From Ghuri to Ishwar: Someshwari’s Quiet Journey into Song

In the rush of a morning metro, during a weary bus ride home, or in the hush of midnight solitude, certain songs arrive gently and refuse to leave. Lines such as “Couldn’t God have written our union?” or “Ghuri, in whose sky do you fly?” drift through headphones and memories alike. Their melodies are soft, their sadness restrained, yet their emotional weight is unmistakable. Few listeners pause to consider the man behind these words—a lyricist who has consistently chosen silence over spectacle. That man is Someshwar Ali.

Ali does not live in seclusion. He resides in the city, occasionally surfacing in gatherings of writers, composers, and artists. Music, conversation, and reflection form his preferred world. For more than fifteen years, his lyrics have been woven into the emotional fabric of contemporary Bengali music. Today, he is being discussed for a simple reason: it is his birthday. Social media carries warm tributes, yet Ali himself spends the day moving house, unpacking boxes rather than cutting cakes. This quiet contrast mirrors his life precisely.

Born beside the Someshwari River in Durgapur, Netrokona, Someshwar Ali grew up in a farming household rooted in discipline and faith. His childhood mornings were filled with Qur’anic recitation, while neighbouring Hindu homes added conch shells and drums to the village soundscape. This coexistence of belief and sound later shaped his lyrical sensitivity. There was no television at home, and radio listening was discouraged. Yet curiosity prevailed. Secret radio sessions and stolen glimpses of cinema nurtured his earliest listening self.

Poetry entered his life seriously during college, after he moved from his village to Netrokona town. Long hours at the public library and conversations with local poets altered his worldview. Poetry became his language of resistance and self-definition. That devotion eventually carried him to Dhaka, where life was uncertain and survival depended on friendships, libraries, and stubborn belief. After years of freelancing, he joined Jaijaidin in 2007, later working with Samakal and online platforms. Nearly a decade of entertainment journalism gave him insight, but not fulfilment. In 2017, he resigned to write songs full-time.

Lyric writing emerged almost accidentally, as unfinished poems found new purpose. His breakthrough arrived in 2011 with Lutfor Hasan’s album Ghuri Tumi Kar Akashe Oro. The title song’s aching nostalgia established him firmly. Television followed, most notably Tai Tomar Khyal from Boro Chele. Ali then adapted to digital change, creating memorable work for web films and OTT platforms.

His cinematic milestone came with Ishwar from Priyotoma, earning national awards and international opportunities. Yet acclaim has not altered his values. Ali believes in linguistic care, emotional honesty, and restraint. In 2023, he published his first poetry collection, reaffirming poetry as his refuge. Today, without ceremony, he continues to live quietly inside his songs—exactly where he belongs.

Key Works and Milestones