...Of The Two Streams - Part 1

I spent the last month atop a 9000-foot mountain in the middle of nowhere, for all practical purposes cut off from the rest of the world. Finding themselves in such a situation, I’m sure each person would react differently. Some would take to meditation; others, encouraged by the bracing mountain air (though too thin for an asthmatic like me) give in to the evils of physical fitness and exercise. Still others would be possessed by the creative impulse and begin painting, composing poetry or writing the Great Pakistani Novel (which in my opinion has already been written and is called Udaas Naslain). I, of course, did none of the above. There were no attempts at self-improvement, spiritual or physical, and there was no intrusion of the creative spirit. My pursuits were altogether more prosaic. The demands of an ongoing clinical residency meant that I should use this opportunity to study, which, surprisingly, I did. The rest of my time was devoted solely to listening to, organizing, editing and generally tinkering with my music.

When I said that there were no intrusions of the creative spirit, I may have been selling the old c.s a tad short. It did nudge me towards attempting to find threads and patterns in the music I was listening to. As any music geek knows, the first step towards making sense of a heap of music is making playlists, which was my first step too. From these playlists emerged what I hope will be a series of rather interesting posts on a number of topics relating to what is apparently the raison d’etre of this blog, Qawwali. Here goes the first one:

For the last three hundred years, the dominant poetic form in the Urdu-Persian idiom has been the ghazal. The constant innovation and endeavor of generations of poets has made it a unique, exceptionally polished art-form within the wider purview of Urdu-Farsi poetry. So much so that it has gradually accumulated its own sets of idioms, similes, allusions, allegories and a syntax that has ensured its continued popularity while other, older poetic forms such as the masnavi and the ruba’I have faded from the popular imagination. Even in this era, when the perennial laments over the decline of Urdu poetry can actually be considered something of an understatement, the ghazal (along with Verse Libre) remains the main form of expression for poets in Urdu and Farsi as well as Punjabi and, in the diaspora, English.

I shall assume that my readers, or a sizeable majority at least, are aware of what comprises a ghazal. But for the minority who requires an explanation, I shall yield the floor to the “internationally tall” Stephen Fry. Quoting from his excellent book “The Ode Less Travelled: Unlocking the Poet Within”:

GHAZAL:

The lines in GHAZAL always need to run, IN PAIRS

 They come, like mother-daughter, father-son, IN PAIRS

 I’ll change the subject, as this ancient form requires

It offers hours of simple, harmless fun, IN PAIRS

 Apparently a Persian form, from far-off days

It needs composing just as I have done, IN PAIRS

And when I think the poem’s finished and complete

I STEPHEN FRY, pronounce my work is un-IMPAIRED

My version is rather a bastardly abortion I fear, but the key principles are mostly adhered to. The lines of a GHAZAL (pronounced a bit like guzzle, but the ‘g’ should hiccup slightly, Arab-style) come in metrical couplets. The rhymes are unusual in that the last phrase of the opening two lines (and second lines of each subsequent couplet) is a refrain (rhadif). It is the word before the refrain (qafiya) that is rhymed, in the manner shown above. I have cheated with the last rhyme-refrain pairing as you can see. Each couplet should be a discrete (but not necessarily discreet) entity unto itself, no enjambment being permitted or overall theme being necessary. It is usual, but not obligatory, for the poet to ‘sign his name’ in the last line as I have done.”

I couldn’t have put it better myself.

After partition, ghazal-singing was promoted to the top of the Pakistani cultural hierarchy along with Qawwali and folk-music, with North-Indian Classical music relegated to the lower ranks. The reasons for this shuffle were many. The abolition of the Princely States and their attendant system of patronage meant that music needed to be somewhat populist to survive. In addition, there was an active attempt by the powers-that-be to distance the new nation from the Sanskrit-infused strains of Classical music and move towards the musical forms that felt culturally more “Islamic”, more in tune with the centuries old Farsi/Urdu idiom and the rich traditions of the local languages of the new land as well as the philosophy of Sufism, all of which were considered the building blocks for the new Pakistani culture. (I must learn to write shorter sentences) A discussion of the pros and cons of this policy is something better left for people with inordinate amounts of time on their hands.

The result was that the musical forms of ghazal, qawwali and folk music flowered and flourished in Pakistan throughout the second half of the 20^th century. The sheer number of truly superlative ghazal singers, qawwals and folk-singers that shone on the Pakistani stage is beyond belief. The advantage was that despite being somewhat populist as compared to Classical music, these musical forms served to improve and elevate the audience’s musical tastes, inculcating a newfound love and appreciation for Urdu poetry that ensured that even the lay-listener couldn’t help but be well versed with at least a few nuances and niceties of the ghazal.

The verse form of the ghazal is the largest and possibly most important part of the Qawwali canon. Ghazals in Farsi and Urdu remain the mainstay of most Qawwals’ repertoires. The main difference between the Qawwals and ghazal-singers is that (for the most part) Qawwals tend to sing ghazals whose literal or figurative meanings, allusions and idiom can be considered in the spiritual context. The open-ended nature of the ghazal ensures that a large number of popular Urdu ghazals have satisfied these criteria and have made their way into the Qawwali repertoire. These include pieces by the legendary Urdu poets of the 18^th and 19^th century (the Asateza) as well as the modern 20^th century greats. Comparing renditions of the same ghazal by ghazal-singers and qawwals opens up new avenues into the meanings and context of the poetry and offers a unique glimpse into the evolution of these two art forms, the predominant art forms of Pakistani music.

In keeping with the previous posts, I have restricted myself to only one performance per artist. I have however, relaxed my self-imposed rules to allow for a poet to be represented more than once. I’ve excluded the ghazals of the recognized Sufi poets, e.g. Bedam Shah Warsi, Hz Shah Niaz, Zaheen Shah Taji etc. as they’ve been sung by a number of Sufi performers such as Abida Parveen etc. I’ve arranged the ghazals chronologically in terms of the poets’ lifetimes, starting from the 18^th century, counting down to the 20^th.  Here goes:

Poet: Siraj Aurangabadi

Ghazal: Khabar-e-Tahayyur-e-Ishq

Gayaki Angg: Shaukat Ali

Qawwali Angg: Farid Ayaz, Abu Muhammad Qawwal and Brothers

The ghazal I’ve chosen to start off this post is a rather strange one, by a rather strange poet, and I’m not saying that pejoratively. Siraj Aurangabadi was a Deccani poet of the 18^th century, a contemporary of Mir Taqi Mir. That in itself isn’t very strange. What marked him as different from his contemporaries as well as successors was the fact that he was a ‘Sahib-e-Tariqat Pir’, an ordained Sufi who accepted disciples and imparted Spiritual knowledge. I can think of Khwaja Mir Dard as the only other example amongst Urdu poets of standing. His spiritual bent is prominent in his poetry, including this enchanting ghazal. For me, this ghazal always evokes a strangely magical atmosphere, one with fairies, enchantments and evil breezes from strange lands. The theme is of Wahdat-ul-Wujood, of Fanaa and the subservience of logic before Love. There is a lovely ‘ghinaiyyat’ or internal rhythm to the ghazal which makes it ideally suited to be sung.

The first performance is by Shaukat Ali. Shaukat Ali burst onto the Pakistani musical scene in the early 1960s as a wonder-kid while still a student at Government College Lahore. His powerful, almost operatic voice made him perfect for the folk epics that he has continued to sing in his inimitable style. But “Shauki”, as my grandmother affectionately calls him, achieved his early renown as a very gifted ghazal singer. Over the last half century, he has sung a number of remarkable ghazals, all the while maturing from the erstwhile “Prince of Folk” to a senior statesman and an institution of Pakistani music. I love the arrangement of this ghazal and the fact that the power and heft of Shaukat Ali’s voice lends itself to the meaning of the ghazal rather than distracting from it.

The Qawwali performance of this ghazal is by Farid Ayaz, Abu Muhammad Qawwal and Brothers from their triumphant performance at the Kabir Festival in Bangalore, 2009. Farid and Abu Muhammad have the wonderful ability to capture the mood of an audience and use it to add to the performance. Farid’s charming spoken preamble and the spoken interludes within the performance itself (interspersed with an effortless smattering of Hindi words) serves to introduce the audience to the central themes of the ghazal, while the lovely girahs guide them further into its deeper layers. It’s a ghazal the brothers frequently sing, and considering this masterful rendition, one hardly wonders why.

Poet: Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib

Ghazal: Jahan Tera Naqshe Qadam Dekhte Hain

Gayaki Angg: Ejaz Hussain Huzravi

Qawwali Angg: Fateh Ali-Mubarak Ali Qawwal

One of the books I brought with me to my mountain sojourn was Maulana Hali’s landmark “Yadgar-e-Ghalib”. Apart from being an invaluable biographical resource on the great poet, the book’s detailed analyses of Ghalib’s literary achievements allowed me to deepen my researches into Ghalib’s poetry. A detailed exposition of said poetry isn’t warranted here, especially as I have devoted a previous blog-post to it at some length. This ghazal is one of Ghalib’s most famous, featuring subtle yet lovely word-play, nuanced meanings and an evocation of the Beloved’s beauty. It has been sung by many, with some of the greatest singers of the subcontinent attempting to interpret this charming ghazal, with varying degrees of success.

Hailing from the small town of Huzro near Attock, at the border of Pakistan’s Punjab and Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa provinces, Ejaz Hussain Huzravi was an enigmatic and deeply underrated ghazal singer. I had considered him (terribly unjustly) amongst the lesser Ghazal singers of Pakistan until my friend Nate posted a compilation of his ghazals on his blog. To say that the selection opened my eyes would be an understatement. I was awestruck by the sweet dolorousness of Huzravi’s voice, his excellent selection of Kalam and the understated style of singing. Here he evokes the resigned, tragic nuances of the ghazal, in a performance imbued with longing and a remembrance of Love’s beauty.

The wonderful duality of meaning in Ghalib’s kalam is evident from the Qawwali performance of this ghazal. Like the Farid Ayaz, Abu Muhammad performance above, this one too is taken from a triumphant concert in India. Ustad Fateh Ali Mubarak Ali Qawwal gave several concert performances in India post-partition, including a magnificent concert at Bombay in 1958, from which this performance is taken. I’ve included this performance in my previous posts on Ghalib as well as the raag Kedara, but its so good that it bears sharing a third time. It’s a joyful, lively, ‘khilti hui’ rendition prefaced by Salamat Ali’s lovely harmonium. In stark contrast with Ejaz Hussain Huzravi’s performance, the Ustads turn the ghazal into a playful account of the adventures in the Beloved’s pursuit, cheerfully facing the travails of love. The Ustads’ trademark takraars, taans and vociferous style are in full display here.

Ghazal: Mazze Jahan Ke

Gayaki Angg: Ustad Amanat Ali Khan

Qawwali Angg: Bakhshi Salamat Qawwal

I stated at the beginning of this post that after partition, Ghazal quickly supplanted Classical as the officially patronized musical form in Pakistan. The perfect example of this change is the career of Ustad Amanat Ali Khan. The crown prince of the young and vigorous Patiala Gharana of North-Indian classical music, Amanat Ali along with his brother Fateh Ali Khan were seen as the rightful claimants to the throne vacated three decades earlier by Ali Bakhsh-Fateh Khan, the stalwarts of the Patiala Gharana. Possessing a deeply emotive voice that perfectly complimented his brother Fateh Ali’s gravelly and powerful baritone, Amanat Ali was the pre-eminent Pakistani classical singer. But he was aware of the changing trends and in the early 1960s, began his foray into ghazal singing. His classical excellence, coupled with the sensual emotiveness of his voice quickly made him one of the pre-eminent ghazal singers of Pakistan. Before his untimely death in the early 1970s, Amanat Ali Khan recorded a number of excellent ghazals, including this version of Ghalib’s wonderful kalam. He sings it in a light, melodious arrangement in which the simple beauty of his voice shines through despite the rather heavy instrumentation.

The Qawwali interpretation of this kalam is by Bakhshi Salamat Qawwal. It’s one of my most favorite pieces of music ever and that’s all the description I am going to write.

Poet: Ameer Minai

Ghazal: Tu Ne But-e-Harjayi

Gayaki Angg: Nayyara Noor

Qawwali Angg: Haji Mahboob Ali Qawwal

Ameer Minai was one of the younger contemporaries of Ghalib and an important poet of the 2^nd half of the 19^th Century in addition to being a lexicographer, jurist and Islamic scholar. The first half of his life was spent in relative ease in Awadh, but after the War of 1857, his condition become strained until he was accepted into employment as the poetry teacher or “Ustad” to the Nawab of Rampur – a position in which he succeeded his friend Ghalib. The last years of his life were spent compiling and securing financial backing for a comprehensive Urdu dictionary. He was able to complete the volumes pertaining to the first three letters of the Urdu alphabet before he passed away. His fame rests on his lovely Na’ats and ghazals. His “Zahir main hum fareefta husn-e-butaan ke hain” sung by Fareeda Khanum is one of my eternal favorites. The ghazal chosen here is a light piece in which the poet laments his choice of the object of his affections, and the various travails he has encountered on Love’s path. As with most of Minai’s ghazals, and most of the selections in this post, the decision whether the Beloved is temporal or spiritual is left entirely to the audience’s imagination.

Nayyara Noor is unique among Pakistani ghazal-singers. The startling quality of her voice has been acclaimed by none other than the late Anil Biswas, who wrote her a letter of appreciation which she considers her most prized possession. In the early ‘70s she was able to put a modern, youthful spin on the art of ghazal singing without compromising on its aesthetics or the quality of the performance or the choice of kalam. In addition to her forays into modernity and in collaboration with Producer/Writer Shoaib Hashmi and Composer Arshad Mehmood, Nayyara carried out a series of bold, experimental recordings. These involved rendering ghazals in a style that had flourished in the 1920s-1940s and had then gone extinct: the Parsi Theater style of ghazal singing exemplified by stalwarts like Mukhtar Begum. Her rendition of this ghazal is also in that style, and it suits the kalam very well, heightening its melodic surprises and giving it a long-ago-and-far-away feel.

The Qawwali performance of this ghazal is by Haji Mahboob Sb. There are just four performers. Haji Sb leads and plays Sitar. Haji Mushtaq accompanies and plays the harmonium. A third accompanist handles clapping duties while the fourth is on the tabla. Each of the four performers fulfils their duties to absolute perfection. The recording is from the early ‘70s, when Haji Sb used to perform choice ghazals in front of Hz Babuji (RA) without excessive girah-bandi or tazmeen. The lack of excess in this recording is part of its beauty. The talaffuz is perfect, the brief takraars are perfect, Haji Mushtaq’s mini aakaars are perfect, the two-man rhythm section is perfect. It is a perfect example of Khanqahi Qawwali.

Poet: Allama Muhammad Iqbal

Ghazal: Har Lehza Hai Momin

Gayaki Angg: Noor Jehan

Qawwali Angg: Manzoor Niazi Qawwal aur Hamnavaa

At the start of the 20^th century, Iqbal was one of the brightest and most promising ‘shagirds’ of the recently deceased Mirza Daagh Dehelvi, the undisputed master of the light-hearted, playfully romantic ghazal. Over the next four decades, Iqbal’s poetry assumed the more imposing spiritual, political and philosophical mantle that made him the Poet-Philosopher of the East. But his poetry still retained the wonderful rhythms and internal rhymes he had learnt from Daagh at the start of his career. As a result, a large number of Iqbal’s ghazals, both political as well as romantic, have been put to music, to excellent effect. After partition, “Iqbaliyat” or the singing of Iqbal’s kalam was actively introduced as a sub-genre of Pakistani music, with a large number of artists singing his kalam on Radio and subsequently Television. This ghazal is one of Iqbal’s overtly political ones, defining what Iqbal believes are the essential qualities of a perfect Muslim. Despite its rather heavy political and revolutionary message, it’s not top-heavy. There is a lovely flow and lilt to it which is superbly exploited by the two artists performing it.

If the musical history of Pakistan is to be distilled into a single performer, it would most probably be Noor Jehan. From precocious film-star in the ‘30s to THE female voice of Pakistani cinema for four decades, Noor Jehan was a prevalent cultural presence in the subcontinent for more than 60 years. One of the reasons for her longevity was a remarkable career reinvention in the late ‘70s when she decided to fully exploit the opportunities provided by the medium of television. In a series of landmark programs titled “Tarannum”, she re-recorded her famous film hits and commissioned new compositions of ghazals by the best Urdu poets, both old and new. Then, she had these recordings ‘picturized’ on herself, employing all the charming techniques from her career as a cinematic leading lady. In doing so, she introduced herself to generations of new listeners, won legions of new fans and added a number of remarkable ghazals to the Pakistani musical canon. Her rendition of this ghazal is among her more famous recordings from that era, rendered in a sober yet powerful style, with perfect ‘ehteraam’ to both the words and the meanings of the kalam.

The Qawwali recording of this ghazal is taken from a Radio Pakistan performance recorded for broadcast on Iqbal Day, the birthday of Allama Iqbal that was a major annual cultural event each year on the 9^th of November. Radio and TV used to devote the day to Iqbaliyat and a large number of recordings were commissioned each year. Sadly, most of them have only been heard once or twice and remain stored away in the Radio Pakistan vaults. The rendition is by the original Manzoor Niazi Qawwal aur Hamnavaa, sans Bahauddin Sb, which dates this recording to the early 1970s. The party is led by Munshi Raziuddin Ahmed, accompanied by Manzoor Ahmad Niazi and Naseeruddin Saami. Raziuddin Sb’s ‘kharri’ enunciation and Manzoor Niazi Sb’s sweet, clear taans are the highlight of this lovely piece that is devoid of any girah-bandi except for a wonderful Arabic prayer near the end and the short preamble at the beginning. The recording fades out as Raziuddin Sb leads the party into the stratosphere.

Poet: Jigar Muradabadi

Ghazal: Iss Ishq Ke Haathon Se

Gayaki Angg : Begum Akhtar

Qawwali Angg: Aziz Ahmad Khan Warsi Qawwal

Ali Sikandar “Jigar” Muradabadi is a giant of Urdu literature and one of the great poets of the 20^th Century. He is recognized as one of the very few “Ustads” in modern Urdu poetry, a vital link between the romantic sensibilities of the 19^th Century and the modernist, progressive attitudes of the 20^th. His poetry has remained popular amongst all strata of society, from the Urdu-speaking elite of North and Central India to the Sufis and devotees of shrines dotted across the subcontinent. There is a striking spiritual element to his poetry, that makes his ghazals a mainstay of the Qawwali repertoire. In addition, his ghazals have been sung by almost all the great ghazal singers of the subcontinent. He was fond of reciting his ghazals in a unique ‘tarannum’ style which relied on the innate musicality of his kalam. He is a personal favorite of mine.

The year is 1952. The setting is the Bombay residence of famous businessman and patron of the arts Mr. Khatau Vallabhdas. An evening of music has been arranged for a small gathering of carefully chosen aficionados. The singer is 38-year-old Akhtari Bai Faizabadi, still some years away from completing her transformation into Begum Akhtar. The mehfil starts at 7 in the evening. What follows is utter and absolute magic. One astonishing ghazal follows the last, followed by a selection of choice Thumris, Dadras, Chaitis and Horis. Akhtari Bai sings magically, she applauds her accompanying musicians and occasionally bursts into a girlish giggle. Amongst her many renditions that night is this ghazal of Jigar’s, in a performance that defies description. Also, the tabla player is a genius.

Aziz Ahmad Khan Warsi is unique among the Qawwals of the 20^th century. He was a major Qawwal of the Qawwal Bacchon Ka Gharana who made Hyderabad his home, rather than Delhi. The majority of his repertoire comprised of Urdu ghazals rather than the more overtly spiritual repertoire of his contemporaries. His performance style was like no other, with a staccato harmonium and a similarly staccato style of singing that frequently teetered on the edge of the taal before returning to the ‘samm’ in a startling flourish. He has sung ghazals by the greatest Urdu poets and is a landmark figure in the Deccani culture of the second half of the 20^th century. This ghazal is amongst my most favorite of his performances.

Ghazal: Shab-e-Gham Ki Daraazi

Gayaki Angg: Pandit Vitthal Rao

Qawwali Angg: Nazeer Naseer Warsi Qawwal

If I’m lucky, once every two or three years, I stumble upon a new Musical Discovery. An artist that I instantly fall in love with and begin obsessing over. My musical discovery of 2017 has been Pandit Vitthal Rao. In a way, discovering him has been the inspiration for this post. The ghazal posted below had been among my favorites, having been sung by a number of Qawwali artists. One day, while flicking through YouTube videos, Istumbled upon Pandit Vithal Rao’s rendition of it and I was hooked. I may be a tad biased considering he’s now one of my favorite artists but I consider him one of the better ghazal singers from across the border, a list that I can count on the fingers of one hand. His ‘talaffuz’ and phrasing is excellent, his voice is beautifully fragile and tremulous, and he sings the ghazal beautifully. Like Aziz Ahmed Warsi above, he was a fixture of the post-partition Deccani culture and was, until his death recently, one of the pre-eminent (though highly underrated) ghazal singers of India.

The tail end of this post has taken on something of a Deccani hue, as the last performers in this post are also from Hyderabad. They are the grandsons of Aziz Ahmad Khan Warsi and are amongst the most sought after Qawwals currently performing in India. Their style has tinges of their late grandfather and they share his penchant for selecting excellent kalam to perform. Their repertoire includes a number of Jigar Muradabadi ghazals, including this mehfil rendition from 2002. Like their grandfather, they eschew excessive girah-bandi, focusing instead on the rendition of the kalam. Similarly, there isn’t an excess of vocal gymnastics. It’s an excellent rendition of an excellent ghazal, just the way I like it.

When I started writing this post, I didn’t realize that it would turn out to be such a large undertaking. If I’d known from the start, I would’ve balked and let laziness take its course. But now as I glance at the word count and realize that it’s crossed 4000 words, I guess I might as well pull up my socks and complete the darned endeavor. Writing another 4000 words is one thing, inflicting an 8000-word opus on the unsuspecting reader is entirely another. So, I’ve decided to leave the second half of the post (yes, you’ve only reached half) for the second installment, to be published two weeks from now. Till then, happy listening.