Qawwali

Saanson ki maalaa pe simruun main pii ka naam
apne mann ki main jaanuun aur pii ke mann ki Ram.....
[On the rosary beads of every breath, I chant the name of my beloved
I know of my heart, and God knows the heart of my beloved]

Ek tha saajan mandir mein aur ek tha pritam masjid mein
prem ke rang mein aisii dubii bun gayaa ek hi roop
prem ki maalaa japte japte aap bani main Shyam
[One lover stood in a temple, the other in a mosque
I, drowning deep in the colour of love; emerged as one soul.
Chanting on the rosary beads of love, I myself became Shyam]

It's a mystery to me why the beauty of qawwali is so understated. For one to employ the human voice as an actual instrument is beyond comprehension; it surpasses what we commonly know as singing, it becomes an elevated form of expression. Someone once said that qawwali, with all it's Sufi poetical substance, is almost an intrusion by the listener onto a man's one-to-one conversation with his God. The mere fact that we are allowed to eavesdrop on such an intimate, personal communication is where the beauty lies in this art form; it stresses a commonality, a unity between us all. Yet, here lies the basic contradiction; this circle of elevated unity can only be experienced by one who understands the poetry, the language. I find myself constantly frustrated when I am unable to conjure up adequate words in the English language to translate Urdu poetry in a way that still communicates its magnificent substance to all my friends who I want to share this wondrous art form with. Unfortunately, I often fall short. Yet I wonder, is translation itself an art form?

Language in itself is an art. Art is universal, but language is not. In all its raw beauty, it is very much a barrier as much as it is common ground, as Virginia Woolf once professed. In this common ground of expression, we are stripped of all pretence, agenda, ego or anything which may prevent the overpowering surge of emotion from manifesting in the human spirit. We are left completely vulnerable by the experience of something as inspiring and moving as qawwali. There is something altogether profound in that susceptibility of being overpowered that one experiences... the birth of tears from a single word which weaves its thread around a heart vessel immersed with memories, tightening its noose only to tear through the surface and wound the seal; prompting an onslaught of consciousness to ooze and trickle down an endless stream of thought is something so incomprehensible, even the creator of the word is left stunned.

We move from word, to melody. In Javed Akhtar's 'Afreen Afreen', which Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan inevitably gives an earth-shattering birth to, he writes Jism jaise machaltee huwe raghnee. Again, word for word translation fails epically in this instance. But he is communicating the essence of beauty; his mind sculpts a body which is as seductive as the curvaceous, dancing notes of the alluring melody. And the hypnotic and quite often seductive beat of the tablaa is all too intoxicating; heightening the experience to a magnificently cataclysmic one.

At the height of this creativity, the qawwal introduces sargam to his astounded audience. Sargam is essentially singing the names of the notes which make up the composition; varying the pitch, tempo, volume, pronunciation, tune and order. Though as a mere observer, the technicalities of the art are unknown to us; we identify with it simply through effect. And the effect is, quite naturally, otherworldly.

The beauty of qawwali exists in its chameleon-like nature; for one verse to soothe the soul gently to sleep and another so passionate and intense, that it shatters the senses into a million shards of emotion. Agreeably, there are many art forms which achieve a similar sensation. For me they include the undeniably authentic portrayal of characters by Meryl Streep, a canvas of literary perfection in the name of Virginia Woolf, the flawless symphonic composition of Mozart's 'Moonlight Sonata' and the impeccable demonstration of vocal range and agility as demonstrated by the magnificent qawwali of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan.

For the record, favourite version - http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hqjiXYemMlw&feature=channel> bar the obviously drunk, savage Pakistani men who have absolutely NO idea about the greatness they are witnessing!