DJ Meets Dhol

The sun has just begun to dip below the horizon, casting a golden glow over Mumbai’s Girgaon Chowpatty. The sea is a glittering expanse, and the streets are packed with thousands of devotees. In their midst, a procession makes its way toward the water, led by the deep, resonant beats of the dhol-tasha, the spirited dance of the Lezim players (Lezim is a folk dance from Maharashtra, which gets its name from a musical instrument—a wooden stick with jingling cymbals attached to it that the dancers carry while performing), and the high-energy rhythms of Bollywood remixes. This is Ganpati Visarjan—one of Mumbai’s most beloved traditions—an event that has changed dramatically over the years, mirroring the city’s own evolution.

Once characterised by simple processions with traditional instruments, the Ganpati Visarjan is now a spectacle filled with blaring speakers, DJs, and electronic dance music (EDM). The festival’s soundtrack has shifted, reflecting a broader change in how we celebrate. For some, this transformation enriches the experience; for others, it signals a departure from tradition. But one thing is clear: Ganpati music trends are constantly evolving, shaped by the dynamic cultural landscape of contemporary India.

To understand how much Ganpati Chaturthi music has evolved, one needs to look back to a time when the festival was simpler but, many would say, more soulful. For decades, the music of Ganpati Visarjan was defined by the steady beat of the dhol-tasha and the clang of the manjira, accompanied by the chants of “Ganpati Bappa Morya!” filling the air. The procession would move slowly, deliberately, as if in a trance induced by the hypnotic rhythm of the drums.

Seventy-year-old Kamala Joshi, a lifelong resident of Girgaon recalls, “It was different back then. The streets would come alive with the sounds of the dhol-tasha. Everyone, from children to the elderly, would dance along. The music wasn’t just for entertainment; it was a form of prayer. There was a connection, a sense of community that you could feel in every beat.”

Back then, the mandals, like Girgaon Cha Raja and Keshavji Naik Chawl Ganpati, prided themselves on their commitment to tradition. “We played music that we believed would please Bappa,” says Nilesh Shinde, a third-generation member of the organising committee at Keshavji Naik Chawl Ganpati. “It was simple, devotional, and deeply spiritual. Our instruments were basic, but the music had a way of reaching into your soul.”

By the late 1980s and early 1990s, Mumbai began to change rapidly, and so did the Ganpati celebrations. Bollywood, with its immense cultural influence, began to creep into the processions. At first, it was just a few songs, a curiosity. But soon, it became a trend. Mandals started incorporating popular Bollywood tracks into their playlists, blending them with the traditional sounds of the dhol and tasha.

“At first, people were hesitant,” remembers Santosh Patil, a longtime organiser at Khetwadicha Ganraj. “Some thought it was too modern, too different. But then we saw the crowds. People loved it. They danced more, cheered louder. The younger generation especially—Bollywood music seemed to speak to them in a way that traditional old songs didn’t.”

The shift wasn’t immediate. Traditional music still held its ground, and the transformation was subtle, almost imperceptible. But as years went by, the influence of Bollywood grew stronger. Mandals began hiring professional sound systems, and DJs started making appearances, turning Visarjan processions into high-energy dance parties.

By the 2010s, the festival’s musical landscape had shifted significantly. DJ Naman Sinha, who began playing at Ganpati processions a decade ago, was one of the pioneers of this change. “When I started, I didn’t think there would be a big market for DJs at religious festivals,” he says. “But the response was incredible. We played a mix of Bollywood hits, Punjabi beats, and some EDM tracks, and people went wild. It was like we had tapped into something new, a different kind of energy.”

Rahul More, a DJ based in Pune describes his job as more than just playing music. “I curate the experience,” he explains. “I start with something familiar—an old Ganpati aarti remixed with modern beats. It brings people in, makes them feel connected. Then I build up the tempo with popular Bollywood numbers, and by the end, everyone’s dancing to high-energy electronic tracks. It’s all about creating a mood, a vibe.”

This fusion of the old and the new has caught on, especially among the younger crowd. “We love it,” says Rohan Shetty, a 22-year-old college student from Dadar. “The DJs bring a different kind of vibe. It’s like a party, but it’s still devotional in a way. We’re celebrating Ganpati, but we’re doing it in a style that feels current, that feels like us.”

Two-line drop

But not everyone is enthusiastic about these changes. For many traditionalists, the rise of DJs and the influx of modern music threaten to overshadow the festival’s cultural and spiritual essence. “It’s not just noise,” argues Suresh Shinde, a veteran drummer with the Girgaon Dhwajapathak. “Our music has a history, a purpose. It’s been passed down from generation to generation. It’s a connection to our past, to our heritage. When the DJs drown us out, it feels like we’re losing something valuable.”

Shinde’s sentiment is echoed by other members of traditional pathaks, like the Shree Hari Lejhim Pathak and Prashant Ghare Dhol Tasha Zanj Lezim Pathak, who have been performing at Ganpati processions for decades. For them, the dhol-tasha is not just an instrument; it’s a sacred tradition, a way of expressing devotion through rhythm.

“There’s a certain magic in the traditional music,” Shinde explains. “When we play, it’s like we’re telling a story, connecting with the divine. Every beat has meaning, every rhythm has a purpose. The DJs don’t have that connection. They play what’s popular, what’s loud, but it doesn’t have the same soul.”

Faced with these conflicting musical trends, many mandals find themselves at a crossroads. Should they stick to the old ways, preserving the festival’s rich cultural heritage, or should they embrace the new sounds that appeal to younger generations?

At Girgaon cha Raja, one of Mumbai’s most prominent mandals, the organisers have found a unique way to strike a balance. “We start our processions with traditional music, the dhol-tasha, and the lezim,” says Jayesh Mehta, a committee member. “But as we move along, we slowly transition to more contemporary music. It’s a gradual shift, and it seems to work well. People of all ages join in, and there’s a sense of unity despite the different styles.”

This hybrid approach is becoming increasingly common. At Khetwadicha Ganraj, for example, the organisers invite both traditional bands and DJs, creating a fusion of sounds that caters to everyone. “We’re trying to respect our roots while staying relevant,” Patil explains. “It’s a challenge, but it’s also an opportunity. We’re finding new ways to celebrate.”

While some celebrate the changes, others long for the past. In Shivaji Park, an area known for its old-school Ganpati processions, 82-year-old Madhav Bhat looks back with a sense of loss. “When I was young, the music was different,” he says. “It wasn’t just entertainment; it was a spiritual experience. The dhol-tasha, the lezim—they had a way of pulling you in, making you feel like you were part of something bigger.”

Bhat describes the preparations leading up to Visarjan, when local musicians would gather to rehearse their rhythms for hours. “We would sit and listen, enchanted,” he recalls. “The music wasn’t loud, but it was powerful. It moved you, it spoke to you. Now, with all these speakers and remixes, that feeling is lost. It’s too commercial, too flashy.”

But even Bhat acknowledges the inevitability of change. “Things can’t stay the same forever,” he says, sighing. “I just hope we don’t lose what makes this festival special—the sense of community, the devotion, the music that connects us to our roots.”

Despite the challenges, there is a growing recognition among musicians and organisers that adaptation is key to the survival of traditional music in a modern world. The Shree Hari Lejhim Pathak, for example, has started collaborating with local DJs to create fusion tracks that blend dhol beats with electronic music.

“It’s an experiment, but it’s working,” says Ramesh Patil, the group’s leader. “We’re finding new ways to keep our music alive, to make it relevant for today’s audience. It’s not about abandoning our roots; it’s about evolving.”

Patil’s group now performs a mix of traditional and modern songs, attracting both old and new fans. “We play the classics, but we also mix in something new,” he explains. “The young people love it. They get to hear something familiar, but with a fresh twist. And for us, it’s a way to stay connected to the festival, to keep the tradition going.”

So, what does the future hold for Ganpati music? It’s hard to say for certain. On the one hand, the rise of DJs and contemporary music seems unstoppable, driven by the tastes of younger generations and the influence of global trends. On the other hand, there is a deep-rooted love for tradition, for the sounds that have defined Ganpati celebrations for generations.

“The festival is changing, no doubt,” says DJ Ankit Mehta, who has been performing in mandals in Mumbai for the last 5 years. “But I think that’s a good thing. It’s becoming more inclusive, more diverse. We’re bringing in new sounds, new experiences. But at its core, it’s still about devotion, about community. Whether we’re playing dhol or EDM, that spirit is the same.”

As Mumbai dances to a new rhythm, the story of Ganpati music continues to unfold, one beat at a time. Whether it’s the ancient, soulful thud of the dhol-tasha or the high-energy beats of a DJ’s set, the music of Ganpati Visarjan tells a tale of a city in flux, of a culture that’s constantly evolving. And as long as the music plays, the celebration will continue—different, perhaps, but always vibrant, always alive.

About The Author

Divya Naik

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