In an exclusive chat with Loudest.in Power People, Sonam Kalra shares the journey of The Sufi Gospel Project, her new song Chaleya Momin: The Search, and her vision of music as a force for healing, authenticity, and unity beyond labels.
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Sonam Kalra is an award-winning singer, composer, and Coke Studio artist, known for her soulful voice and unique interpretations of Sufi poetry. Trained in both Indian and Western classical music, she is the creator of The Sufi Gospel Project, which blends diverse faiths through music and has earned her global acclaim.
A member of the US Grammy Recording Academy, Kalra has performed at prestigious venues like the Sydney Opera House and the Pyramids of Egypt, sharing the stage with legends including Abida Parveen and Sir Bob Geldof.
In an exclusive chat with Loudest.in Power People, Sonam Kalra shares the journey of The Sufi Gospel Project, her new song Chaleya Momin: The Search, and her vision of music as a force for healing, authenticity, and unity beyond labels.
Here are edited excerpts:
Your Sufi Gospel Project blends diverse traditions,Sufi, Gospel, Indian classical, Western classical, folk. When you first envisioned it, what was the emotional need or spiritual impulse that sparked it?
So, thank you for being able to see everything that this encompasses to begin with. And yes, there was both an emotional and a spiritual need. To take you back a little, I had studied Hindustani classical music, and when I first decided to create The Sufi Gospel Project, it was because my mother was very ill. At that time, I found myself drawn to gospel music,as a form of solace, as a way of calling out to God, as a pathway to spirituality and healing. I felt I needed to heed that call.
So, I began learning gospel music, and later I also studied jazz. I had already studied opera by then. Once I had learned gospel, I was invited to many festivals and churches across India to sing, which was very meaningful for me. But many people would ask why a Sikh girl felt the need to sing gospel music, and why I wasn’t singing shabads or bhajans.
I always found that to be such an odd question. I would reply that each of us should be free to call out to God in whichever way feels right. And I continued to do so. The real turning point, however, was when I was invited to sing at the dargah of Sufi Inayat Khan for his Urs.
In that moment, the sheer incredulousness and the special quality of what was happening was not lost on me. A Sikh girl, singing what was typically called Christian music,gospel,was invited to an Islamic space to perform. I felt it was my duty to listen to what the universe was telling me,that there was something more I was meant to say, something more I was meant to create.
That was when I began to dive deeply into my soul, listening to my inner voice. I felt compelled to create something that honored the opportunity the universe had granted me. And so, The Sufi Gospel Project was born,at first purely out of intuition, blending together the many faiths I was already engaging with, in a way that felt right to my ear, my heart, and my soul.
When I first presented it, I saw not only the response it received, but more importantly, I felt something profound within myself. I wanted to go deeper. I began researching the poetry of mystic poets across regions, religions, languages, and centuries. What I discovered was extraordinary,that all of these mystics, men and women alike, across time and tradition, were saying the same things: about inclusion, about equality, about surrender to the divine, about the seamlessness of faith, and about the fundamental equality of all human beings.
You’ve often spoken about music as a bridge across faiths and cultures. In today’s increasingly divided world, do you feel music still has the power to create genuine dialogue, or has that space shrunk?
I think it’s even more important now, Jesse,the narratives of divisiveness, of hate, of ego, of “I, me, mine,” of a lack of humanity, empathy, and compassion. These narratives are being created and spread everywhere. I find them deeply damaging, and we can see their effects in the rising number of inhumane acts, the cruelty across the world, the wars, the absence of empathy and compassion. Sometimes it makes me wonder if we’re living in medieval times again.
Because everything that it means to be human,by virtue of the word “humane”,we seem to have forgotten. And I don’t believe politics can change that; in fact, I think politics is often responsible for it. The only thing that can truly reach people, that can touch their inner core, their soul, is music.
Only music has the strength to change the way you think without preaching to you, without talking at you or down to you. Real change has to come from within, and music is the truest, deepest art form that can touch you at that level. It can transform you at the very cellular level,or at the very least, make you reflect at that depth,on the need to change, and to reconnect with your inner humanity.
You’ve just come up with a new song in collaboration,tell us more about it?
So,Chaleya momin : The Search is really about what you just mentioned,it’s about a seeker. Mumin means believer, or seeker. The song is about a seeker who sets out to find a place, a world, where the greatest religion is the religion of humanity.
He says, “I am so tired of these divisive labels that human beings place on each other. I am not a Hindu, I am not a Muslim, I am a child of God. And wherever God resides,whether in a house or in a heart,that is my place of worship, that is my Mecca.”
He longs to find that place, that Mecca, where people live with such understanding. He says, “I don’t want to live in a world where people burn or harm each other in the name of religion or identity. I want to be fluid, to flow from one form into another. I don’t want to live in a place where everything is rigid.”
He also questions, “Why do people ask who you are, where you belong, what label defines you,when the truth is, you live in everyone?”
I originally wrote this in Punjabi a few years ago, at a time when I was deeply disturbed by the growing narrative of divisiveness. That is how the song was born. What made it even more meaningful for me was the collaboration,I deliberately chose to work with an Iranian female visual artist. I wanted the video to be animated. A friend once asked me, “Why aren’t you in the video? Most artists appear in their own videos.” I told them, “Because this is not about me. This is about something greater than me. I don’t need to be seen in it; what matters is that people understand the message.”
For me, collaborating with an Iranian woman was an act of sisterhood. At a time when women’s voices in Iran are being suppressed, it was important to me to amplify her voice through her art. My dear friend, the Indian artist Gopi Kachofla, also came on board to help with the visuals. And to balance it, the project was co-produced musically by Sapta Chatterjee, who worked with me on the music while I wrote the lyrics.
This song is, at its heart, a quiet call to humanity. A call that asks: Can we live in a world without labels? Can we live in a world without borders? Can we live in a world where we are kinder to each other? Can we create a world free from divisiveness and hatred? Can we find that place?
Together, let’s find that place.
When you’re composing or reinterpreting a piece, how do you decide which musical influences to weave in,does the song dictate the form, or do you consciously design the blend?
I think the words really have to move me. Whether I write them myself or discover a text I want to compose, the words must speak to me. And most often, I find myself drawn to themes of equality, inclusion, and a deep spiritual surrender.
When I say a deep spiritual surrender, sometimes it’s about that profound connection with God,but more often, it is about the understanding that God resides within all of us.
For example, in Alfat, Baba Bulleh Shah says that your temple, your shrine, your church, your mosque are not within the four walls of a building, but within the walls of your own heart and therefore within everyone. Or in Chalia Momen Makkeh, where I wrote, “I am not a Hindu, I am not a Muslim. I am a child of God. And in every house You reside, in every heart You reside—that is my place of worship.”
Similarly, in Man Manam, which I composed for Coke Studio, the verse that touched me deeply and was the reason I chose to set it to music,was when the poet writes: “Mary’s Christ am I, and I am Ehimaad, I am of Ali.” In essence, he is saying: I am a child of every god.
These are the kinds of words and ideas that move me and inspire me to create.
How was the experience working with Coke Studio?
Oh, it was wonderful. I think it was either Season 2 or Season 3,I can’t quite remember now because it’s been a while—but it was very special for me. What made it especially meaningful was that I had two songs to choose from. One was an up-tempo Punjabi piece, Alfat, which blends Punjabi and Farsi, and the other was Man Manam. Coke Studio had liked both the songs I’d sent them.
In the end, I chose the more difficult path. I went with Man Manam,a slower song, and in Farsi, a language not many people understand. I knew that an up-tempo track would probably get me more listeners, more viewers, and a wider audience. But I deliberately chose the harder option, and when I look back now, I feel proud that I was brave enough to take that risk.
For me, it was a challenge: would a song in a language unfamiliar to most people still have the power to move them? And honestly, it did. To this day, it’s one of the songs people most often request from me. That was such a strong reminder that music truly transcends borders and boundaries.
I believe as artists, we have to keep challenging ourselves and asking the important questions. For me, most of my art is about telling the truth,my truth. And my truth may be different from yours, but that doesn’t make either less valid. My truth is simply a reflection of my beliefs, of who I am, and of what I feel I’m here to express through music.
Some musicians may see their role as entertaining people, and that is beautiful in itself. But for me, I feel my role is to touch hearts, to make people think, and perhaps to share a message. I’ve often been called a musician with a message, and I quite like that description,I’m happy to own it.
Independent and genre-blending music often struggles with mainstream visibility and monetization. How have you navigated the business side of sustaining a project like The Sufi Gospel Project while staying true to its artistic and spiritual core?
I can’t say it’s been easy,it never is. The life of an artist is not easy in general, and if you’re an artist who has something to say, who wants to stay true to your own beliefs and your own art form instead of following trends, then it becomes even harder.
There are days you wake up with angst, questioning yourself. You wonder if you’re still relevant, if you should take the easier, more familiar path, or keep climbing the more difficult uphill one. These are the questions and challenges I’ve often faced. But in my case, I’ve always felt that if I tried to do something that wasn’t authentic to me, it would break my heart. It wouldn’t be true to who I am or to my soul.
I believe I am here in this life,as Sonam,only once. So I feel a responsibility to remain true to that Sonam, with the beliefs and convictions that shape me. On the business side, I’ve been fortunate that my work has resonated with people. Honestly, I can’t say what it would have been like if it hadn’t. But because it has, I’ve been lucky to be invited to festivals and platforms across more than 30 countries, to share my music.
Perhaps it resonates because I’ve stayed true. I think people value an artist who is genuine and unique,especially today, when there is so much sameness. Social media has helped us discover many wonderful artists, but it has also created an overwhelming similarity in sound and style.
That’s why I believe it is more important than ever for artists to be themselves, to hold on to their individuality. In a world where our minds are constantly bombarded with information, art, music, and ideas, the only way to truly stand out is by being yourself. That authenticity is what cuts through the clutter.
Of course, it also requires staying power and a deep belief in what you’re saying. I think I’ve held on to that, in a very large measure—otherwise, I wouldn’t still be saying what I’m saying today.
Many of your performances feel like conversations rather than concerts. How do you approach storytelling through your voice and stage presence so that the audience feels part of the journey?
For me, music has always been about bearing my soul and telling my truth. I keep coming back to that. From the very first song I performed, I’ve treated the audience as if they are mine,in that moment, they are part of my heart, my friends, my family. I speak to them in an honest, informal way, almost like an all-encompassing hug.
When I sing, I want to share the love I feel for the poetry I perform. I try to fill the room with that love, and I’ve noticed that when you give love, you receive love in return. It becomes a conversation. I like to share how I discovered the poetry, how I created it, what it means to me, and why it matters so much. By providing that context, people not only understand the poetry better but also gain a deeper insight into who I am.
That connection sparks different feelings in different people. I remember at the end of one concert, a young woman approached me and said, “Sonam, this is the first time I’ve come to one of your concerts. I had a lot of questions about the Sufi Gospel Project, but I’m leaving today with so many answers and so much to think about.” For me, that was the greatest reward.
If I can make someone think, if I can help them question rigid beliefs they may hold, that is enough. One note at a time, we can change the world.
Collaboration is central to your practice. What’s one surprising lesson you’ve learned from working with musicians outside your tradition,something that changed your perspective on sound?
You’re absolutely right,I love collaborations. Most of my work, all of my music, really comes through a collaborative process, even when it’s with my own ensemble.
One of the greatest lessons I’ve learned from collaboration is that your teachers are everywhere,your gurus are everywhere. Everyone you create music with, everyone you have a conversation with, everyone you reach out to for guidance,they are all teaching you. It’s a wonderful reminder that you can always be a student, always learning by listening. By the way, as a Sikh, I find this particularly meaningful, because the word Sikh literally means “student.” I am a student, and I love knowing that I can be a student for my entire life.
The beauty of collaboration is that it keeps your heart and mind open. It allows you to be playful, even childlike, to break norms and experiment freely: “Let’s just try it and see how it sounds.” Often, my ensemble will be skeptical, and I’ll say, “We’ll decide after we hear it. If it sounds right, it stays.” Many times, they’re surprised by the result and sometimes they surpass even what I imagined they could achieve. Collaboration helps you grow and learn, and it reinforces the lesson that teachers can be found everywhere,you don’t have to search for gurus in isolation.
Choosing a favorite collaboration is like choosing a favorite child,it’s almost impossible. But one that stands out for me is my work with the Iranian visual artist Faisikachofla. The animation for this video is so nuanced. We had a huge language barrier,my lyrics were in Punjabi, while she spoke English, imperfectly. I had to translate everything and explain exactly which images should represent which words. Yet she executed it so beautifully.
For me, this collaboration feels like a personal achievement. It showed me that when you truly understand each other through music, you can create something extraordinary,regardless of language, time zone, ethnicity, or beliefs. Music has the power to bring people together, and this collaboration was a perfect example of that.
You’ve performed across the world, from India to Europe to the U.S. Did you ever experience a moment on stage abroad when you felt the audience truly “got” the Sufi Gospel Project in an unexpected way?
I have to say, I’ve felt that connection many times, but one of the most incredible moments was performing at the Sydney Opera House. I remember our standing ovation lasted nearly ten minutes,it was surreal.
A few weeks later, we were touring Australia for about three weeks. After Sydney, we performed in Melbourne and a few other cities, with our final stop in Canberra.
In Canberra, I looked out at the audience and saw so many familiar faces. After the performance, I realized that people who had seen us in Sydney had driven down just to see us again. They told me, “We knew you were only here for a few weeks, but we wanted to hear you again because we love what you’re sharing through the Sufi Gospel Project. We love the music.”
That was incredibly moving for me. It was one of those moments when I truly felt that our music had resonated with the audience.
Looking ahead, what kind of legacy do you hope the Sufi Gospel Project will leave,not just in terms of music, but in terms of dialogue, healing, and cultural memory?
The legacy I hope all my music leaves behind,not just the Sufi Gospel Project, but also my other works,is one of inclusion, equality, and healing. I have several projects: a career-spanning project, another called Ibadith, where I sing the poetry of both well-known and lesser-known Sufi mystics, and a project centered on the Partition.
I hope that all of these, along with the music I continue to create, leave a legacy that helps people understand that each of us has our own truth and that each truth is valid. I hope it fosters not just tolerance, but true acceptance: allowing people to be who they are and embracing them with love.
I know that’s a big ask for music, but through the care I take in writing or selecting lyrics, and through the intention behind each piece, I hope to cultivate a legacy of love. A legacy that reminds us that the greatest religion of all is the religion of humanity.
As an independent artist, how challenging does it get without the support of a label?
Of course it does. I am, in many ways, my own karta-dharta. I produce my own music, put it out into the world, and simply hope people will listen. Most of the performances I get come purely through word of mouth,someone hears me sing, and then another opportunity follows.
So far, it has been an amazing journey. And honestly, when I speak directly to an organizer or a festival director about my music, I think it resonates more deeply because it comes straight from me. That’s why I don’t necessarily see it as a weakness. Perhaps this is exactly how it’s meant to be.
Maybe managers come more naturally to artists in the mainstream, where their work is easier to categorize. But with my music, which is deeply personal and layered, it would be hard for anyone else to explain it the way I can. So, I’ve made my peace with that.
In fact, I don’t mind it at all. I’m someone who values attention to detail, and in that sense, handling everything myself feels right. I think it’s simply what I’m meant to do.
What upcoming projects and performances do you have lined up?
There are quite a few private performances lined up, most of them abroad, which has been really exciting. It’s interesting,after last year’s tour in the US, where we did several public shows, there seems to have been a ripple effect that led to many more international invitations. So, it feels like a beautiful domino effect in motion.
One highlight I’m especially looking forward to is a performance in Vietnam, inside one of its caves. I can only imagine the natural acoustics and resonance of that space,it’s going to be magical.
Alongside performing, this year is also about releasing a lot of music. These are pieces I had written over the years but left unfinished because of constant travel. I made a conscious decision to go back, polish them, and share them with the world. The first one to come out is Chaliya Momin. Then there’s a very special reimagining of Imagine, blended with a poem by Faiz Sahab,a call to peace and humanity. I also have a version of Mahatma Gandhi’s Vaishnav Jan, as well as some original Sufi poetry I’ve composed.
The plan is to release a new track every month or two. And honestly, it has been so fulfilling to return to the studio after such a long stretch of only live performances. As an artist, you need that quiet, cocoon-like space to create, and this return to stillness and making new music has been deeply rewarding.
There’s also an upcoming collaboration with Aditya Birla in October, part of their incredible work supporting the arts. So yes, you’ll be hearing quite a lot of my music in the coming months!
How do you see, you know, music industry and Sophie music in another 2-3 years?
It’s been a very interesting shift in Sufi music, and I’m glad you asked me this question. There’s both good and bad in what has been happening.
On the positive side, Sufi music has suddenly become very popular,it’s trending, everyone seems to be doing it. But here’s the concern: not everything being passed off as Sufi truly is. Most people are simply doing cover versions of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan’s work. While that is certainly Sufi, and in many ways a wonderful thing, the question that troubles me is,where is the individuality?
Everyone seems to have become a bit of a “me-too.” You open Instagram and hear thousands of versions of Kali Kali Zulfon or Sanson Ki Mala. They’re beautiful compositions, no doubt, but the sheer volume of imitation,hundreds of thousands of renditions, often copying whatever happens to be trending,worries me.
What saddens me is that in this process, Sufi music has been made overly commercial, losing the very essence of Sufism. Some artists have even started fusing it with Bollywood elements, which may be popular, but those aren’t truly Sufi songs. To me, that feels like a dilution—even a kind of distortion,of Sufi tradition. I only hope that once the trend dies down, the focus will return to the pure, authentic form of Sufi music.
There is such a vast treasure of Sufi poetry that hasn’t been explored widely,even compositions Nusrat Sahab never sang. Artists like Abida Parveen continue to bring that richness alive, and I hope more of that comes to the forefront again.
Another issue is the sound. Many performances now are arranged to be loud and noisy. But you don’t need noise to create vajd (ecstasy) or junoon (passion). The essence of Sufi music is in its depth and devotion, not in its volume.
That said, there are also clear positives. With every trend comes interest, and that is valuable. Just as Indian classical music has seen a revival,thanks to projects like Bandish Bandits and incredibly talented young singers on Instagram,Sufi music too has benefited. Even if the current wave of flashy, commercial performances fades, the curiosity and appreciation for Sufi and classical music will, hopefully, remain. And that, to me, is the silver lining.