Baul performances have always doubled as social barometers, using heart-and-soul storytelling to question rigid norms. When a minstrel’s drone lifts into the air, it often carries veiled critiques of caste hierarchies, religious dogma and gender inequality. Lyrics about divine love become metaphors for unity across communal lines, effectively saying “the garment of the spirit doesn’t bear any labels.”

Modern Bauls weave in references to climate distress, rural disenfranchisement and urban migration. At last year’s Kolkata Book Fair, a troupe slipped in verses about disappearing wetlands, reminding city-slick audiences that nature’s fate is tied to the poorest farmers. In Bangladesh’s 2024 elections, street-corner Baul sessions offered subtle jabs at corruption, chanting “truth can’t be jailed” even as campaign posters plastered city walls.

Digital platforms have given these wanderers fresh megaphones. A flash mob of Baul singers outside COP28 headquarters in Dubai went viral, blending traditional ektara rhythms with calls for environmental justice. That fusion of folk poetry and modern protest lights a spark: centuries-old wisdom meets today’s flashpoints.

Women Bauls, once sidelined, now take center stage, challenging both patriarchal structures within their own fold and broader societal expectations. Their songs paint vivid portraits of autonomy and resilience, turning each performance into a living manifesto.

Festival stages from Dhaka’s Ekushey Book Fair to London’s Southbank Centre have showcased this evolving repertoire, proving that these wandering minstrels still have plenty to say. In a world craving authenticity, Baul music remains a refreshing blend of mysticism and grassroots activism—an age-old way of holding power to account, one haunting refrain at a time.