Emon Chowdhury’s ‘Baaji’: Stitching together the sounds and stories of Bangladesh
Emon turned to the beloved folk song, ‘Baaji’, to showcase Bangladesh’s cultural diversity in Coke Studio Bangla’s newest release
Coke Studio Bangla's recent release, 'Baaji' by Emon Chowdhury and Hashim Mahmud, has been a success–but little do viewers know, it was in the works for the better part of the last 18 months.
It all started with Emon's vision of coming up with a sequel after his viral hit 'Kotha Koiyo Na' for the same project in an earlier season.
Spend just ten minutes with Emon and you'll notice he speaks with an easy smile, at peace with the music he makes—because every word, like every note, comes straight from the heart.
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I wanted to pluck flowers from all the different corners of the country and make one giant garland—and essentially that's what 'Baaji' is.
If that's not clear from the sweet and tender tones that flow from his fingers when he's playing on stringed instruments, it's certainly clear in his vision for creating a song that inclusively brings in many corners of Bangladeshi culture, but not necessarily limited to just Bangali culture.
Cue in 'Baaji'.
"I wanted to pluck flowers from all the different corners of the country and make one giant garland—and essentially that's what 'Baaji' is," said the musician. Emon wanted to stitch a single thread that weaves all of Bangla's hills, rivers, tea gardens, their people and their culture, diversity, and their stories–and bring them together.
A slice of Bangladesh, if you may say so. To accomplish that, Emon turned to 'Baaji' by Hashim Mahmud—a beloved folk song that, until last week, had never had an official studio release.
"Hashim bhai, throughout his bohemian journey, sang this song countless times in different places, and each time it was different. He would alter the lyrics, sometimes tweak parts of the melody, but there had never been a definitive recorded version," Emon said.
Building on 'Baaji', Emon felt it was only fitting to fuse the essence of land, hills, and sea—since Hashim's song itself speaks of them. His vision was to bring these elements together, layer by layer.
That's where the Dhua Gaan troupe came into the picture. This folk genre has its history deeply rooted in Tangail. He paired the music with 'Asmane Tor Chayare Konya' by Jalal Uddin Kha, a song currently gaining quite the fandom in the hill tracts, and added the rhythms of Manipuri pung dances—something that had mesmerised Emon the first time he witnessed them.
The Dhua singers, meanwhile, carry a legacy that stretches back centuries in the Dhaka division—grounded not in hills or rivers, but in the lowlands of Dhaka itself.
"You can imagine why it took nearly two years to finish," he said softly. "Also, to integrate different instruments and tonalities was not easy, as I did not use any samples in the final production."
It also wasn't just about recording a song—it was about finding people from all corners of the country, convincing them to join, and bringing them together in one place. Many had never stepped inside a studio before; some had never even set foot in Dhaka.
But for Emon, the real treasure of this long journey was the bond he built with the group—people scattered across villages, hills, and towns, each carrying their own music, their own colours of art. They came as strangers, yet by the end, they had become something more. Emon remembers how, when the last notes were sung and the cameras packed away, a few of them cried.
Since we were already on the subject, I also mentioned a discussion circulating on social media since the song's release. These posts focused on the violence and injustices faced by marginalised communities.
One particular issue being highlighted was the incarceration of a few hundred people from the Lusai-Bawm community, many of whom were reportedly imprisoned unjustly, with some even dying while in custody.
Many have accused the music video of hypocrisy—using the cultural identity of these communities as mere visual decoration and tokenistic representation, and making good business out of it while the deeper reality of "state violence" lies buried underneath and the failure of the music video to acknowledge these struggles.
"Commercial profit was not our intention. We merely wanted to include iconic and exclusive cultural aspects from the regions because they are part of Bangladesh's greater identity," Emon started explaining.
"Whenever someone collaborates with people from marginalised communities or the hill tracts, the matter is always delicate. However, it's important to note that the incidents and imprisonments being mentioned appear to have taken place more recently; they were not yet an issue when he began working on the song in 2023. That said, I acknowledge there was already a degree of tension in the hills at that time," he added.
Moving on to a lighter topic of discussion, we talked a bit about the composition of the song. And while at it, I asked Emon why he decided to be one of the singers on the track.
"It was Shayan Chowdhury Arnob's recommendation. He suggested kicking the song off on a softer texture, which is why I lent my voice," he responded.
On top of the musical complexities regarding the integration of multiple voices and instruments mentioned above, it was also tricky to blend Hashim Mahmud's segment as well. Emon noted that Hashim's song was more often than not performed on variable tempos, sometimes a bit offbeat, and to make room for that, he needed to make structural changes throughout the entire song.
"I really wanted Hashim bhai to have a cameo appearance. It's not easy with the medical issues he has, but I am glad I could share the song and the stage with him," Emon concluded.
