. “I get paid far more now than I did 20 years ago. So clearly, the audience is very much alive,” he says.
Amaan’s performances underscore that vitality. Such as his recent concert Waah Ustad, a tribute to the late tabla maestro Ustad Zakir Hussain, presented by the Aalekh Foundation in Delhi. “This concert is like an ibadat (prayer) for me,” he says. “Hussain saab gave me so much—the kind of guidance that shapes not just the artist but the human being.”
As Meditation: Reflections of His Holiness the Dalai Lama moves through the awards circuit, it offers a striking counterpoint to the noise of contemporary culture. Music rooted in humility, stillness and shared humanity can still travel far, still reach wide. And for Amaan, the true reward is not the nomination but the album’s effect on listeners. “If even one person finds a moment of peace through this work, then everything we put into it was worth it,” he says.
In a world growing louder by the day, the Dalai Lama’s voice—carried gently on the strings of the sarod—reminds us that listening is its own form of compassion.