...Of Sacred Soundtracks - Part II

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.

...Of A Long Forgotten 'Muqabla'

 In August 2020 (Yes, I am going to start just like that, with no explanation or excuse for the blog’s three-year stasis), I found myself with a day to spare before heading off to another of my far-flung work locations. I also found myself in Lahore, which is as good a place as any, if not the best, for those seeking magical, serendipitous and life-altering experiences.  By a wonderful combination of events, I had found myself in communication with the son of one of my favorite Qawwals, Agha Rasheed Ahmad Fareedi. He very graciously invited me to spend a day with him and I readily agreed. The chance to visit Fareedi Sb’s house and listen to his son narrate stories about him was too good to miss, so I immediately drove to Lahore, navigated the narrow alleys of Qila Gujar Singh and found myself in a lovely pre-partition kothi adorned by a marvelous jharoka, sipping sweet, hot tea and being regaled with stories of the late, great Qawwal. Luckily, I had enough wits about me to record the conversation, otherwise I would have forgotten half of the wonderful, and at times unbelievable stories I heard that day. Stories which proved that not only was Fareedi Sb a larger-than-life Qawwal, he was a larger-than-life person in all other respects as well. A rabble-rouser, trail-blazer, trade-unionist, street-fighter of a qawwal, who passed away at the very peak of his creative powers.

The wonderful conversation was worth the four-hundred-kilometer round-trip, but the icing on the cake was when Fareedi Sb’s son brought out a large album full of photographs and press cuttings. Several times during the next few hours, I had to lift my jaw off the floor as I saw one historical photograph after another, and one astonishing press clipping / interview / performance review after another. With the host’s kind permission, I photographed all the photos and clippings, which, along with the audio of that day’s conversations, and a remarkable handwritten family history of the Fareedi clan, will one day prove invaluable when I vanquish the demons of laziness and begin writing about Qawwali in earnest. What I can do for now is write about a particular subset of photos and news clippings that chronicled a rare, momentous event that is forgotten today.

At the start of 1960s, Agha Rasheed Ahmad Fareedi was one of the most exciting young Qawwals in the subcontinent. As the star student of Fateh Ali-Mubarak Ali Khan, Fareedi Sb was the crown prince of the Do-aba style of Qawwali perfected by his ustads. And as behooves a prince, he was brash, proud almost to the point of arrogance, and ready to take on any and all comers. His combative approach to qawwali (and indeed, to life) had made him challenge many established musicians, both from among his seniors, as well as his contemporaries. During my visit with Fareedi Sb’s son, I heard many tales of Qawwali competitions or “muqablas” that his late father participated in and won, including a few where the results had to be decided by fisticuffs.

Nari Contractor (L) and Fazal Mehmood (R)
Pakistan's Test tour of India - 1961

At the end of 1960, Fareedi Sb embarked on a tour of India, which he began by paying his respects at all the major shrines, and visiting his hometown near Nakodar in Jalandhar. At the start of 1961, one of Fareedi Sb’s performances at the shrine of Hz Moinuddin Chishti (RA) at Ajmer was attended by Dilip Kumar. Impressed by the Pakistani qawwal's performance, he invited Fareedi Sb and Co to Bombay, where they booked a large number of engagements over the next three months. Fareedi Sb’s tour of India coincided with the Pakistan cricket team’s 1960-61 tour of India, where the visitors played five interesting (albeit drawn) games of cricket. Capitalizing on the interest generated by Fareedi Sb’s triumphant performances as well as the recently concluded cricket competition between the hosts and the visiting Pakistani cricketers, an intrepid promoter named Deep Jaggi had a brilliant idea; why not have a friendly competition between the visiting Qawwal and one of his Indian contemporaries.

Shankar Shambhu Qawwal

Fareedi Sb’s opponents were to be the two wonderfully talented brothers from Aligarh, Shankar Shambhu Qawwal. The two brothers had been classically trained by Ustad Chand Khan of the Delhi Gharana among others. Blessed with sibling harmonies that could put the Everly brothers to shame, the singer-instrumentalist brothers had a refined, saccharine sweet style of performing Qawwali. Since they didn’t belong to any Qawwal gharana, they came to national prominence by the dint of perseverance and hard work, and by 1955, were performing Qawwalis and ghazals all over India, as well as in various Hindi films. By 1961, they were established and popular qawwals, and were expected to give tough competition to the Pakistani visitors.

Newspaper ad for 
Wednesday, 21st February

The venue chosen for the ‘muqabla’ was the now defunct “Rang Bhavan” amphitheater, with the date set for a Wednesday, the 21st of  February 1961. Advertisements to the effect were published in local newspapers, particularly the Urdu press. However, the hype was so great, and the clamor for tickets so intense that the organizers had to think fast and shift the event to a larger arena and a later date, one that fell on a weekend, since the event was expected to last well into the night. The arena chosen was one of Bombay’s largest, the floodlit Bombay Provincial Hockey Association ground. To add luster to the ‘muqabla’, the leading lights of the Bombay film industry were added to the event. Om Prakash, the erstwhile Lahori, now Bombay’s foremost character actor would be the Master of Ceremonies. The matinee idols Rajendra Kumar and

Newspaper ad for
Wednesday 21st February

Pradeep Kumar would be the judges, along with the superb music directors Ravi and Madan Mohan, and the wonderful lyricist Chitragupt. And to award the prize to the winning Qawwals, the guest of honor would be K. Asif, fresh off his monumental triumph as the director of Mughal-e-Azam. The prizes included a gold medal, a handsome silver trophy and a monumental garland that, according to Fareedi Sb’s son “was especially crafted in Bangalore and took two people to carry”.

The advertisements for the event are wonderful historical time-capsules. One references the recently drawn India – Pakistan cricket match and assures readers that the Qawwali muqabla will prove to be just as exciting. Another features a testimonial for Fareedi Sb from Dilip Kumar, who is said to have “swayed in ecstasy” upon hearing Fareedi Sb’s qawwali. The fact that Fareedi Sb was Fateh Ali – Mubarak Ali’s shagird is mentioned repeatedly in the advertisements, as are the lovely monikers for both the qawwal parties. Fareedi Sb is the ‘Aftab-e-Qawwali’ – the blazing sun of the firmament of Qawwali, while Shankar Shambhu Qawwal are the ‘Mahtab-e-Qawwali’ – the glowing moon of the Qawwali sky. I find these metaphors rather apt, as they quite accurately describe the two parties’ contrasting performance styles; Fareedi Sb’s fiery, incandescent style contrasted with the calmer, more serenely pleasant, iridescent style of Shankar Shambhu Qawwal. There is also a response to those who seemed to think the event would be cancelled for one reason or the other, with the the ad declaiming: "Who says there won't be a competition? A competition will take place, it MUST take place !."

Newspaper advertisement for the muqabla on the revised date
Saturday, 25th February 1961

Newspaper advertisement for the revised date
Saturday, 25th February 1961

A view of the stage
The competing parties on either side

Agha Rasheed Ahmad Fareedi and Party

A view of the audience
On Prakash and K. Asif in front row

On the night of the 25th February 1961, the BPHA ground was packed to capacity, with 10,000 people in the audience. The front row was reserved for the A-listers, the host, the judges and the guest of honor, K. Asif. A large stage was set, covered with white chandni, with two raised platforms installed for the Qawwal parties and the MC’s mic in the middle. The ‘muqabla’ lasted late into the night, with each Qawwal party performing four pieces. Including a ghazal, a manqabat, a naat and a traditional semi-classical piece. The muqabla lasted well into the night and the results were finally announced sometime after midnight. And this is where the account begins to vary. A newspaper clipping published in the Cine Advance weekly on 3rd March 1961 mentions that the event ended in a draw, with both parties being awarded a gold medal by K. Asif. Fareedi Sb’s son, however, maintained that it was his late father who was adjudged the winner of the competition. He also shared a photo that seemed to substantiate his claim, featuring Fareedi Sb, the fabled ‘two-person’ garland around his neck, receiving a silver trophy with the floodlights shining behind him. I’m inclined to believe the latter version over the newspaper version of the story for two reasons; the first being the photograph. The second reason will be made clear at the end of this post. It is quite a long-shot, but if anyone reading this was at the competition, or knows someone who was at the competition, a corroboration of the result would be much appreciated. In fact, any scrap of information about the event would be more than welcome, including the holy grail - an audio recording of part, or as long as I'm indulging in wishful thinking, whole of the muqabla. Whatever the result, Fareedi Sb continued his triumphant tour of India for a few more months, which featured a memorable performance at Dilip Kumar’s Pali Hill bungalow, an event which again was attended by quite a few members of the Bombay film fraternity.

Receiving the Gold Medal from K. Asif

Receiving the winner's Silver Cup 

Fareedi Sb returned to Pakistan in March 1961, and spent the next 24 years performing incessantly until his death in 1985 at the age of 63. Shankar Qawwal, the elder one of his erstwhile competitors, had passed away a few months earlier in a road accident. The younger brother, Shambhu Qawwal, passed away in 1989. Their respective accompanists have also passed away by now, as have the glittering stars involved in the event. The muqabla, a major event in the lives of both Qawwals, and a unique event in the history of 20^th century Qawwali, is now a long-forgotten memory. The few meticulously preserved photographs and newspaper clippings are all the mementos that remain of the event that attracted a crowd of ten thousand and featured some of the most important film personalities of the 1960s. The real shame is that there’s little chance of any recording from the muqabla still existing. If any were to be found, I’m sure it would be absolutely electric. There are recordings of Fateh Ali-Mubarak Ali’s performances at the Birla Hall, Bombay in 1958 where the magic of their performance is magnified by the roars and applause of the crowd. I’m sure any recordings of the muqabla would have been similarly rousing, but for the life of me I haven’t been able to find any. As I've said above, if any qawwali aficionado is lucky enough to possess any recordings, I hope they come to light someday. But until then, what follows will have to suffice.

A brief handwritten account of the muqabla
From Fareedi Sb's family archive

In the absence of any live recordings from the night of the muqabla, we’ll have to make do with the next best thing. Qawwals in Pakistan and India share a wide repertoire, featuring a large number of canonical texts. As a result, one can listen to and compare the renditions of the same kalam by different artists (something that used to be the stock-in-trade of this blog, I’ll be the first to admit). There are a handful of pieces of Qawwali that have been performed by both Fareedi Sb and Shankar Shambhu Qawwal, and they also happen to be the typical pieces that a traditional qawwali performance comprises of. With a little bit of imagination, and in the absence of any setlists to guide us, we can attempt to virtually reconstruct the muqabla by listening to the two competing groups’ renditions of the same kalam. And this is where I can explain the second reason for why I think it was Fareedi Sb and his party who emerged the eventual winners of the competition. Let the muqabla begin!

1.       Qaul – Mun Kunto Maula – Hz Amir Khusrau (RA)

The Qaul is the piece that traditionally serves as the beginning of the Qawwali performance, so it’s fitting to begin this virtual muqabla with renditions of Hz Amir Khusrau’s seminal creation. I have devoted a previous blog-post to how various artists have put their distinctive stamp on the traditional piece (eagle-eared readers will find one of these two performances in that piece as well). The contrast between the two parties’ renditions of the Qaul couldn’t be more striking. Shankar Shambhu Qawwal sing a beautiful, plaintive and stately Qaul, with Shankar Qawwal’s superbly sweet voice shining in a plaintive alaap, and in the brief murki’s he takes during the tarana. It’s a lovely, self-contained performance that swells and eddies beautifully, before clocking-out at the four-minute mark.

In his typical brash style, Fareedi Sb dispenses with all niceties at the very beginning, announcing that other qawwals know jack-squat and he alone knows the correct way to perform the Qaul. He will announces that he shall perform the Qaul in Raag Bhopali, in Teen-taal, a rhythmic cycle of 16 beats. What follows is an absolute tour-de-force spanning a quarter of an hour. Fareedi Sb and Co weave magic with their takraars, the sudden changes in tempo, and the imperceptibly steady increase in intensity as the piece picks up steam. In terms of length, Fareedi Sb’s performance is 11 times longer than Shankar Shambhu’s rendition. In terms of sheer power, it’s at least a hundred times more potent. The first round of the muqabla goes to the Qawwals from Pakistan.

2.       Naat - Sallalaho Alaihi Wasallam – Sharib Lakhnavi / Bedam Shah Warsi

A hamd or na’at is generally the second item in a Qawwali performance, and both the Qawwal parties were adept at performing them. Shankar Shambhu’s na’ats are superb examples of the genre, cheerful in their arrangements, steeped in ‘aqeedat’ and dripping with musicality. Fareedi Sb’s na’ats are more plaintive affairs, gradually building to a haal-inducing crescendo and evoking feelings of love and longing for the Prophet (SAW). The na’at selection for this ‘muqabla’ recreation is a bit of a cop-out, since I couldn’t find a na’at in my collection that had been performed by both the parties. I settled for the next best thing, na’ats that share the same ‘radeef’, the salutation to the Prophet “Sallalaho Alaihi Wasallam”. Shankar Shambhu Qawwal begin their rendition with a unique quatrain that praises the Ahl-e-Bait (RA) while incorporating the verses of Sura-e-Ikhlas, The Quran’s 112^th chapter. It’s a studio-recorded piece, with a beginning, a middle and an end. Throughout the recording, the bansuri, the clarinet and the sarangi faithfully follow Shankar Qawwal’s lovely, lilting voice. As with most studio-recorded 3.5-minute qawwalis, it’s likely a blueprint for an expanded, more elaborate live version. One can guess where the takraars would be placed in the mehfil performance, but unfortunately, that is a version that only exists so far in the imagination.

Fareedi Sb’s rendition, once again, is the exact opposite. It’s a mehfil performance that takes its time in unfolding its wonders. The zor-daar sazeena alone is twice the length of the entire Shankar Shambhu rendition. The sound quality is very iffy, and gets scratchier as the recording progresses. The recording also ends abruptly, before the Qawwals have sung the whole na’at through, so we’re left imagining the crescendo that never arrives. The kalam is Bedam Shah Warsi (RA)’s immortal, magical na’at, sharing the same radeef as Sharib Lakhnavi’s na’at as performed by Shankar Shambhu Qawwal. As is his wont, Fareedi Sb turns explores the pathos and longing in Bedam’s verses, embellishing it with Punjabi girahs that lead the listeners to sigh “These are matters are too painful Fareedi Sb, they’re better left unsaid!” The takraars on the second misra’ of the first verse are the stuff of dreams. It’s probably my favorite rendition ever of this superlative na’at, and hands the second round convincingly to Fareedi Sb and Co.

3.       Ghazal – Itna Shadeed Gham Hai – Sardar Abdur Rab Nishtar

After the manqabat and the na’at, the next item on the Qawwali setlist is usually a ghazal with spiritual undertones. The ghazal sung by both the qawwals is a beautiful one by the distinguished politician and accomplished poet Sardar Abdur Rab Nishtar. The mat’la is striking in its simplicity, and the maq’ta presents a uniquely refreshing take on the concept of redemption and salvation. For a change, Shankar Shambhu’s performance of this ghazal is not a studio recording, which allows the brothers some breathing space to showcase the finer aspects of their performance styles. Shambhu Qawwal gets to ably support his brother’s vocal flights and taankari with his understated yet melodious voice. Shankar Qawwal milks the verses for all the emotive elements he can extract, and lets his voice trill and dive to wonderful effect. He even manages to insert a lovely girah, which would’ve been impossible in a 3 minute 38 second recording that would have filled one side of a 78 RPM record. Listening to this rendition, it appears that the brothers might finally catch up with Fareedi Sb and notch up a point for their side in the muqabla.

Long before this virtual muqabla made it to the blog, it has been played out repeatedly on my car stereo, with the missus being the impartial judge who usually adjudicates. There was an advantage to getting her opinion on these qawwalis, because she’s not blinkered by admiration for Fareedi Sb as I am (though she is getting there), and so can give her verdict as a lay listener. When I played the Shankar Shambhu version of the ghazal to her for the first time, she agreed with me that it was sung beautifully, and with a lot of feeling. When I played her the version of this ghazal performed by Fareedi Sb and Co, she gave her verdict before the first two minutes of the recording were up. Her words, “There’s more pathos and feeling in Fareedi Sb’s rendition of the word “Itna” than there is in the entire Shankar Shambhu performance.” I couldn’t have said it better myself. The audience’s haye-haye’s and wah-wahs provide additional proof that Fareedi Sb’s delivery, coupled with the intoxicating tarz, are too heady a combination for Shankar Shambhu to match.

4.       Rung – Aaj Rung Hai – Hz Amir Khusrau (RA)

The rendition of the Rang traditionally signals the end of a Qawwali performance, where the Qawwals and the audience rise from their seated positions and the performance ends in the recollection of the festival of Basant at the shrine of Hz Nizamuddin Auliya (RA). The “shajra” or lineage of the Chishti saints is recited as the audience joins the qawwals in paying their respects to the saints. It’s usually an up-tempo piece, serving to bookend the qawwali mehfil on a high note. Shankar Shambhu Qawwal, again saddled with a rather anemic studio recording (please, if any reader has any mehfil recordings of the brothers, do share), perform a rather straightforward run-through of the traditional ‘Rung’ as attributed to Hz Amir (RA), respectfully singing the shajra, with Shankar Qawwal contributing a couple of lovely, albeit brief taans.

Fareedi Sb’s version begins with a lovely Purbi dohra, before he launches into the Rung in a mehfil recording. Unrestricted by the 3-and-a-half-minute limit of a studio recording, he dwells on each verse for the extra minute or so that lends it extra heft. In what is a relatively straightforward performance by his standards, the only embellishments he adds are the names of Hz Pir Mehr Ali Shah (RA) and Baba Abdul Ghafoor (RA) to the shajra and the takraar at the end of the kalam. It’s a simple performance, no frills, and a fitting conclusion to this virtual muqabla. As for the winner of this round, I’m rather undecided and will leave it for the readers to decide.

I’ll be the first to admit that the brothers from Aligarh were terribly shortchanged by my only possessing studio recordings of their performances, thus being unable to present them in the Qawwal’s natural habitat, a mehfil. Still, a comparison of the above four recordings bears out the testimony of Fareedi Sb’s son, claiming that it was his father that actually won the muqabla. Regardless of the eventual winners, it must have been a once-in-a-lifetime event, and what I wouldn’t give to hear a recording of it, even a snippet (hint-hint once again, any collectors reading). In the absence of any recordings from the muqabla, let us be thankful for the precious few mementoes that remain, the fading newspaper clippings, the carefully preserved photographs, and the oral histories that are slowly disappearing. And lest we forget, it’s through the efforts of listeners who taped the mehfils, recorded off the radio, or made copies of the vinyl 78s and EPs, that we are privileged to hear masters of their craft like Fareedi Sb and Shankar Shambhu Qawwal today. May God bless those that performed, and those that preserved the performances so that we may experience some of the magic, even after all these decades.

...Of The Punjabi Blues

The last two posts were devoted to an exploration of the Ghazal, a centuries old poetic form popular across the Indo-Persianate region, including the states of modern-day Central Asia. A number of famous ghazals were sung by ghazal singers and traditional Qawwals, allowing for an interesting comparison between the two musical forms. The distinct qualities of the ghazal; it’s nuanced and multifaceted meanings, its rich store of similes and allusions and its sensitive evocation of love and longing (both spiritual and temporal) are self-evident in the hands of skilled musicians, regardless of their preferred musical style. This post is somewhat similar to the last two in that it deals with a very specific musical form and its interpretation by Qawwals. That is where the similarities end.

The “Mahiya” is a distinct and very popular musical form in the Punjab. It has been sung for centuries and is an integral part of the region’s folk culture. It differs from the ghazal in several key aspects however. The most important difference is that like most other folk musical traditions of the world, Mahiyas aren’t written down and compiled in the form of Diwans. They’re part of the oral tradition, passed down from performer to performer, ever changing and ever evolving. They do not aspire to literary greatness, with an absence of complex similes and allusions, alliteration and nuanced meanings. The Mahiyas are written mostly by the people who sing them; itinerant folk musicians. In fact, they’re a popular literary pastime in the Punjab; I personally know at least half a dozen men and women in my village and the surrounding areas who regularly write Mahiyas and either sing them themselves, or pass them on to the ‘Mirasis’; members of the traditional Punjabi musician clans.

In the last post, I used an excerpt from Stephen Fry’s book to describe a ghazal to the readers unfamiliar with it. Unfortunately, Mr. Fry hasn’t written much about the Mahiya so I’ll have to use my own execrable rhyming skills to construct a prototype English Mahiya. The word “Mahiya” means “My beloved”, and has been ascribed to this musical form because it occurs very frequently in it, as a recurring coda at the end of each verse. The verses themselves follow a set pattern of three verses per stanza, with the first and third verses rhyming. The first verse is thematically unrelated to the next two, it’s main aim is simply to provide a rhyming counterpart to the third. It’s usually an everyday observation, a random phrase or a non-sequitur, something the singer has picked up from his everyday life. The second verse begins expounding the main theme and the final verse is the pay-dirt, the punchline and the soul of the entire stanza. So it goes, stanza upon stanza, three verses unrelated to the previous ones as far as rhyming is concerned, but in the same metre and expounding more or less the same theme. They’re sly, full of lovely vernacular wordplay and rooted in the everyday slangs and idioms. Here’s an example off the top of my head:

Two birds on a wire my love.

It ain’t any fever that I’ve got

I’m just burning with desire my love!

The sky’s so blue my love.

You wouldn’t ignore me this way

If your heart was true my love!

Fresh fruit on a cart my love.

I don’t know how I’ll survive

If you break my heart, my love!

Children play with a ball my love.

I’ve been staring at my phone all day

Waiting for you to call, my love.

P.S. the last stanza is a literal translation from one of this year’s most popular Punjabi folk tunes.

The Mahiya has a number of similarities with the blues, based on its interesting rhyme scheme, its use of everyday phrases and its origins among the rural itinerant singing community. Blues like Robert Johnson’s 32:20 blues, Howlin’ Wolf’s Smokestack Lightning and even songs like Dylan’s Buckets of Rain remind me of Mahiyas. Like I wrote earlier, Mahiyas are written solely in Punjabi/Seraiki. I don’t know of Mahiyas in any other subcontinental language, with one remarkable exception. Fawad Zakariya has written a wonderful post about it on his blog which saves me from waxing too eloquent about it. Suffice to say it’s one of the most famous and most beautiful pieces of Pakistani music ever recorded.

One final illustrative example of a Mahiya before I go into the meat of this post. The earliest recording of a Mahiya that I’ve been able to dig up is from a brilliant, brilliant 1951 Folkways record titled “Folk Music Of Pakistan”. Along with beautiful recordings of folk music from all regions of Pakistan (including the erstwhile East Pakistan), it has a lovely Mahiya duet by Munawwar Sultana and Ali Bukhsh Zahoor, two of the now forgotten pioneers of the early Pakistani music industry. Ali Bukhsh Zahoor is one of my favorite voices and I’m constantly looking for more recordings by him. The recording is Track 1 in the playlist embedded below.

With that, let’s get to the Qawwali portion of this post. As Mahiyas are a Punjabi musical form, most of the Qawwals featured here are Punjabi, with one rather quaint exception. Most of the Qawwals sing the same verses, or at least various permutations of the same verses. This signifies a shared wellspring of folk poetry that all of them draw from. Most of the recordings are snippets from Mehfils and aren’t professionally recorded, so be prepared for incomplete recordings, with scratchy, imperfect sound quality. Another interesting thing is that since most Mahiyas are directed towards a specific “Beloved” and the Qawwals are performers in the Sufi tradition, the Beloved here is either God, the Prophet (S.A.W) or a specific spiritual master or Pir. There’s only one performance per artist, as with most previous Qawwali posts. That’s enough exposition I think, let’s begin.

1. Koi Chittay Way Rupay Mahiya – Bakhshi Salamat Qawwal

Ustad Salamat Khan’s voice would be considered divinely crafted for the Mahiya if not for the fact that it seemed divinely crafted for whatever he chose to sing, be it ghazal, kafi or classical. This Mehfil recording from the late 1970s is as perfect an example of a traditional Punjabi musical performance that you can get. The earthy beauty of Salamat Ali Khan’s voice as he sings the first verse of a beautiful Punjabi doha, Ustad Bakhshi Khan’s pathos soaked voice repeating the first verse, that makes even Salamat Khan utter an ‘Aha!’, and the powerhouse vocals of Mubarak Ali Khan as he hijacks the 2^nd verse from Salamat Ali Khan, and then Sadiq Ali “Saddo” Khan’s sweet, melodious voice as he takes up the slack; all this happens in the first two minutes of the recording, before they’ve even gotten to the text of the Mahiya itself. Then Salamat Ali Khan says, “Now we’ll sing some mixed verses from a Punjabi Mahiya for you” and they’re off. With a non-sequitur about white banknotes, they launch into a beautiful Punjabi masterclass. As with the rest of the Mahiyas in this post, the theme is of the love of God, the Sufi concept of “Wahdat-ul-Wujood” along with pleas and remonstrances to the Pir.

2. Gal Kurta Shahiye Da – Agha Rasheed Ahmad Fareedi Qawwal

When I wrote earlier that the Mahiya suffers from “an absence of complex similes and allusions, alliteration and nuanced meanings”, I didn’t realize that in the hands of an absolute master like Fareedi Sb, a Mahiya could contain all of the above and much more. In this recording, Fareedi Sb isn’t accompanied by his brother Agha Majeed, so there is a dearth of beautiful taans and sargams. Instead, the accompaniment is provided by a truly wonderful second vocalist who takes the lead in converting a simple Mahiya into a grand exposition of Sufi ideals including the search for God and the Truth, the concept of ‘Wahdat-ul-Wujood and the elusive nature of Divine love. The lovely ‘volte face’ by Fareedi Sb at the 12-minute mark takes the theme to a whole different place altogether. It’s a pure ‘Khanqahi’ performance with superlative, unmatched Punjabi girahbandi. It’s interesting (and very rare) to see Fareedi Sb take the backseat and let his co-vocalist drive the performance, but that’s exactly what happens in the first half of the performance, which is essentially a long series of stupendous Punjabi, Urdu, Purbi and Farsi girahs on a single theme. For someone like me who adores girahbandi, this performance is a diamond-mine.

3. Do Zulfaan Challe Ve Challe – Maulvi Ahmed Hassan Akhtar Hassan Bheranwale Qawwal

Next is a fully realized “studio” performance of a Mahiya by Maulvi Ahmed Hassan, Maulvi Akhtar Hassan and Co. They are accompanied by a lovely Clarinet, with the voices of all the vocalists taking center stage one by one to expound on the theme of love of the Prophet (S.A.W). I’ve written at length at the unpolished beauty of Maulvi Akhter Hassan’s voice and I needn’t go into it again. He’s in top form here and is ably assisted by the entire party. The girahs here are again absolutely brilliant, in Punjabi, Farsi and Urdu. The themes are the same as those explored by the previous two performers and indeed by those that follow. It’s to the credit of Maulvi Akhter Hassan and Party that they imbue these themes and lyrics with an entirely unique freshness, vigor and vitality. The whole performance seems less like a series of Mahiyas and more like a Na’at written by one of the Classical Punjabi poets, an impression heightened by the use of the traditional Heer arrangement to deliver a number of lovely Girahs near the end. It’s a lovely performance, that leaves the listener amazed at the inventiveness and alacrity of the Qawwals.

4. Sonay Da Kil Mahiya – Bahauddin Qutbuddin Qawwal featuring Abdullah Manzoor Niazi Qawwal

The one Qawwali performance of a Mahiya by a non-Punjabi artist in this post is an anomaly in more ways than one. The Qawwal Party of Ustad Bahauddin Khan and Qutbuddin Khan included, for two decades, a young and rather precocious singer who would later go on to become a brilliant Qawwal in his own right. That young singer was Abdullah Manzoor Niazi who was part of his uncle Bahauddin Khan’s party off and on from the early 70s to the end of the 1980s. In addition to vocal duties, he was also part of the rhythm section, playing the bongos (or a miniature version at least) and sitting in the front row. So important was Abdullah in the greater scheme of things in the party that his uncles let him lead the party in several recordings, themselves hanging back as accompanists. This is one such recording in which young Abdullah is singing Mahiyas with the voice of Qutbuddin Khan clearly audible among the accompanists. There is a clear non-Punjabi accent which I find endearing, and there is no attempt at trying to elicit deeper, more spiritual meanings from the simple Punjabi poetry. Instead, the Qawwals do a straight sing-through of around a dozen Mahiyas. What the performance lacks in raw emotion, it makes up for in the sweetness of young Abdullah Niazi’s voice.

5. Har Koi Sohna Ae – Ustad Muhammad Ali Fareedi Qawwal

The Qawwals are already well into their performance when this recording begins, making the listener feel like they’ve jumped on a moving train. But what a train, and what a journey! This recording is from the tail-end of the venerable Muhammad Ali Fareedi’s career, when his son Abdur Rahim had come into his own and was calling some of the shots. We start at the takraar, and what a brilliant takraar, with the rhythm section chugging along like Johnny Cash’s Tennessee Three. It’s clear that this Mahiya is being performed as a Manqabat in the praise of a Pir. The themes are again those of ‘Wahdat-ul-Wujood’ with the Qawwals exploring the idea of discovering God through temporal love. The verses her are those that have been sung in the previous four selections, but it’s lovely to hear them embellished with new and interesting girahs by the Ustad as well as his accompanists, including Abdur Rahim Fareedi. It’s a testament to the elder Ustad’s command over the subjects being sung and his mastery of girah-bandi that, near the end of the performance, he successively uses an Arabic, Farsi and Urdu girah on the same Punjabi verse. The performance ends all too soon, with a resounding final beat of the dholak, leaving the passengers longing for further journeys on this wonderful locomotive.

6. Koi Jora Pakkhiyaan Da – Haji Mahboob Ali Qawwal (RA)

The final Mahiya in this post is also a journey well in progress when the listener joins in. Stretching the train metaphor from the previous selection, Haji Mahboob Sb is driving a steam locomotive at a leisurely pace through beautiful rolling countryside. There is a beautiful sway and an unhurried swing to the performance as Haji Mahboob Sb sings verse after verse in praise of the Prophet (S.A.W). The fact that this Mahiya is sung as a Naat may not be overtly obvious from the words, but the innate affection and love in the singing makes the fact abundantly clear. Haji Sb was fond of singing Mahiyas in his performance and there exist a number of recordings, with each performance distinct from the others despite the Mahiya verses being the same in most of them. The difference was down to Haji Sb’s superlative power to evoke a staggering number of Spiritual meanings from a single text by altering the tempo and arrangement of the composition as well as by using his matchless girah-bandi. Even though a few verses in this Mahiya are to be found in the previous five performances, the vast majority are totally unique, another testament to the vastness of Haji Sb’s repertoire. The recording fades out mid-performance, making the listener realize almost with a start, that the meandering locomotive has dropped him off at his destination and moved on, leaving behind a distant echo of its whistle.

...Of The Two Streams - Part 2

This is the second part of a rather long post featuring recordings of Ghazals by mainstream ghazal-singers and Qawwals, offering a contrasting view of the pre-eminent Urdu poetic and musical form of the last two to three centuries. Here we go!

Poet: Aziz-ul-Hasan Majzoob/Majzoob Dakkani?

Ghazal: Saari Duniya Mujhe Kehti Tera Saudayi Hai

Gayaki Angg: Iftekhar Ahmed Nizami

Qawwali Angg: Agha Rasheed Ahmad Fareedi Qawwal

The first ghazal in this second half is by a truly enigmatic poet. I was initially unaware of the poet of this ghazal. I contacted Subhan Ahmad Nizami, the grandson of Ustad Iftekhar Ahmad Nizami (and one of my favorite Qawwals) and he told me that the poet was one Majzoob Dakkani. I mentioned the name to a few gentlemen who are interested in some of the more obscure poets but they had not heard of such a poet before. The only Majzoob they’d heard of was one Sheikh Aziz-ul-Hasan Majzoob. Again, very little biographical information was available about him but I’ve been able to piece together a few facts. Majzoob passed away sometime in 1944. He had served in the colonial bureaucracy at several important positions in District Saharanpur, UP and had been conferred the title of Khan Bahadur by the Colonial government. In addition to being a government servant and a poet, he was of a mystical bent and used to sing his verses and occasionally break out in dance. A few of his ghazals that I’ve read are very good, but there are precious few available.

The first recording in this post is a bit of a cheat in that it is sung by someone who was primarily a Qawwal. Ustad Iftekhar Ahmed Nizami was, along with his cousins Munshi Raziuddin Ahmed, Bahauddin Khan and Manzoor Ahmed Niazi, part of the original pre-1969 Manzoor Ahmad Niazi Qawwal party (The Barri Party). He possessed a unique, rough-hewn and weather-beaten voice that possessed a virile, earthy beauty. In the Barri Party recordings, his voice is distinct and immediately grabs the listener’s attention. He passed away at a relatively young age, leaving behind precious few recordings. The few solo performances of his that remain were recorded at Mr. Zaheer Alam Kidvai’s wedding ceremony. Here he sings some lovely ghazals and a couple of really sweet dadras. The audio quality is iffy at best, however his unique style shines through splendidly. It really is a lovely ghazal, and sung by Iftekhar Sb, it literally sparkles!

The Qawwali rendition of this ghazal is by Agha Rasheed Ahmad Fareedi. My deep appreciation and admiration of Fareedi Sb is not a secret. I consider him one of the greatest Qawwals of the 20^th century and arguably the finest shagird of Fateh Ali Mubarak Ali. In this recording, the party sings the kalam in a lovely arrangement based on a Raag that sounds really familiar but one I can’t for the life of me seem to recognize (Bhairvi?). The tarz is perfectly suited to Rasheed’s hefty voice, allowing Majeed Ahmad Fareedi to weave his magical taans at will. Even though the tempo picks up as the performance proceeds, the Qawwals are in no hurry whatsoever, lingering on each verse, repeating it for good measure, building takraar upon takraar. There is no girahbandi here, not even an opening preamble. What it lacks in text, it makes up for in the quality of the taans; there’s mellow taans, ghamak taans, and lovely Pahari style taans. It’s a 20-minute express train-ride through the ghazal, with an expert engine driver at the helm.

Poet: Anwar Mirzapuri
Ghazal: Main Nazar Se Pi Raha Hoon
Gayaki Angg: Iqbal Bano
Qawwali Angg: Maulvi Ahmed Hassan Akhter Hassan Bheranwale Qawwal

One enigmatic poet follows another. I have to admit that I know absolutely nothing about Anwar Mirzapuri. The only description I’ve found for him is “A poet very popular in Mushairas in India in the 50s and 60s.” Let’s leave it at that I guess.

Iqbal Bano was one of the queens of Pakistani music, lending her distinctive voice to innumerable ghazals and film songs that have become standards. In addition, she was an excellent light classical singer; her thumris in Tilak Kamod are especially lovely. Like her great contemporary Farida Khanum, her ghazals are marked by immaculate ‘talaffuz’, an understanding of the nuanced meanings of the kalam, and selection of arrangements that did not overshadow the text. This ghazal is no exception. She sings each verse almost lovingly, interspersed with short but excellent taans. One can almost imagine sitting in front of her, listening as she waves her left hand, plucking at invisible notes around her, entrancing the audience. It’s a short piece but a really lovely one.

The Qawwals performing this piece are those wonderful, exquisitely unpolished gems from Faisalabad, Maulvi Ahmed Hassan, his phenomenally talented son Maulvi Akhter Hassan (a voice if ever there was one), accompanied by Muhammad Mohsin and Zahid Hassan Bheranwale, with the voices of Maulvi Haider Hassan and Zameer-ul-Hassan somewhere in the mix. I’ve always had a grudge with whoever recorded this party (the otherwise brilliant Haji Hidayatulah I’m guessing) in that they usually didn’t adequately mic anyone except Maulvi Akhter Hassan. The result is that the rest of the voices lose their power a bit. But all that does is put Maulvi Akhter Hassan’s lovely voice front and center. This performance is one of my very favorite ones. The opening minute-and-a-half of the doha alone is worth the price of admission, as are the lovely short taans where Maulvi Akhter Hassan’s voice cracks so beautifully. You won’t find proper Urdu ‘talaffuz’ here, nor will you find sweet, classically trained voices. Instead, there are voices straight from the earth, striking, rough-hewn, powerful and absolutely beautiful.

Poet: Faiz Ahmad Faiz
Ghazal: Dil Main Ab Yun
Gayaki Angg: Mashooq Ali Khan
Qawwali Angg: Muhammad Ahmad Warsi Rampuri Qawwal

Faiz is arguably the greatest and most popular Urdu poet of the 2nd half of the 20th Century, and one of the great poetic voices of the world. The beauty of his ghazals and the stark magnificence and tenderness of his nazms is known and loved wherever Urdu is spoken and understood. I don’t think I can do justice in one paragraph to the importance of Faiz’s poetry in my life. For as long as I can recall, there has been a copy of “Nuskha-haaye Wafa” at the side table and another in the bookshelf. There have always been half a dozen cassettes of Faiz in the car; his own recitations of his poetry, Abida Parveen’s renditions, Iqbal Bano’s renditions, Farida Khanum’s renditions and so forth. Some of the most important memories (and an extremely embarrassing one) of my life are associated with Faiz’s poetry. This lovely ghazal is an example of Faiz’s utter mastery over the classical aspects of this poetic form and his ability to imbue it with modern sentiment without violating its romantic core. Also, what a mat’la!

Mashooq Ali Khan sings the ghazal here. He was a Radio Pakistan artist from Karachi who performed from the 50s to the end of the 70s. His specialty seems to be ghazals and light classical pieces, although I have a qawwali recording of his which is rather lovely. His voice is somewhat similar to Nasir Jahan, the famous Na’at-khwan and Soz-khwan, it’s obviously aged and past its prime, but its flexibility and mild tremulousness is very endearing. In this recording the sarangi creates a lovely, wistful atmosphere and the simple Keherva taal by the tabla gives Mashooq Ali Khan’s voice a firm foundation to weave his magic, which he certainly does.

When I began taking a keener interest in Qawwali around ten years ago (Jeez! It’s been ten years!!) I was a tad nonplussed to find that Faiz’s poetry wasn’t represented at all in the Qawwali canon. This, despite the fact that Faiz had written a couple of pieces specifically as Qawwalis. Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan had sung a lovely version of his Punjabi geet “Kidray Na Paindiyan Dassaan” but not as a Qawwali. There is an appreciable difficulty in translating Faiz’s more political and revolutionary verses to Qawwali but that still leaves a large body of work that has been left largely unexplored by Qawwals. The performance I’ve included in this selection was actually part of an active attempt to correct this long-standing oversight.

A few years ago, a rather interesting Qawwali mehfil was held in Delhi. The chief guest was the renowned Urdu scholar, Prof Gopi Chand Narang, with a number of luminaries in attendance. The aim was to recite a number of pieces by famous Farsi and Urdu poets. They couldn’t have chosen a better Qawwal than Ustad Muhammad Ahmad Warsi for such a mehfil. Warsi Sb is an acquired taste. His style is relaxed, languid, a tad dishevelled and loose, which might put off anyone who prefers Qawwals who stick to the taal and laye and don’t wander into digressions. But I love him. His performance of this ghazal is the perfect example of his unique style. He strays behind the beat one moment, catches up and races past it the next. The performance is slow, methodical and measured, and his style of girah-bandi is like no other Qawwal I’ve ever heard. If there can’t be more Faiz kalams in the Qawwali canon, at least the ones that are present are being sung by Ustad Muhammad Ahmad Warsi, and that’s fine by me.

Poet: Qateel Shifai
Ghazal: Garmiye Hasrate Nakaam
Gayaki Angg: Zahida Parveen
Qawwali Angg: Agha Bashir Ahmad Fareedi Qawwal

Qateel Shifai is rightly acclaimed as the greatest lyricist in the history of Pakistani film. However, recognizing him only as a lyricist is a great disservice to his career as one of the pre-eminent Urdu ghazal poets of the 20th century. This was a burden borne by a number of great lyricist poets, including Sahir Ludhianvi and Kaifi Azmi; the burden of their film career overshadowing their serious poetic aspirations. Qateel however was recognized early on as an important modern Urdu poet. His ghazals are modern and were popular amongst the masses despite being molded in the framework of classical Urdu poetry. He started reciting and publishing his poetry before partition and remained an important figure of the Urdu literary landscape until his death in 2001. Two of his ghazals are included here.

If I were to name the single greatest voice I have ever heard, it would have to be Zahida Parveen. She is rightly acclaimed as the Empress of the Kafi. No one has sung the kalam of Hz Khwaja Ghulam Fareed (RA) with deeper understanding and more emotion. She was also a highly accomplished classical singer who had trained first under Ustad Ashiq Ali Khan of Patiala and later under Ustad Chotay Ghulam Ali Khan of the Kasur/Qawwal Bacchon Ka Gharana. Her khayal performances are hair-raisingly good, though very hard to come by. Her ghazals, recorded in the late ‘50s and the ‘60s, are singular, incomparable to any other singer before or since her. There are flights across three octaves, there are taans of exquisite beauty and staggering dexterity, the bol-baant is perfect and there is an uncanny awareness of the taal and the laye. Despite all that, the text of the ghazal is never neglected, never overburdened with vocal calisthenics. Zahida Parveen’s power shines through in everything she ever recorded, be it Kafi, Khayal or the ghazal shared here.

The Qawwal performing this ghazal is the great Agha Bashir Ahmad Qawwal. Agha Bashir was the elder brother of Agha rasheed Ahmad and Abdul Majeed Fareedi and was an excellent Qawwal. After Partition, he was employed at Radio Pakistan Lahore and eventually became Station Director, becoming known in the process as Agha Bahsir Ahmad Lahore-walay. His style is characterized by a powerful, rough voice and his astounding ghamak taans. He performed regularly for more than half a century and recorded a number of excellent performances for Radio Pakistan as well as EMI. This ghazal is also taken from one of his 1960s Radio Pakistan recordings. He is accompanied by a rather lovely and striking voice that I’d love to be able to put a name to. He doesn’t resort to girahbandi or too many takraars, giving the ghazal a run-through from start to finish without too many distractions. His trademark taans arrive after the four-minute mark.

Ghazal: Tumhari Anjuman Se Utth Ke
Gayaki Angg: Fareeda Khanum
Qawwali Angg: Ustad Muhammad Ali Fareedi Qawwal

I’ve been listening to a lot of Fareeda Khanum lately, searching out deep cuts from the early decades of her career and every time I hear something new by her, I am stuck by the immensity of her talent. The sweetness of her voice, the perfection of her talaffuz and her mastery over ghazal singing are universally acknowledged, the result of her own innate talent coupled by years of rigorous training under her sister, the legendary Mukhtar Begum as well as Ustad Ashiq Ali Khan of Patiala. Since her arrival at the musical scene shortly after Partition, she has been at the very top of the Pakistani musical hierarchy, and one doesn’t need to wonder why. As just one example of her many talents, notice her exquisite and effortless sense of rhythm and tempo in this recording. When she sings, she seems almost oblivious of the tabla, but never does she lose the thread of the ‘taal’, landing each note perfectly on the rhythmic cycle. It’s a lovely performance by a superlative artist

Few Qawwals have had a longer or more impactful career than Ustad Muhammad Ali Fareedi. From the early 1930s till the late 1970s, he led a brilliant qawwal party that included his son Abdur Rahim among others. His influence is obvious on the generations of Pakpattan based Qawwals that share his surname, a nod to their devotion to and service at the shrine of Hz Baba Fariduddin Ganjshakar (RA). From his earliest 78 RPM recordings to the mehfil recordings he made near the end of his life, Muhammad Ali Fareedi’s distinct voice and charming talaffuz remained distinct from any other Qawwal. His recording of Qateel Shifai’s ghazal is taken from a 78 RPM disc released in the early 1950s. The voice isn’t as sharp as it used to be two decades ago and there aren’t any taans or takraars, but the Ustads meandering vowels and short tremolos lend the ghazal a lovely color. 

Poet: Qamar Jalalabadi
Ghazal: Kabhi Kaha Na Kisi Se
Gayaki Angg: Mehdi Hassan
Qawwali Angg: The Sabri Brothers Ensemble

A contemporary and friend of Qateel Shifai, Qamar Jalalabadi was also predominantly known as a lyricist. He started his career around five years earlier than Qateel, and scored an early hit with the wonderful songs of 1942’s big hit Khandaan. (One of my favorite film soundtracks btw). He was one of the leading lyricists of the 1940s and early fifties, but was later overshadowed by the next generation of lyricists including Sahir, Majrooh, Bedi, Rajinder Krishen etc. He was a regular presence at Urdu mushairas in India and abroad till the start of the 21st century. Unlie Qateel though, he is primarily known as a lyricist, with his poetical career overshadowed by his popular songs.

It is fitting that the final ghazal in this post should be by the King of Ghazals Mehdi Hassan. I needn’t go into any detailed analyses of Mehdi Hassan’s voice, his style or his career. Suffice to say that he does full justice to this ghazal, just like he did full justice to whatever he sang. The recording is from the early 80s when his voice had started mellowing and descending into the lower registers. The composition perfectly suits the sombre and resigned mood of the ghazal, and Khansaheb sings it wonderfully.

The commercially released Qawwali records of the late 60s and 70s are an odd proposition. On one hand, some of the greatest qawwals of the last century were being recorded using state of the art recording equipment in a studio setting, allowing them to record the ‘type’ specimens of their repertoire for posterity. On the other hand, these recordings were made using arrangements that were a tad too “filmi” and more often than not, overshadowed the kalam being recorded. This was the case with a number of recordings made in the 1970s by Bahauddin Khan as well as the Manzoor Niazi party. No one did this type of recording better (if that’s what you can call it) than the Sabri Brothers, who were the pre-eminent Pakistani Qawwals in the 1970s. Just take a listen to the opening ninety seconds of this recording. Once the opening salvo is over though, Les Freres Sabri jump into the kalam like nobody’s business. The opening doha is brilliant, the girahs are brilliant, the takraars are brilliant. The brothers sing the ghazal straight through until they get to the ‘hasil-e-ghazal- verse, which is then embellished with three or four really interesting girahs. It’s a perfect example of a Qawwali that is populist as well as respectful to the kalam being performed. In short, the perfect bookend to this post about the ghazal, an art-form that has strived for centuries to achieve the perfect balance between artistic excellence and popular appeal.

...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.