Urdu Poetry | SabrangIndia

One Hundred Years of Kaifi Azmi

Sat, 08 Jun 2019 05:38:07 +0000

With two poems by Kaifi Azmi

Kaifi Azmi: Poems | Nazms is an homage to Kaifi Azmi’s centenary birth year. The book, edited by Sudeep Sen, is a specially curated volume that contains 50 billingual — Hindi and English — poems. The contributors to the book are Husain Mir Ali, Baidar Bakht, Sumantra Ghosal, Pritish Nandy and Sudeep Sen. The book also contains archival photographs of the life and times of Kaifi Azmi.

The following are two poems by Azmi and their translations into English by Husain Mir Ali, along with a note from the translator.

Image courtesy Bloomsbury

Note on the translations
Kaifi Azmi begins Main Aur Meri Shaayeri, a reflective essay on his poetry, with the following words: ‘When was I born? I can’t remember. When will I die? I don’t know. All I can say with any certainty about myself is that I was born in an enslaved Hindustan, grew old in a free Hindustan, and will die in a socialist Hindustan. This isn’t the babbling of a mad man or the pipe dream of a fool. This belief is born from the deep connection that has always existed between my poetry and the great struggles for socialism being waged across the world and in my own country.’

Kaifi’s beliefs didn’t emerge from barren soil. He was politicised at an early age, having inherited his anti-colonial sensibilities from his grandfather, who had tried to thwart the British effort to grow indigo in his village by persuading his fellow farmers to roast the seeds before sowing them. A 10-year-old Kaifi once sought to organise an aborted black flag protest against a visiting British Collector. He also courted arrest, succeeding once only to be let off with a light caning by the police because of his age. Disappointed and eager to ensure that he would be detained the next time, he tried his hand at bomb-making with friends, but their childish effort literally fizzled out.

While the rest of his brothers received a modern education, Kaifi, the youngest, was sent to a madrasa in Lucknow for religious schooling. According to one commentator (who Kaifi himself approvingly quotes), ‘Kaifi was sent to a madrasa so that he could learn to perform the last rites of his parents, but instead, he came out having performed the last rites of religion itself.’ In an interesting twist of fate, it was at the madrasa that Kaifi came across Angaare, a scandalous collection of short stories written by four rebellious youth who would go on to create the Progressive Writers’ Association (PWA), a trail-blazing literary group that spearheaded a hegemonic movement in Urdu literature for decades. Kaifi was to become one of the leading lights of the movement.

While in Lucknow, Kaifi was surrounded by and soaked up the energy of the anti-colonial movement. His rebellious spirit led him to organise a strike at the madrasa, during which he kept up the spirits of his comrades by writing and reciting fiery verse. His eagerness to join the struggle waging across the country meant that he never completed his formal education. His political journey took him to Kanpur as a young man where he became involved with the Mazdoor Sabha and was introduced to communist literature. He soon started working for the Communist Party of India and began living in its commune in Bombay, where he was joined by Shaukat Azmi, who he had met, and fallen in love with, in Hyderabad. Shaukat, who made the decision to eschew a life of relative comfort to marry and join Kaifi at the commune, would go on to become a comrade in the struggle and an important part of the Indian Peoples’ Theatre Association in her own right.

The PWA soon became a dominant force in Urdu literature and Kaifi made his mark in the movement as a quintessential progressive poet. The direct, powerful and unabashed poems in this selection mostly reflect Kaifi’s progressive politics. ‘Aadat’ is a dystopian view of a superficial world ruled by commerce, inhospitable to any thinking person. ‘Ibn-e- Maryam’ begins as a critique of the state of affairs in post-colonial India and ends with Kaifi exhorting Jesus to head to Vietnam instead, to save its people from the war being waged on them by Bible worshippers. ‘Bekaari’ is a strident critique of the exploitation of labour by capital, and builds up to a powerful climax, in which the discarded and marginalised worker seeks to rise up in revolt. ‘Telangana’ was written in support of the armed insurrection and peasant uprising of the 1940s against the ruling caste feudal landlords and the princely state. In ‘Taj Mahal’, Kaifi sees the iconic monument not as a beautiful mausoleum, but as a grotesque display of the world’s inequalities. ‘Saanp’ is both a lament on the subversion of science and progress by the power of money and capital, and a cautionary tale of how irrational sentiments embodied within organised religion suppressed true knowledge and promoted sectarianism. ‘Peer-e Tasma Pa’ is a sarcastic and despairing take on a similar theme. ‘Doosra Banwaas’ mourns the bloodshed during the resurgent communalism of the early 1990s. ‘Taj’ offers a harsh critique of monarchy and of the concentration of power. ‘Charaaghaan’ holds out hope for the future even as it bemoans the broken promises of Independence.
Kaifi ends his essay about his poetry on a less certain note than the one on which he begins it. He writes about how his early encounter with radical literature inaugurated the journey along a path that he faithfully and unwaveringly walked upon (despite my paralysis, he says). ‘One day’, Kaifi writes, ‘I will fall on this very path and my journey will end, at my destination, or at least, close to it.’

Kaifi and his comrades worked tirelessly, first for independence from colonial rule, and then later for an egalitarian and non-sectarian society, but his dream remains a work in progress. His poem ‘Inteshar’ ends with a demand: koi to sood chukaaye, koi to zimma le, us inquilaab ka jo aaj tak udhaar sa hai.

For Kaifi, the revolution is a debt that is still owed to him.

Unemployment

These arms, the strength of these arms
This chest, this neck, this power, this vitality
This passion of youth, this storm of courage
Without these, I have no worth
I have failed to do justice to both life and action
It upsets me greatly that I am unemployed

There is this earth, where treasures abound
The river, with jewels scattered on its bed
The jungles that are the envy of heaven-dwellers
But these prizes of nature are not for me
For I am destitute, deprived, and poor
It upsets me greatly that I am unemployed

Why don’t the mine owners ever summon me?
Why don’t the owners of the brightly-lit stores step forward?
Where, o where, are the owners of these factories?
Why don’t the owners of sparkling treasures purchase me?
For I am ready to sell my labour
It upsets me greatly that I am unemployed

Given the opportunity, I can make the sky bow down
Turn the stars into lamps that light the earth
Heat a fragment of clay such that it glows like the sun
Push the frontiers of progress even further
For I am smart, intelligent, and woke3
It upsets me greatly that I am unemployed

I am necessary to life and its continuation
I am necessary to the earth and the wind
I am necessary to the beginning and the end
I am necessary to civilization and progress
It’s ridiculous to claim that I am the obstacle
It upsets me greatly that I am unemployed

Those who worship wealth are poor judges of worth
Looters and marauders are unfamiliar with love and gentleness
I am left with this thirsty existence, this hungry youth
I am cold lightning, I am stagnant water
I am the stalled sword, the diverted stream
It upsets me greatly that I am unemployed

It’s my bones that were used to make these palaces
It’s my blood that has produced the freshness of spring
This glittering wealth is built on my poverty
These shining coins require my dispossession
I am the rust on these sparkling treasures
It upsets me greatly that I am unemployed

How long can this I suffer this oppressive existence
The ways of the world are beginning to change
My blood is at a boil, there’s sweat on my brow
My pulse pounds, my chest is on fire
Roar o revolution, for I am ready
It upsets me greatly that I am unemployed

बेकारी

यह बाज़ू, यह बाज़ू की मेरे सलाबत
यह सीना, यह गर्दन, यह कुव्वत, यह सेहत
यह जोश-ए-जवानी, यह तूफ़ान-ए-जुरअत
ब-ईं-वस्फ़ कुछ भी नहीं मेरी कीमत
हयात-ओ-अमल का गुनहगार हूँ मैं
बड़ा दुख है मुजको कि बेकार हूँ मैं
यह गेती है जिसमें दफ़ीने मकीं हैं
वह दरिया है जिसमें गुहर तहन तहनशीं हैं
वह जंगल हैं को रश्क-ए-ख़ुल्द-ए-बरीं हैं
ये फ़ितरत के इन्आम मेरे नहीं हैं
तहिदस्त-ओ-महरूम-ओ-नादार हूँ मैं
बड़ा दुख है मुजको कि बेकार हूँ मैं
पुकारें ज़मीनों के कानों के मालिक
बढ़ें जगमगाती दुकानों के मालिक
कहाँ मैं कहाँ कारखानों के मालिक
खरीदें छलकते ख़ज़ानों के मालिक
कि मेहनत-फरोशी को तैयार हूँ मैं
बड़ा दुख है मुजको कि बेकार हूँ मैं
जो मौक़ा मिले सर फ़लक का झुखा दूँ
ज़मीं पर सितारों कि शमाएँ जला दूँ
ख़ज़फ़ को दमक दे के सूरज बना दूँ
तरक़्क़ी को कुछ और आगे बढ़ा दूँ
कि चालक-ओ-हुशियार-ओ-बेदार हूँ मैं
बड़ा दुख है मुजको कि बेकार हूँ मैं
ज़रुरत है मेरी हयात-ओ-बक़ा को
ज़रुरत है मेरी ज़मीं को, फ़िजा को
जरूरत है हर इब्तिदा इन्तिहा को
ज़रुरत है तहज़ीब को इर्तिक़ा को
ग़लत है कि इक हर्फ़े-ए-तकरार हूँ मैं
बड़ा दुख है मुजको कि बेकरार हूँ मैं
कहाँ ज़रपरस्ती कहाँ क़द्रदानी
कहाँ लूट ग़ारत कहाँ मेहरबानी
यह बे-आब हस्ती, यह भूखी जवानी
यह यख़बस्ता बिजली, यह इस्तादा पानी
रुकी तेग़ हूँ मैं, मुड़ी धार हूँ मैं
बड़ा दुख है मुजको कि बेकार हूँ मैं
मिरी हड्डियों से बने ये ऐवॉं
मिरे ख़ून से है यह सैल-ए-बहारॉंं
मिरी मुफ़लिसी से ख़ज़ाने हैं तबॉं
मिरी-बे-ज़री से हैं सिक्के दरख़्शाँ
इस आईनः-ए-ज़र का ज़ंजार हूँ मैं
बड़ा दुख है मुजको कि बेकार हूँ मैं
कहाँ तक यह बिलजब्र मर-मरके जीना
बदलने लगा है अमल का क़रीना
लहू में है खौलना जबीं पर पसीना
धड़कती हैं निब्जे़ं सुलगता है सीना
गरज ऐ बग़ावत, कि तैयार हूँ मैं
बड़ा दुख है मुजको कि बेकार हूँ मैं

The Second Exile

When Ram returned home from his exile
He began to miss the jungle as soon as he arrived into the city
When he saw the dance of madness playing out in his courtyard
on 6 December, Shri Ram must have wondered:
How did so many mad people enter my home?
Where Ram’s footprints had once sparkled
Where love’s galaxy once stretched out its arms
That path had taken a turn towards hate
No one would have been the wiser about their religion or
their caste
They would have gone unrecognised had it not been for the
light from the burning home
They, who had come to my home in order to burn it
I know your daggers were vegetarian, my friend
And that you had thrown your stones only towards Babar
It’s the fault of my own head that it got bloodied
Ram hadn’t even washed his feet in the Sarju river yet
When he noticed the deep stains of blood
Getting up from the river’s edge without washing his feet
Ram took leave of his home saying:
The atmosphere of my capital doesn’t agree with me
This 6 December, I am exiled once again

दूसरा बनबास

राम बनबास से जब लौट के घर में आए
याद जंगल बहुत आया, जो नगर में आए
रक़्स-ए-दीवानगी आँगन में जो देखा होगा
छह दिसंबर को स्रीराम ने सोचा होगा
इतने दीवाने कहाँ से मिरे घर मे आए.
जगमगाते थे जहाँ राम के क़दमों के निशाँ
प्यार की कहकशाँ लेती थी अँगड़ाई जहाँ
मोड़ नफ़रत के उसी राहगुज़र में आए
धरम क्या उनका था, क्‍या जात थी, यह जानता कौन
घर न जलता तो उन्हें रात में पहचानता कौन
घर जलाने को मिरा, लोग जो घर में आए
शाकाहारी थे मेरे दोस्त तुम्हारे ख़ंजर
तुमने बाबर की तरफ़ फेंके थे सारे पत्थर
है मेरे सर की ख़ता, ज़ख़्म जो सर में आए
पाँव सरजू में अभी राम ने धोये भी न थे
कि नज़र आए वहाँ ख़ून के गहरे धब्बे
पाँव धोए बिना सरजू के किनारे से उठे
राम यह कहते हुए अपने द्वारे से उठे
राजधानी की फ़िज़ा आई नहीं रास मुझे
छह दिसंबर को मिला दूसरा बनबास मुझे

Husain Mir Ali is a writer-academic who is interested in the history, legacy and continued relevance of progressive Urdu writers in the subcontinent. He is the co-author of Anthems of Resistance and has translated the works of several progressive Urdu poets to English including, most recently, Javed Akhtar’s nazms for the book, In Other Words, and Kaifi Azmi’s The Past on My Shoulders. He lives in New York City.

Sudeep Sen is the editorial director of Aark Arts and the editor of Atlas. Some of his works include Postmarked India: New and Selected Poems, Distracted Geographies, Rain and Aria.

This is an excerpt from Kaifi Azmi: Poems | Nazms edited by Sudeep Sen and published by Bloomsbury. Republished here with permission from the publisher.

Courtesy: Indian Cultural Forum

The post One Hundred Years of Kaifi Azmi appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Agra remembers Nazeer Akbarabadi

Mon, 11 Feb 2019 05:57:26 +0000

Agra, Feb 10 (IANS) Agra on Sunday remembered Nazeer Akbarabadi, the people’s poet whose birthday falls on Basant Panchmi, the festival of spring.

As bright sunshine dazzled the Taj Mahal, bringing joy and cheer to thousands of tourists, a little distance away spring smiled on the modest tomb of Mian Nazeer Akbarabadi.

People offered floral tributes to the poet who offered a myriad repertoire of common man’s ordeals and preoccupations in the ‘mohallas’ of Agra during the fading glory of the Mughal era.

The local poet sang of love, of natural beauty and the secular traditions of the Taj city.

Hailed as the people’s poet, unlike Meer and Mirza Ghalib who wrote for the classy elite, Nazeer Akbarabadi wrote about ordinary events and characters that touched the hearts of both Muslims and Hindus.

He mocked at the follies and foibles of royalty with disdain but sang lyrically about Krishna Kanhaiyya and on subjects like Muflisi (poverty) and Roti.

The post Agra remembers Nazeer Akbarabadi appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Faiz Ahmad Faiz and the de-Islamisation of a Muslim revolutionary

Sat, 04 Feb 2017 06:43:26 +0000

Faiz has often been seen as a Communist poet by many progressive circles within the sub-continent. The Communist Parties of India have celebrated Faiz’s poetry, and have used his verses to forge new slogans to further their propaganda. The major left parties regularly use Faiz’s poetry according to their political needs. His religion i.e Islam is taken to be at best irrelevant, or at worst accidental for his revolutionary poetry. Faiz, for many progressive activists, is a relatable figure, whose revolutionary thought inspires his poetry on social justice. Some of his poems like Bol ke lab azaad hain tere, Hum dekhenge and Ye daagh daagh ujaala are often used to articulate the revolutionary ideas throughout the subcontinent.

Let us analyse the iconic and popular poem ‘hum dekhenge’.

hum dekhenge
laazim hai ke hum bhi dekhenge
woh din ke jiska waada hai
jo lauh e azal mein likha hai
hum dekhnege
[We shall Witness
It is certain that we too, shall witness
the day that has been promised
of which has been written on the slate of eternity]

Anyone who is acquainted with the basics of Quranic discourse, knows the meaning of the term ‘lauh e azal’. It has been used in Quran to refer to the eternal slate on which the destiny of the whole universe from start to end has been recorded. Besides, the slate metaphor is used for the Quran to refer to itself, lauh e mahfooz or the protected slate. In this introductory phase, Faiz is declaring that we are to witness that day which has been promised in the eternal slate. One might ask: promised by whom, and promised where? Promised by God, and promised in Quran. This is made explicit by the following stanzas:

Jab zulm-o-sitam ke koh-e-garan
Rooi ki tarah urh jaenge
Hum mehkoomon ke paaon tale
Ye dharti dhar dhar dharkegi
Aur ahl-e-hakam ke sar oopar
Jab bijli kar kar karkegi
[When the enormous mountains of tyranny
blow away like cotton.
Under our feet- the feet of the oppressed-
when the earth will pulsate deafeningly
and on the heads of our rulers
when lightning will strike]

The mountains blow away like cotton, the earth shaking under the feet of humans, or lightning striking the heads: all three are prominent Qur’anic tropes while describing the inevitable doomsday, which precedes the judgment day.

For instance:

It is the Day when people will be like moths, dispersed; and the mountains will be like wool, fluffed up. [Quran 101:4-5]

When the earth is shaken with its earthquake, and the earth discharges its burdens, and man says, “what is [wrong] with it?” [Quran 99:1-3]

Jab arz-e-Khuda ke kaabe se
Sab but uthwae jaenge
Hum ahl-e-safa mardood-e-harm
Masnad pe bethae jaenge
Sab taaj uchale jaenge
Sab takht girae jaenge
[From the abode of God
When icons of falsehood will be taken out,
When we- the faithful- who have been barred out of sacred places
will be seated on high cushions
When the crowns will be tossed,
When the thrones will be brought down.]

In this paragraph, Faiz uses the image of a victorious Prophet Mohammad emptying Kaaba of hundreds of idols after the conquest of Makkah towards the end of his prophetic career. The term mardood e haram, i.e. barred out of sacred places, refers to Mohammad and his companion who were forced to leave Makkah 8 years earlier, because of the Islamic rejection of idolatry. The mardood e haram finally defeat the Meccan idolators, come back to the Haram [kaaba], and purify it from idols.

The connections are obvious between the basic Islamic slogan ‘la ilaha illa alla’ [no deity but the deity] and Faiz’s imagination of an idol-less world, where those who have been most oppressed by the false deities such as crowns, thrones etc. will finally be vindicated. This idol metaphor has been used in similar ways throughout the revolutionary Urdu poetry, for instance Iqbal invites the Muslims to break the modern idols of Nationalism, Capitalism etc.

In taaza khudaon mein bada sabse watan hai
jo pairhan iska hai woh mazhab ka kafan hai
[of all these recent deities, the nation is the greatest,
and the cloth that makes its clothes is the shroud of religion]

Now lets come back to the last stanza of hum dekhenge:

Bas naam rahega Allah ka
Jo ghayab bhi hai hazir bhi
Jo manzar bhi hai nazir bhi
Utthega an-al-haq ka nara
Jo mai bhi hoon tum bhi ho
Aur raaj karegi Khalq-e-Khuda
Jo mai bhi hoon aur tum bhi ho
[Only The name will survive
Who cannot be seen but is also present
Who is the spectacle and the beholder, both
I am the Truth- the cry will rise,
Which is I, as well as you
And then God’s creation will rule
Which is I, as well as you]

Faiz comes back to the issue of finitude of humans and their societies, and reminds us that besides God, every other entity is going to perish. Following the traditional Islamic discourse, Faiz defines Allah through contradictions, [cannot be seen but is also present], or [who is both the spectacle and the beholder]. In the last two couplets of the poem, Faiz talks about the legendary mystical quote of Islamic history: anal haq i.e. I am the truth. As Quran explicitly rejects religious mediation through any class clerical or otherwise, individuals themselves become careers of religious knowledge and enlightenment in Faiz’s Islamic imagination.

The poets of Islam, if one goes through a long list across languages, have taken the basic Islamic slogan of tauheed [monotheism] as the central idea, and have praised Muhammad as the greatest revolutionary, and Hussain as the greatest martyr of human history. Belief in Tauheed entails rejection of deities and superstition, and hence it is incumbent on a believer to destroy the false deities like race, class and images. In other words, tauheed defines the ideal by negation. When confronted with the Marxist ideas in post-1917 world, these poets incorporate leftist ideas such as class struggle etc, into their thought and poetry.

Some like Iqbal, whom Faiz considers the last Islamic thinker of his age, engage on the level of ideas with Marxist thinkers and prepare the base for others who follow. Others like Faiz and Hasrat, one of the founders of Communist Party of India, cooperate with Marxists very closely, and were active members of Communist parties. When asked why he supported communist movements in Pakistan inspired by USSR or China, he explained it by pointing out that although Islamic systems are superior to Communism, no Muslim country currently follows a better implementation than the regimes in USSR and China. However, if the Islamic systems are implemented in its true revolutionary spirit, or its faulty implementation is reformed, then results better than the Communist regimes can be achieved.

Faiz was a self-declared Muslim poet. He was brought up in a Muslim family, and trained in Islamic discourses early on in his life. He started memorising Quran, but had to give it up because of health issues, something that he regretted throughout his life. His declared murshid, i.e. spiritual and philosophical guide, was the legendary Muslim scholar and poet Maulana Rum or Rumi. His poetry is imbued with Islamic themes, goals, allegories and metaphors.

The famous poet Qateel Shifai asked Faiz about it in an interview:

Qateel: Islami adab ki tehreek ke silsile mein kuchh farmaiye.

[please tell us something about the movements in Islamic literature]

Faiz: hamare khyaal mein muslim mamaalik mein musalmaan likhne walon ki adabi tehreek islam hi ka hissa hai.

[in my opinion, the literary movements of Muslim writers in Muslim countries is a part of Islam]

In Rudaad e Qafas, Major Ishaq, who was a companion of Faiz, mentions that when they were jailed together, Faiz famously taught Quran and Hadees to the prisoners in the Hyderabad jail. Faiz himself mentions that a colonel explicitly asked him, why he was teaching Quran when he was an atheist. When Faiz clarifies that he is a Muslim, the colonel starts appreciating his Quranic lessons.

His support for the Palestinian cause, which was expressed in Quranic terms [qad jaa al haq wa zahaq al baatil: the truth has arrived, and falsehood perished], his praise for the Iranian students who were bleeding for an Islamic revolution, and his ode to Prophet Muhammad which is his only Persian poem, his grand elegy for Hussain: all stand witness to the centrality of Islamic thought in Faiz’s poetry and his revolutionary spirit.

An illusion has been created over time, where Faiz is considered an atheist poet, who has no relation with Islam. This was done by the conservative Muslims, who wanted to dent his legitimacy among Muslims. The conservative and literalist Muslims were not afraid of non-Muslim revolutionary thinkers, they are always more afraid of revolutionary trends within Islam, and hence the declaration that Faiz is a kafir or a dahri (i.e. atheist). It is unfortunate that this orthodox Muslim propaganda has succeeded in convincing many Muslims as well as many progressive and liberal circles in the subcontinent that Faiz was indeed an atheist, or at least his revolutionary ideas had nothing to do with Islam. It is high time that this distortion should be rectified.

(The authors are currently pursuing their M.Phil at the Centre for Historical Studies, JNU, Delhi.)

Courtesy: Twocircles.net

The post Faiz Ahmad Faiz and the de-Islamisation of a Muslim revolutionary appeared first on SabrangIndia.

Pakistan: Requiem for a tradition

Fri, 31 Aug 2007 18:30:00 +0000

Classical music is languishing in Pakistan

Classical music is standing on its last legs in Pakistan. The sarangi and vichitra veena are dead. There is only one sarod player in the entire country, Asad Qizilbash. Tari Khan is the only tabla player who can play a complex rhythmic cycle. Ashraf Sharif Khan Poonchwale is the only sitar player who can rub shoulders with sitar players of international repute.

The saddest aspect is that none of these artistes has a successor and their art will be buried with them. Vocal music is also in shambles. The progeny of Fateh Ali Khan and Salamat Ali Khan have been a great disappointment to their gharanas. Thus, the gaiki (style) of Patiala and Sham Chaurasi is literally dead. Ghazal and thumri are also on the deathbed, ever since the incapacitation of Mehdi Hassan, Ghulam Ali, Farida Khanum and Iqbal Bano due to age.

Pakistan inherited classical music, like other assets, at the time of partition but did nothing for its development. It was unable to retain even a genius like Ustad Bade Ghulam Ali Khan. Bureaucratic arrogance forced him to surrender Pakistani nationality and settle in India where he was revered like another Tansen. Ustad Alla Rakha received much the same treatment as Bade Ghulam Ali Khan. His greatest contribution to the world of music is his son, Ustad Zakir Hussain, who is regarded as the tabla player of the century. Alla Rakha could never have made this contribution had he lived in Pakistan.

Some 20 years ago, a great Indian sitar player, Rais Khan became a Pakistani national after marrying our Bilquis Khanum. Neither the music institutions nor the artistes in Pakistan bothered to benefit from this opportunity. He was given the same treatment as Bade Ghulam Ali Khan and as a result his music never witnessed further progress. Rais Khan, by becoming a Pakistani national, deprived his son Farhan of the vast exposure he could have had in India. His son can never be a good sitar player while he lives in Pakistan.

The mindset of musicians has also caused colossal damage to music in Pakistan. Pakistani musicians deliberately kept their art secret and made no efforts to pass it on to coming generations. A friend, Hassan Azad, a mathematician and a student of sitar, was always curious about the secret behind the systematic expansion of ragas. No Pakistani musician was willing to share this knowledge with him. It took Hassan 45 years to learn the secret after he was able to instantly notate the music composed by stalwarts such as Ustad Fayyaz Ahmed Khan, Bade Ghulam Ali Khan, Ustad Amir Khan, Ustad Inayat Khan, Ustad Vilayat Khan and Ustad Shahid Parvez. (See Hassan’s work at http://faculty.kfupm.edu.sa/ math/hassanaz/essays-music.htm.)

Musicians like Ustad Amir Khan, Ustad Abdul Karim Khan and Roshan Ara Begum never vocalised their bandish (compositions) clearly. All their music was in aakaar (improvisations that involve using vowels alone). Perhaps that is why classical music could never attract a lay audience. Moreover, not a single musician documented the music of his gharana. As a result, their gharana gaiki passed away with their death.

Pakistani musicians have been extremely miserly about teaching music – even to their own sons and daughters – so that no one could overshadow them. A well-known tabla player from Lahore who is given to challenging everyone has recently been challenged by his own son! Music is not impossible to learn but the attitude of musicians has made it so. When one hears from an ustad (teacher or master) that it took him 20 years to perfect the first note, sa, who would want to learn music? And if at all one still persisted, musicians employ other deterrent tactics. They start fleecing you in the name of gunda-bandi and nazar (tutelage and gifts). A friend, Nazir Khan says he spent about one million rupees on a well-known Rawalpindi musician to teach his son tabla and classical vocal music. The musician literally ‘robbed’ Nazir Khan for eight years to teach Khan’s son what he could have learnt from an attai (non-gharana musician) in three months.

Naqi Khan, grandson of Ustad Bade Ghulam Ali Khan, wanted me to become his gunda-band shagird (committed disciple) before he answered my question pertaining to voice culture. On the other hand, a leading sitar player from India, Ustad Shahid Parvez had no reservations about giving me the right tips on the telephone! He was in fact magnanimous enough to teach me a 13-beat rhythmic cycle that he had himself composed and which had been played by Vijay Ghate in one of his recordings of raga Rageshri.

I asked Tari Khan, who is also a good friend, what the first lesson he had learnt from his guru had been. "I don’t remember," he said, thinking I might benefit from his reply. That is the mindset of Pakistani musicians. The result is that classical music is declining in Pakistan and thriving in India.

Archived from Communalism Combat, August-September 2007, Anniversary Issue (14th), Year 14 No.125, India at 60 Free Spaces, Pakistan 2

The post Pakistan: Requiem for a tradition appeared first on SabrangIndia.