...Of Mountains And The Melodies Therein

A month or so ago, I was in the deserts of Bahawalpur. Now I am in the vale of Swat, one of the most beautiful, and in the recent past, most volatile regions of the world. To be transplanted from a place where the average temperatures are in the high 40's to a place where there's still snow on the ridge-line is an interesting experience to say the least. It involved a whole lot of traveling in not a whole lot of time, as well as physical/mental readjustment of a significant nature. I happen to be inordinately fond of long road-trips and my car has stuck with me through thick and thin despite my very rudimentary driving skills, so the traveling bit wasn't an issue. The physical readjustment wasn't too difficult either because I spent half a week acclimatizing (and touching base with the family) in Murree which has a height and temperature slightly more temperate than Swat. The mental readjustment took some time, but with the help of my "Survival Kit" I managed to make the initial days here a tad more 'bardaasht-able'.

I have been here for a month and a half now, and expect to stay till sometime after the New Year at least. In the last five weeks my duties have led me across some of the most remote as well as the some of the most widely visited parts of Swat. To say that Swat is beautiful would be a gross understatement. It currently enjoys a restive peace after a couple of traumatic years, and the tourists - the primary source of the region's bread and butter - have begun to return in droves. During my travels in Swat, I've "enjoyed" a variety of living conditions and weather, and have had to pitch and roll my tent every few days or so. In a brilliant symbiotic relationship, I have kept my camera and my iPod charged and they have done likewise for me. The result is that I have the beginnings of a wonderful audiovisual travelogue of Swat. Whether it was the subconscious influence of my surroundings or an organic choice, what I listened to gradually became more in tune with what I saw or photographed. What follows is a series of selections from my audiovisual travelogue. As with the Bahawalpur post, the music here is of, from, or about the mountains.

Mountain Melodies - A Swat Playlist 

1. Saiyyan Bina Ghar Soona - Raag Pahadi - Ustad Salamat Ali - Nazakat Ali Khan
2. Hari Om Tatsat - Raag Pahadi - Ustad Barre Ghulam Ali Khan
3. Dhun - Raag Pahadi - Ustad Vilayat Khan

I should preface the post by admitting that I know next to nothing about the technical intricacies of North Indian classical music. I wouldn't be able to tell the difference between an Asavari and an Anandi if my life depended on it. It is a failing that I have tried to correct, but it'll take plenty of time. However, I can identify a few basic Ragas, Pahadi being one of them. It is an enchanting Raga, described by one musicologist; The raga is like a lover, unruffled in union, serene in separation, powerful enough to achieve eternal union, but resigned to the painful parting ordained by destiny. Ustad Salamat Ali Khan , despite once referring to it disdainfully as just a "halka phulka raag" , performed many extremely enchanting pieces in Pahadi. This playlist starts off with a wonderful little thumri by the two scions of the Shaam-Chaurasi Gharana, imbued with mellowness and longing.

This is followed by one of the very first pieces of Classical music I ever heard, and one of the most magical. I bought a CD of Ustad Barre Ghulam Ali Khan at my favorite record store / video store / abode of awesomeness , which sadly burnt to the ground four years ago. The very first track on the album was a stupendous Bhajan in Pahadi, and listening to it still gives me goosebumps. It immediately evokes something mystical, powerful and immortal, yet at the same time feels infused with the freshness and vitality of the mountains that are symbolized by the Raga.. The final Classical performance in this playlist is by my favorite Sitar-nawaz, Ustad Vilayat Khansaheb. Taken from a set of remastered 78 RPM recordings, this short 'Gat" displays Vilayat Khansaheb's unique ability to literally make the Sitar sing, the epitome of the "Vilayatkhani" or "Gayeki" style. Sounding almost like a folk tune, this piece is best enjoyed while sitting on the grassy banks of a mountain stream.

4. Blue Ridge Mountains - Fleet Foxes
5. Country Roads - John Denver
6. The Mountain - Levon Helm
7. Moonlight In Vermont - Billlie Holiday
8. Pinegum - Paul Reddick And The Sidemen

As these next five performances show, mountains evoke a set of similar themes throughout the world. There is a sense of longing, a sense of separation and a yearning for return pervading songs about mountains, along with a sense of mystery and wonder. The mountains in these songs are settings for tales of separation and return; of toil and hardship, of nature in its beauty, and of a very strange night. Fleet Foxes describe their music as "Cosmic tones for mental therapy", and provide immaculate harmonies as they sing of quivering forests and shivering darkness. John Denver's "Country Roads" was our official road-trip anthem, my father's favorite English song, and is one of the seminal songs of my life. "Drummers shouldn't sing. Except Levon Helm." said Joe Strummer, and one's bound to agree with him. Levon's last two albums are a triumph in more ways than one, and this ballad is one of the highlights. Moonlight In Vermont may refer to the titular US state, but the way Lady Day sings it here, it could refer to any sycamore-lined, meadowlark-populated valley anywhere. This recording from 1957 features the stupendous Ben Webster on tenor saxophone. And ending on a spooky, bluesy note, Paul Reddick and The Sidemen sing of a nighttime trip through a forest with a mysterious companion, amid snow, the scent of pinegum and a lacquer moon.

9. Isharon Isharon Main - Asha Bhosle And Muhammad Rafi - OP Nayyar
10. Yeh Dil Aur Unn Ki Nigaahon Ke Saaye - Lata Mangeshkar - Jaidev
11. Parbaton Ke Pairron Pe - Sumand Kalyanpur And Muhammad Rafi - Khayyam
12. Tum Apna Ranj-o-Gham - Jagjit Kaur - Khayyam 

The next four recordings are from some of the most amazing soundtracks of Bollywood's Golden Age. OP Nayyar's fresh, folk based and unbelievably melodic soundtrack to "Kashmir Ki Kali" is filled with gem after gem. Asha and Rafi add magic to Shammi Kapoor and Sharmila Tagore's playful cavort through the pine forest in a pure Pahadi folk-tune. Following this is Jaidev's wonderful composition for 1973's Prem Parbat. Jaidev is an oft overlooked composer, but here, with more than a little help from Lata, he allows the mountains, the streams and flowers to sing their song in their own words. The next two songs are from the soundtrack to 1964's "Shagoon" by Khayyam. The first song is as perfect an evocation of the mountains as I've ever heard, the castanets literally chirping in the background. The second is a stunning song, part accusation - part lament - part love song, sung by Khayyam's very gifted wife, Jagjit Kaur. Of all the classic Bollywood songs, these four were on most heavy rotation this past month and a half, and the reason is obvious I think.

13. Ajj Na Javeen Ve - Mubarak Ali Lahori - Agha Majeed Fareedi Qawwal
14. Saif-ul-Mulook - Inayat Hussain Bhatti   

I had to pick a Qawwali recording for the playlist, and I chose this mehfil performance by two relatively obscure but immensely talented performers because, musically and lyrically, this performance brings Pahadi to life. The beloved is leaving, with only the weather and the pleadings of the lover tarrying him. It has a rich Potohari flavour, with glimpses of the Do-Aba style of Punjabi singing, and I've listened to it many a rainy, stormy night. From the folk canon, I have selected a recording of THE seminal mountain epic in subcontinental Sufi poetry, Hz Mian Muhammad Bukhsh (RA)'s Saif-ul-Mulook. This recording from a delightful cassette features the monumental voice of one of my personal heroes, Inayat Hussain Bhatti. Each word, each cadence of the poem is soaked in mountain dew, and Bhatti Sb's magnificent voice brings it to life. 

15. Star Dust - Lester Young With The Oscar Peterson Trio
16. Winter - Edward Simon Trio  

The two jazz recordings that conclude this playlist are very special to me. As soon as I arrived in Swat, I was sent to a remote valley, where there were ten of us living in an abandoned building located next to a mountain stream. There were no sources of artificial light for miles around, and for almost two weeks I was almost totally cut off from the rest of the world. The beauty of the place and the sound of gushing water nearby made the days extremely pleasant, but it was at night that the place truly came alive. An hour or so after Iftar (it was Ramazan back then), a group of locals would gather near the stream next to our building and sing local folksongs, accompanying themselves on the Rubab. Almost simultaneously, the stars would begin appearing in the night sky. I had never seen such a wonderful sky in my life, and for the first time in my life, I actually saw the band of stars that form the Milky Way, our galaxy. After the musicians would leave, I would listen to these two recordings on repeat, and watch as the stars wound their way across the night sky. Most nights I fell asleep with the music still playing in my ears, and I can still hear a faint tinkle of it whenever I look up into the mountain sky. In the first, Lester Young plays with unbelievable feeling and restraint while Oscar Peterson offers faint glimmers of starlight in the background. Lester Young is one of my favorite jazz musician and here he turns the Tenor Sax into a living, breathing creation. The final recording (pardon the poor audio, I recorded it off the late Masood Hasan's wonderful radio show) is by a group that I haven't heard much by. It evokes all the various shades of mountain life; the streams and breezes, the children playing up and down steep mountain tracks, the buzzing of the bees in the honey-farms, the gently falling snow of winter and the sudden torrents of spring. 


Mountain Melodies - A Swat Playlist

That was the audio part of my audiovisual travelogue, and to end this post, here's the visual part, a selection from the photos I took over the last five weeks.

Cover Stories - Of Pir Adil, The Place That Started It All

One of the reasons I consider my one month flood relief duty in Dera Ghazi Khan the most exciting and probably most memorable one month of my life is that along with working my socks off in the relief efforts for most of the month, I also managed to squeeze in five or six days of hardcore exploration and travel. Most of this exploration was carried out in a four day whirlwind tour that had me covering 1500 kilomketres and visiting five or six cities in what has since come to be known as the "Great Road Trip". There were however one or two detours that I made before that, on what can be called 'company time'.

 On my way to DG Khan from Multan at the start of my duty, I looked up places of interest in and around DG Khan (a thoroughly fruitless and dispiriting exercise) One name kept popping up repeatedly, the village of Pir Adil. It was a village  to the north of DG Khan, around 12 km from our base camp. The village housed a Sufi shrine, there wasn't much more I could find out about the place however. It was obviously the shrine of a Sufi saint, but it wasn't obvious what distinguished it from the innumerable others that dotted the landscape. The shrine was of one Pir Adil Shah Bukhari , a 9th century Chishti saint. That, and a vague idea of it's location gleaned from Google Maps was all the information I had about this place.

Our daily ambulance trips to and from Medical camps were more or less a rambling caravan that pitched it's tents wherever we felt we were needed. We had no restrictions of distance or time and there was an almost limitless supply of fuel. This meant we travelled far and wide, covering a radius of almost ninety kilometers, spending eight or nine hours in the field everyday. Usually the trips were pretty straightforward; base camp to medical camp and then back again with no detours along the way. After a week or so, this spartan routine started becoming tedious. I was eager to get some exploring under my belt but wasn't able to get any time off. In addition, my routes usually took me away from the one or two places that were worth seeing, including the Pir Adil shrine.

Around the seventh day of our Medical camps however, we were told to pitch camp at the Dera Ghazi Khan Cement factory, around 14km North-west of the main city. Looking up the place on Google Maps (an app that more than earned it's Official Seal Of Awesomeness  over the course of my South Punjab adventure), I found that the route led me pretty close to the village of Pir Adil. I figured this was as good a chance as any to visit the place. After finishing up the day's camp at the Cement factory, I sent one of the ambulances ahead of me so it could take the remaining supplies and the less footloose of the support staff back to the basecamp while I set out in the other to find the village of Pir Adil.

It turned out to be a pretty straightforward path in the end. As the map shows, heading north from the Pakistan Chowk on the Indus Highway for a distance of 8 miles brings you to the Cement Factory chowk. A further 2 miles bring one to a crossroads with a direction pointer showing the way towards Pir Adil due East. A straight metalled track leads to the village a mile down the road.

View Pir Adil Shrine in a larger map

About half a mile before the shrine, as the magnificent white-and-blue tiled dome of the shrine emerged on the horizon,I finally understood what distinguished the place from the countless other shrines all over DG Khan. Driving into the village, all of us in the ambulance let out a collective gasp as we rounded a turn and the shrine came into view. I hadn't yet been to the magnificent shrines in Multan and Ucch Sharif yet, so this was my first exposure to the "Multani" style of architecture, and I was floored by what I saw. At the edge of a large graveyard, surrounded by four low walls, with an impromptu trinket market outside it, stood the tomb of Pir Adil Shah Bukhari. It was a magnificent building, at first sight very similar to the pictures I had seen of the Shah Rukn-e-Alam tomb in Multan.

A quadrangular building ,with a hexagonal second storey topped by a beautiful dome, it dominates the landscape of the surrounding village. The eastern edges are rounded off by cylindrical bastions topped by a small minaret each with a lotus pattern on top. The westerly bastions are more intricately designed, with hollow mehraab-like depressions along their lengths and a slightly larger lotus atop the minarets. The exterior walls are decorated by beautiful yet simple blue-glazed tiles in geometric patterns that vary on each wall. On some there is a crisscrossing brick lattice adorned with blue tiles in the centre of the lattice-work. On others there are groups of geometric patterns ascending the walls in ordered groups. The southern entrance - the one facing the graveyard - has a vertical row of three depressed arches on either side. The eastern entrance is larger and opens into the courtyard of the shrine. Topped by an overhanging ledge, with rows of mehraabs around it, it's a beautiful structure. Three horizontal filigrees circle the four walls on the first floor, with three more on the hexagonal drum that forms the second floor. The edges of the hexagon are topped with slender white minarets that encircle the large white central dome. It was a rather compact but extremely beautiful building and I spent a lot of time admiring it's various details from the outside before entering the shrine itself.

Entering the shrine from the direction of the graveyard, I was immediately struck by something that I'd later realize was characteristic of most of the shrines I'd visit - an overwhelming sense of calm. It was semi-dark and very cool, with a breeze blowing through the open doors. One or two gentlemen were sitting inside the shrine, praying, one of whom I struck up an entertaining conversation with. Sunk into one of the walls was a mehraab decorated in intricate glazed tile that probably served as a prayer spot. Above the mehraab were two quatrains painted on the walls. One was a chronogram that revealed that the interior of the shrine had been repaired in 1343 A.H. the other was a Persian couplet that was faded and thus couldn't be read properly. Between the two inscriptions was a simple floral pattern.

The final resting place of the Pir was right below the dome, which was simply in ornamented from the interior. There were one or two relics, including an inscription on a stone tablet written in Arabic. There was another inscription on a piece of ivory that was well nigh illegible, however the date 1053 A.H was clearly visible at the bottom left.A stone slab with the imprint of a foot was kept in a glass case. The custodians claimed that it was a footprint of the Prophet (S.A.W) that Hazrat Jalaluddin Bukhari, also known as Hazrat Jahanian Jahangasht (R.A) had brought with him from Makkah. the inscription above the print also claimed as such. The Pir's lady wife was buried right next to the main shrine in a smaller chamber which I found at the corner of the courtyard. It was a small domed building, the corner of which was jutting into the courtyard through the walls.Older photographs (rarer than hen's teeth) reveal that it was a small, simple square white structure topped with a dome

I stayed at the shrine for around an hour or so but the ambulance driver and the rest of the staff were getting testy about delaying their lunch, so I had to reluctantly leave. We all bought a few sweetmeats from the stalls outside the shrine as well as distributed some of the remaining medicines and then departed towards the base camp. I was genuinely moved by what was my first visit to a shrine since childhood, and I'm sure the experience of visiting Pir Adil was catalytic in my resurgent interest in and affection for Sufi Shrines. After that brief visit to Pir Adil, I've travelled all over Punjab, paying my respects at many other shrines and tombs, and everywhere I've felt the same ambience, the same feeling of spiritual serenity that I experienced for the first time at that tiny, hidden away tomb outside Dera Ghazi Khan- the tomb of Pir Adil.

P.S The account of my first exploratory trip should I think be soundtracked by what is the da-facto National anthem of the Seraiki belt. In my favorite version of this immortal folk melody; the late, great Pathanay Khan sings the Rohi.

Cover Stories - Of Days And Nights In DG Khan

The massive floods that ravaged most of Pakistan in the latter half of last year,although sparing me and most of my near and dear ones, nevertheless left me with a feeling of extreme helplessness, inadequacy and impotence. Even though I was busying myself in helping with the various relief efforts that were being organized by a number of my friends as well as trying to do my bit in terms of monetary and material aid, I couldn't help but think that i needed to do more. Friends and colleagues from all over Pakistan were being rushed to the affected areas to provide medical relief while I was stuck in Lahore. When a month had passed since the start of the flooding, I resigned myself to playing at most a distant tertiary role in the relief efforts and gave up on the idea of working in the field.

Out of the blue, a rumour started circulating that a second wave of medical professionals was being sent to the flood affected areas to take over from where the first batch had left off. My name, along with those of ten of my colleagues, was being floated as part of this team. Sure enough, the rumor was soon followed by an official announcement. I was told I was to leave at two days' notice for a month's tour of duty in South Punjab. With that in mind, I started packing ; three or four pairs of clothes and a dozen or so books. I stacked my iPod with the complete three seasons of Arrested Development and around half a dozen Preston Sturges movies, confident that this arsenal of awesomeness would be more than enough to fight off the occasional attacks of ennui.

I was pretty excited when I left Lahore for Multan,which was the designated staging post for me and my batchmates from various other cities. After a painfully brief reunion with many of my Med School friends and an even briefer night's sleep, I was woken up at 6am the next morning with the information that a vehicle was waiting outside to take me to what would be my home for the next 35 days, Dera Ghazi Khan. On my way to Dera Ghazi Khan, I got my first glimpse of the ravages wrought by the flooding. Roads lay destroyed, fields and crops were inundated, concrete skeletons lined the road and heaped up remains of household items atop mounds of earth marked places where mud huts had stood. It was a sobering and depressing sight that prepared me for the grim task I was to perform over the coming days and weeks.

After my arrival in Dera Ghazi Khan and a perfunctory welcome, I quickly settled into a routine that I was to follow - with one or two modifications - over the next 35 days. There were two doctors sent to Dera Ghazi Khan, me and another colleague from Lahore. We would be up by 7am, have a quick wash-and-brush followed by breakfast and then set off in a caravan of three ambulances to set up a medical camp at a pre-designated location. The ambulances were loaded each morning with a sizeable stash of medicines that had been donated from various sources. We would stop at a Rural Health Centers or a Basic Health Units all over tehsil Dera Ghazi Khan. Our destinations had names like Jhok Uttra, Samina, Haji Ghazi, Nooria Kooriya - tiny villages and hamlets that weren't even on the maps.

While the camps were being set up each morning, an announcement would be made on the village mosque's PA system and the patients would start arriving. In ones and twos at first, later followed by entire clans and neighborhoods so that our average patient load was something like six to seven hundred people per day. People walked, cycled and in some cases, crawled miles to get to the camp. I had never managed workloads as huge as this and for the first day or two, was completely and utterly panic stricken. however, we soon got the hang of it, got our man-management skills in order and the operation progressed smoothly. The day's work would be over when our stash of medicines gave out, which was usually around the 4pm mark. By that time, we were supremely, exquisitely and utterly knackered and the packing-up process would begin. Packing up was a tricky and somewhat dispiriting exercise because of having to turn back (sometimes rather forcefully)stragglers and latecomers because of lack of medicines , especially when we knew that we wouldn't be visiting that specific village again. We'd load up the empty medicine cartons in the ambulances and return to base camp after seven or eight hours in the field.

The first thing to be done on returning to DG Khan would be to ask for a jugfull of what I can safely claim to be the greatest drink ever concocted by the ingenuity of man. Forget beakers full of the warm South and the true, the blushful Hippocrenes; this was the real stuff. If I ever met the gentleman who 'on honeydew hath fed and drunk the milk of paradise', I'd quietly take him aside and offer him a glass of what was rather prosaically called 'Limoo paani' but i think better merited the name coined by Douglas Adams; the "Pangalactic Gargle Blaster". The first time I drank it, I couldn't believe my throat. It was cold, boy was it cold ! It was equal parts tangy and sweet and peppery and otherworldly. Over the course of my 35 day South Punjab sojourn, I must have consumed gallons upon gallons of the stuff and near the end, was so familiar with the nuances of it's taste that I could guess whether it was 'proof' or not just by measuring the layer of froth at the top of the glass. While departing at the end of my tenure, I called aside the sublime genius who was responsible for creating this elixir, warmly grasped his hand, thanked him in hushed,awed tones and gave him a thousand rupee note as a token of my gratitude.

Getting back to the daily routine; after lunch, washing up and a very brief siesta, the afternoon's activities would commence. For the athletically inclined - and as I was to find out to my disadvantage, the disinclined as well - there were daily compulsory, repeat compulsory evening sports. Cricket, Badminton and Volleyball were played at the ungodly hour of 5pm in the blistering DG Khan sun in a misguided attempt at keeping up morale. Participation, or at least attendance was compulsory and for someone as pathologically averse to pointless physwical activity as me, this was the most unpleasant part of the day and indeed the whole month.

These silly diversions ended around eight p.m, after which the entire group gathered for dinner. Here I must mention that my little medical outfit was attached with a much larger flood relief and reconstruction effort that comprised around two dozen other people. Most of them spent the day distributing rations, reconstructing damaged schools and hospitals or looking after administrative arrangements. The complete workforce of our relief operation usually gathered under one roof only once a day, at dinner. Because of this, dinner was more than a meal, it was a sort of reunion-recap-review and coordination conference.  The meal itself was a formal affair, you had to dress for it (a fact that I hadn't anticipated, hence the prevalence of tees, sweatshirts and track trousers in my wardrobe) there were three courses and a hierarchically determined order of seating. It was immediately followed by a three or four hour long exercise vaguely labeled 'Conference" that me and my fellow doctor made an early and highly rewarding habit of sneaking out of. The result being that we would be comfortably snoozing in our bed by the time the first of the dead-eyed populace returned from the conference room at 2 or 3 a.m. A good night's sleep and the cycle would start anew the next day.

For the greater part of 35 days, this was my daily routine. It was tough and at times dry and monotonous but there were occasional diversions and distractions, countless indelible encounters and stories and a great deal of culinary adventures that rendered my waistline more Pickwickian than I'd prefer. Then there's also the small matter of the five day sabbatical that I've chosen to call The Great(est) Roadtrip......but that, as they say, is a horse of a different color.