In my snootier days, I was an even more of insufferable snob about pop culture than I am now, disdainfully looking down upon things that I considered too lowbrow. True story, during family road-trips in my early teens, I used to pester the folks to play the cassette of Faiz ghazals in the car stereo and scoffed my younger brother who preferred to bop to the latest Nusrat tape (look how the tables have turned). My disdain for the use of Filmi tunes in Na’at and Qawwali lasted for a long while too, till thankfully I saw the light and mended my ways. As an aside, who wouldn’t after hearing Rasheed Ahmad Fareedi and Co take the tune from one of Noor Jehan’s most popular Punjabi film songs and turn it into a haal-inducing na'at in Raag Darbari. As one of the most ‘awaami’ forms of music, it would be considered natural for Qawwali to borrow freely from film music, probably the most awaami music of the subcontinent. Seven years ago, I wrote about some of my favorite examples of filmi tunes appropriated by qawwals, a post that requires updating to include the many examples I’ve heard and fallen in love with since, including some truly unique ones from artists I had not even heard of back then (case in point).
There is yet another very interesting intersection of filmi music with Qawwali, a phenomenon rarer than borrowing merely the tunes of film songs. Occasionally, film songs are appropriated en-bloc as Qawwali, music, lyrics and all. The rarity of this appropriation can be explained by the fact that for a film song to be performed in a Qawwali setting, the lyrics have to fit the requirements of a Qawwali piece. Love, longing and sorrow need to be couched in language that can suggest more spiritual meanings, rather than temporal superficiality. The essential themes of devotional music; submission, surrender, the expectation of spiritual salvation through love, need to be prominent in the lyrics. That doesn’t seem too big an ask from the music of the golden era of subcontinental film songs, when master lyricists with grounding in Urdu poetics were writing one beautifully written song after another. But the fact remains that very few songs translate well as Qawwalis, probably because the ‘kaifiyat’ a Qawwal aims to induce in the listeners might get diluted by the recognizability and temporal associations of popular film songs. This analysis is best left to ethnomusicologists, who might also find it interesting that most of the film songs appropriated as Qawwalis have been sung by female singers. The majority of Punjabi, Seraiki, Purbi and Brijbhasha devotional poetry, albeit written by male poets, is in the female voice, and these songs are no exception. Below, I present a few of my favorite examples of this subgenre of Qawwali, film songs with spiritual undertones performed as Qawwali.
1. Ranjhan Yaar – Lyrics: Hazin Qadri, Music: Bakhshi Wazir
Film: Mera Naa Patay Khan - 1975
Film version: Mehnaz Begum
Qawwali version: Ameer Ali Khan Murkianwale Qawwal
Mehnaz Begum sings this lovely Punjabi song in the Babra Sharif / Munawwar Zareef starring comedy/romance. The composition is lovely, especially the melodic surprise on the second verse of each ‘antra’, and Mehnaz sings it beautifully. While the picturization is a bit comedic (considering Pakistan’s premier film comic of the time, Munawwar Zareef is the object of affections), the lyrics are anything but lighthearted. The words could be interposed to any number of Punjabi Qawwalis written in the mid-twentieth century by Allah Ditta Khaki, Fani Bulandshahri or Purnam Allahabadi. The themes of submission to the Beloved, of being dyed in His hue, of considering him a guide on the true path and the protector of one’s honor, are universally found in Punjabi devotional poetry. It goes without saying that in the hands of a gifted Qawwal, these themes could be elaborated further. In recent memory, there were few Qawwals as gifted as the late Ameer Ali Khan Murkianwale. His style was melodious, playful yet with a rich vein of melancholy, and his deep grounding in classical music was honed by long apprenticeships with his father Rafiq Hussain Qawwal, as well as Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. This piece occupied a prime place in his repertoire, and he did full justice to it. The video below, from his Dream Journey recording made in December 2016, needs no elaborate write-ups and expositions; the late Ustad’s performance speaks for itself.
2. Jo Main Jaanti Bichrat Hain Saiyyan – Lyrics: Shakeel Badayuni, Music: Naushad
Film: Shabab - 1958
Film version: Lata Mangeshkar
Qawwali Version: Farid Ayaz, Abu Muhammad Qawwal
I would have begun this song’s description by saying that Nutan never looked lovelier, but I realized that such a statement would be incorrect, as Nutan looked lovely in every film she ever did. This beautiful Naushad composition in Maand is based on a Purbi folk-song attributed to Ameer Khusrau (RA) among others. The poignant lyrics by Shakeel feature the theme of separation from the Beloved, prevalent in devotional poetry, especially in Purbi and Seraiki poetry. It doesn’t hurt the poignant power of the song that it is sung by Lata near the peak of her powers. Interestingly, another song from this film has received the Qawwali treatment, a testament to the multifacetedness of Shakeel’s wonderful lyrics. Farid Ayaz, Abu Muhammad Qawwal give this song the Qawwali treatment in another Dream Journey recording from 2018. The raagdaari of the party, including the younger crop of Qawwal Bacche, highlights the beautiful Raag this composition is based on. Abu Muhammad takes the lead in this performance, as one by one the youngsters take flights of taankari. The pathos is tinged with earthiness and a sly, almost playful resignation, befitting the song’s origins in folk music. Farid Ayaz and Co will feature again in this post, for good reason.
3. Kya Jaane Kya Armaan Le Kar – Lyrics: Qateel Shifai, Music; Rasheed Attre
Film: Anaarkali - 1958
Film Version: Noorjehan
Qawwali Version: Captain Sufi Muhammad Ramzan
Anaarkali, the Pakistani film version of Syed Imtiaz Ali Taj’s seminal Urdu play, is one of the crown jewels of Pakistani film music. Rasheed Attre and Noorjehan was always a potent combination, but in this film the pair outdid themselves. Basing his compositions on Classical Raags, featuring traditional instruments like the Veena, the Pakhawaj and the Surbahar, Rasheed Attre created more than half a dozen immortal compositions, and Noorjehan did the rest in ensuring their immortality. This song gets extra brownie points for featuring a Veena among the instruments picturized, and being played by someone who’s not simply miming but actually knows how. Noorjehan looks beautiful as Anaarkali, Himalayawala is regal Akbar(albeit a bit worse for wear), and the sets are lavish by Pakistani film standards. The song itself needs no praises, a beautiful composition with lovely lyrics, it is is one of my favorite Noorjehan songs. The Qawwali version of this song is what originally spurred me towards writing this post a while ago. It is incomplete unfortunately, but other than that it’s probably my favorite type of Qawwali performance. An elderly, spectacled gent sits on the harmonium, he sings the asthayi while someone searches for the kalam written in the beyaaz. The beyaaz is placed on the harmonium as the spectacles are placed to one side, and the performance continues. It’s just two people performing, the singer on the harmonium, and a rather talented gent on the tabla, a two-person setup replicated across hundreds of shrines across the subcontinent. It is night, the crickets are chirping, the door to the dargah reveals the mehraabs without. There is no need of taans and raagdari here, no teams of humnavaas, the Qawwal is an obscure musician who does not test his vocal limits, yet the ‘kaifiyat’ of the kalaam is conveyed loud and clear. What more could you ask for?
4. Ve Laggiyan Di Lajj Rakha Layeen – Lyrics: Manzoor Jhalla, Music: Rehman Verma
Film: Chor Nalay Chattar – 1970
Film Version: Noorjehan
Qawwali Version: Farid Ayaz, Abu Muhammad Qawwal
This lovely song in Jaunpuri was created by a pair of gentlemen who have faded into obscurity, lyricist Manzoor Jhalla and composer Rehman Verma. The song however, refuses to die. Rediscovered by newer generations of musicians, one can find dozens of cover versions online. The lovely composition highlights the trademark ‘chalan’ of the Raag in the ‘antra’, and the lyrics are once again reminiscent of countless devotional songs. The fear of being forgotten by the Beloved, the pleas to the protector of one’s honor, the affirmations of love, all are to be found in the Kafis and Punjabi compositions that Qawwals sing. Farid Ayaz, holding court in his kaftan and shawl, displays how perfectly attuned he is to the themes in this song when he conducts an eleven-minute exposition of those themes without singing past the first verse or the ‘asthayi’ of the song. Instructing and admonishing both his party-members and a few youngsters in the crowd, he plucks girahs from the kalaam of Khwaja Ghulam Farid (RA), Ameer Khusrau (RA), Siraj Aurangabadi and turns a takraar on a single verse into a ‘pukki’ ghar ki mehfil.
5. Sajna Assaan Raah Takdeyan Rehna – Lyrics: Tanveer Naqvi, Music: Master Tufail Hussain
Film: Bhola Sajan – 1974
Film Version: Noorjehan
Qawwali Version: Rafiq Hussain, Barkat Ali Ameer Ali Qawwal
The Punjabi repertoire of Noorjehan, especially from the 1970’s, is full of outstanding performances waiting to be rediscovered by the general audience, with no better examples to support my claim than this song. Written by Pakistan’s preeminent film lyricist, and composed by the wonderfully talented son of Master Inayat Hussain, this song is all but forgotten by everyone except hardcore listeners of Punjabi film music. The pathos in the lyrics is superbly conveyed by Noorjehan without lapsing into histrionics, the instrumentation is understated, and the picturization features Alauddin in his trademark role, the heroine’s dyspeptically depressed father. The Qawwali version of this song is an absolute treasure, discovered in one of the dozens of crusty cassette tapes I was recently given by a friend to help clean and digitize. The Qawwals are singing a lovely version of “Nerre Nerre Vass Ve Dholan Yaar” when Rafiq Hussain Sb leads a digression from the main kalam. With a lovely, brief taan, he launches into a gorgeous version of this song, and the party follows him on this exploration. Cries of ‘SubhanAllah kya baat hai!’ and sighs of ‘haaye haaye’ from the audience attest to the chord the rendition immediately strikes. The vocal prowess and emotional intuition of a young Ameer Ali Khan are also on full display as he more than ably accompanies his father and uncle, and later leads the performance. It is a loose-limbed, freewheeling yet terribly emotional performance, and as Rafiq Sb assures us by saying “Kaise hoti hai Qayamat, abhi batayen ge!”, the performance is indeed ‘qayaamat-khez’. I became teary eyed the first time I heard it, and it still affects me every time I hear it, even as I type this, making me feel part of the deeply affected audience members heard in the recording.
I’ll be on the lookout for more song-to-qawwali translations like these, and would love any leads. May Allah bless those who sang these renditions, and those who taped them so that decades later, we could experience some of the magic experienced by the audiences in the dargaahs and the ghar-ki-mehfils.
