Kashi with Anshu
Antara didn't start in an auditorium. It started on the water in Banaras, at dawn, with a small group of people singing. This is the work it grew out of.
काशी
A city, and a way of being in it
Kashi with Anshu is a small, deliberate thing. Four days in Banaras — Kashi, the oldest living city — for ten seekers at a time, by application rather than booking. Anshu Goyal leads it the way you'd take a close friend through a place you love: the rare aartis, the lanes most visitors never find, the quiet of the ghats before the crowds, a heritage stay to come back to.
The line Anshu keeps returning to says it best: "I don't take you to Kashi. I take you closer to yourself." It isn't a tour. You can read how it's built on the immersion page, and what past travellers say in their own words in their voices.
Bhajan jamming,
on a boat, on the river
On the immersion, one part of it always turns into music. A boat pushes off into the Ganga by lamplight, drifts past Manikarnika, and somewhere along the way someone starts a bhajan. By the second verse nobody is a listener any more. That moment — the whole group singing over moving water, no sound system, no stage, no audience — is the exact seed Antara grew from.
Antara is that same idea, carried off the river and into a room so more people can be in it — the boat, made large enough for a city to sit in. If you want the plain version of what happens at an Antara evening, here's what bhajan jamming is.
The same devotion, a bigger room
The immersions are, by design, tiny — ten people at a time. Antara is how that spirit reaches a few hundred: the same reverence, the same insistence that you sing rather than watch, staged with a live band and a real sound system. One is intimate and by application; the other is open to anyone who takes a seat.
You can see Kashi's own calendar of gatherings on the Kashi editions page, or read the full story of the immersion in the brochure. And when you're ready for the Delhi evening, the next Antara is here.