It is a myth propagated by the ultraconservatives that music is haram in the faith.
Another myth propagated by the ignorant is that the songs in praise of Prophet Muhammad PBUH are sung as a biddat( innovative distortion) only in the South Asia and not in the Arab world. On the contrary, my favourite naats are in Arabic and they are called Nasheeds.
Having lived in Saudi Arabia, for nearly 2 decades, and travelled extensively in the Arab world from Egypt to Syria to the Gulf, the overload of beautiful music I have enjoyed is beyond the scope of this post.
Here I wish to share the FIRST EVER Arabic song in recorded history which was sung in 622 AD in Madina when Prophet PBUH entered the city, and he was overwhelmingly welcomed by the Ansars ( the residents of Madina). The singers lined up were women, who played Duff( a hand drum) and sang in his praise.
The lyrics say: Tala’a Al Badru Alaina…The white full moon has arisen….
The one shared below is the modern original version sung by none other than my favourite Arab singer, Um Kulthum, for the film The Message. The video also gives an overview of how the welcome scene may have looked like 1400 years ago.
This is my utmost favourite, and the catchy music still gives goosebumps and serves as a reminder of the hundreds of trips to the tranquil city of Madina from Makkah in our 19 years stay there and numerous weddings we attended in the Arab world.
In a typical Arab wedding even today, the bride-groom are traditionally received in the wedding hall by women singing this very song.
طلع البدر علينا Oh the white moon has arisen over us من ثنيات الوداع From the valley between hills وجب الشكر علينا And we owe it to show our gratitude ما دعى لله داعWhere the call is to Allah أيها المبعوث فيناOh you who were raised among us جئت بالأمر المطاعComing with a word to be revered جئت شرفت المدينةYou have brought to this city nobility مرحبا يا خير داعWelcome best caller to God’s way
EID MILAD UN NABI
Do listen to the song, the music and the powerful voice. Does it feel as a beautiful piece of music as it feels to me?
I have many pleasant memories of this pandaan from my childhood. Papa used to eat pan and this pandaan was a functional part of our house. However it had a different look then. It had a silver qalai(coat) on all the pieces of this beauty, as it sat on the outermost edge of the kitchen slab. Fresh crispy pans that Ammi bought regularly from her trips to Jama Masjid area, wrapped in wet cloth were placed on the top tray. A sarauta (beetlenut cutter), missing here also shared the space on the tray along with pans. The containers under the tray all had their specific contents: The two mini handias with the flat spoons were for Choona (white) and katha (brown) pastes. The tiny spoons were applicators for their contents on the pan. I even remember how Ammi bought dry solid katha and then cooked it with water to melt it, which finally was transferred in the little handiya. The two big canisters housed- chhaliya(betelnut)- one as full rounded nuts and the other cut into small pieces by the sarauta. The third canister contained saunf(anise). The thin canister in the middle contained tobacco leaves. Each time papa wanted a pan, either ammi or sometimes Papa himself followed the process of ‘making a pan’ applying the contents in the following order- choona, katha, chaliya and tambaku- and finally the whole pan was folded into a conical form called gilori. Interestingly the only person who ate pan was papa. Ammi made them several times in a day, but I never saw her eating herself. We kids also never seemed interested in trying one. When I was in high school, papa decided to give up tobacco. He just left it cold turkey. Pandaan still remained functional. But some years down the road he realized pan was unhealthy and he must cut down if not stop it altogether. So the pandaan was wrapped up and he chose to get a single pan in a day from the panwala. This pandaan from 1930s that came to our household in Ammi’s jahez(dowry) in 1964 was carefully packed in a plastic bag and kept on the topmost shelf in the kitchen. With tarnished and dull look, the pandaan rested on the shelf for about 25 years. Out of sight is out of mind and we all forgot about its existence. About 15 years, as my siblings renovated the kitchen, this pandaan again came down on the kitchen slab. I happened to visit them during that period, and the sight of an ugly big ‘thing’ brought back the memories of its heydays. Seeing my interest in it, I was chosen to be the next owner of this treasure by my siblings and Ammi saying, “You treasure such things.”
I brought it with me and it became a part of our desi decor in Makkah. As we moved from there it was dumped in a carton for almost a decade. Periodically I looked around for a trusted person who would repair it, refurbish it and can bring out it’s original copper instead of the silver enamel.
Today, on the last day of 2019, the person who agreed to follow my instructions, and did this job chose to come himself with the finished form and proudly present it to us, tell us how precious this piece is, and most importantly to inform us how much personal efforts he has put in to bring this pandaan to a new life. The sight of this sparkling gem not just made my day, but also made me feel accomplished in life. 😀 I hope the next decade also brings such wonderful outcomes and happiness for us and for you all. Happy 2020 folks !
Amrita Pritam turns 100 yrs old on August 31, 2019.
She lives in her poetry and in her two love stories- Sahir Ludhianvi & Imroz.
These was the last words in the form of a couplet (shair) Sahir said to her as they parted:
Tum chali jaaogi, parchhaiyaan rah jaayengi, Kuchh na kuchh Ishq ki raanaaiyaan rah jaayengi. When you leave, your lovely silhouettes shall remain, Memories and traces of love will refresh me time and again.
Amrita wrote an ode to her love for Imroz as her last parting poetry:
“Mayn tennu pher milangi….” Link to my blog on this poetry is here
Imroz, who’s love for Amrita Pritam remains unmatched, is alive at 91 years and still refers to her in present tense. After her passing away he started to write poetry and called his book: “Jashn Jaari Hai (The Celebration is on).
One of the verses he wrote for Amrita are:
Main jab khamosh hota hun Aur khayal bhi khamosh hote hain To ek halki halki sargoshi hoti hai Uske ehsaas ki Uske shayron ki…Whenever I am quiet, And so are my thoughts silent, Then happens very faint whisper(babble) Of her being Of her poetry
However my favourite of Amrita Pritam remains her power poetry “Aaj Akhan Waris Shah Nu” which deserves its own blog and will share one in days to come.
Poochhna hai ab mujhe yeh Hind-O-Pakistan sey, Peit bhookon ka bharogey kya jang ke samaan sey? (I now have to ask this from India and Pakistan, Will you feed your hungry with the weapons of war?). ~Kunwer Mahinder Singh Bedi Seher
India and Pakistan, both nuclear nations, have been embroilled in conflict over the territory of Kashmir since 1947. Several times in past 70+ years have they come very close to war.
However, their human life indices tell a very sordid story.
Global Hunger Index for past 13 years has been ranking countries based on four key indicators — undernourishment, child mortality, child wasting and child stunting. Zero is the best score and a reading above 100 is the worst.
You can see the detailed list here: https://www.globalhungerindex.org/results/.
Out of 119 countries ranked on global hunger index, the countries ranks in South Asia region in 2019 were as:
Sri Lanka- 62
Nepal- 72
Bangladesh -86
India- 103 (was 100 in 2017 and 55 in 2014) (Score= 31.6)
Pakistan -106 (Score 32.6)
Together between these countries, there are over 1 billion children and youth whose lives are at stake because of warmongering, which is unnecessary and unwarranted.
Here are some pictures of children from India and Pakistan:
Many girls from all over India and Pakistan write to me about their love stories across the border and their wish to marry & live happily ever after. Just two days ago we celebrated our 29th Wedding Anniversary. So I think it makes me quite qualified to give some pearls of wisdom to the new daredevils. 🙂
Since in a vast majority of cases it is the girls who move to the other side, here is an open advice to these girls :
My first pearl of wisdom to you:
“If you think there is a genuine love between you two, go ahead and take the plunge and embrace the pain that comes as a baggage. But before you decide, first meet him in person and ensure he is the same person who you have known on social media.”
Secondly, I want you to know there are realities beyond honeymoon:
“If you will live in India or Pakistan, you live in an alien land where you will always be under moral pressure, simply by default of being a woman, because our societies, on both sides, are swamped with misogyny, just as our cultures and faiths are deeply immersed in patriarchy. In our cultures, we marry in a family, one husband cannot be the only one you will deal with, even if you are his Laila and he is your all too supportive Majnu.”
Thirdly but most importantly be well informed of what you are stepping into:
“Read and inquire as much as you can about the other side- both pros and cons. Know that the practical challenges that you will have with the bureaucratic red-tape are inevitable even if everything else in your personal life is going like the Bollywood style Veer-Zara. Sania Mirza-Shoaib Malik star couple are a wonderful example, but they are not to take inspiration from. Ask ordinary couples in such marriages of how things are like. But none of their story will be exactly like yours, post marriage. Like any ordinary couple, it will be a constant struggle. Be open to unexpected pleasant and not so pleasant situations.”
However, once you have decided to go ahead, here are a few tips for your safety:
1. Try to see his country as your home too. Love and befriend its inhabitants too. Do not live like an alien. Belong there.
2. At the same time do not lose any love and respect for your country of birth. Many will say, “You are still so “Indian/Pakistani”. Tell them “So what? I belong to both the places.”
3. Try not to be cynical about his country. Learn to be objective and honest about flaws and positives of both sides. Trust me, both places are no better or worse than the other. Blind patriotism will not bring peace within your four walls or lay breakfast on your table.
4. Best bet is to make it a taboo in your household to discuss Indian Pakistani political rhetoric in a partisan manner. Don’t expect a man who so loves you today, will not taunt your nationality sometime years down the road and will still not understand why are you so ‘touchy’ about it. So better shut these doors before they even open.
5. Keep yourself financially independent. Do not submit every penny in the name of love and family. Because that will disempower you. Try to keep some money/assets aside( openly or quietly) in your own name.
6. Do not stop visiting your family back home. Visas will be difficult, but you have to be very very persistent and persevering to not give in. Try your best. Ask for help from anyone who can help.
7. When you have kids preach them to be objective and not be partisan with either parents or their families.
8. Keeping a passport of your country is very challenging in India-Pakistan relationships, but in current times, its easier than 30 years ago.
9. Create your own circle of like minded friends in your adopted homeland. Don’t just depend on your husbands friends wives as friends. At some point of time you may feel that your personality, intellect and values are not similar to your spouse’s, and hence making your own group of like-minded friends will give you a space of your own.
10. Pursue your profession or work and hobbies in your adopted country as you would in your own country. There is no reason to give up work. It will help you build confidence and be financially independent.
11. Keep in touch with groups like Aman ki Asha on social media and fellow Indian-Pakistanis locally, who will understand your situation far more than the local locals. These friends work as a peer-support group and as a deterrent for abuse and exploitation at home.
12. If possible, and if going gets tough, try to move as a family to a third country, or at least have an additional passport of the third country. It is not the easiest thing to do, I realize, but will give your kids a choice.
Once upon a time, there was a wise man who used to go to the ocean to do his writing. He had a habit of walking on the beach before he began his work.
One day, as he was walking along the shore, he looked down the beach and saw a human figure moving like a dancer. He smiled to himself at the thought of someone who would dance to the day, and so, he walked faster to catch up.
As he got closer, he noticed that the figure was that of a young man, and that what he was doing was not dancing at all. The young man was reaching down to the shore, picking up small objects, and throwing them into the ocean.
He came closer still and called out “Good morning! May I ask what it is that you are doing?”
The young man paused, looked up, and replied “Throwing starfish into the ocean.”
“I must ask, then, why are you throwing starfish into the ocean?” asked the somewhat startled wise man.
To this, the young man replied, “The sun is up and the tide is going out. If I don’t throw them in, they’ll die.”
Upon hearing this, the wise man commented, “But, young man, do you not realize that there are miles and miles of beach and there are starfish all along every mile? You can’t possibly make a difference!”
At this, the young man bent down, picked up yet another starfish, and threw it into the ocean. As it met the water, he said, “It made a difference for that one.”
The story is authored by Loren Corey Eiseley a highly respected anthropologist, science writer, ecologist, and poet.
Moral of the story in Gandhi’s words: In a gentle way, you can shake the world.
Saying it poetically:
If you deny
the power of
one tiny effort,
Light a candle
in the dark,
And watch
the small flame
defy & define
the darkness.
(Inspired from a quote by Anne Franke).
The secret wish of every status quo is, it impatiently awaits to be broken. Don’t believe ! Give it a try.
Reshma who originally hailed from Bikaner Rajasthan here sings a ‘maand’ or a welcome song in Rajasthani language for the arrival of the beloved. (Have attempted to translate the verses from my basic knowledge of the language).
Kesariya baalam o’saa, padhaaro mhaare des rey
Oh my saffron beloved, Come to my abode.
Thaare aayo dujaan Barishme mere Your arrival shall bring life in me
Saajan aaye o’ sakhi, Main kayeen manwa vikraan, Thaari paryo gaj motiyaan, Aur ooper nayn dharaan. My beloved shall come my friend How can I keep my mind sane,
I shall spread pearls on the tray, And keep my eyes on them.
Kesariya baalam o’saa, padhaaro mhaare des rey
Oh my saffron beloved, Come to my abode.
Sajan sajan main karaan Sajan jeev jari Choorley per moondshaan Aur vachaan ghari ghari. I utter “Beloved, Beloved.” “Beloved” is embedded on my tongue, Shall weave his name on my bracelet, And watch it over and over.
Kesariya baalam o’saa, padhaaro mhaare des rey
Oh my saffron beloved, Come to my abode.
Awan saavan keh gayo dhola Ker gaya khol anek Bin taagan taa gash gayee Mhaari anganiya ree rey. Shall come in the rains, he promised, Played many cruel jokes on me, Without the rope of his swing, My courtyard is deserted.
Kesariya baalam o’saa, padhaaro mhaare des rey
Oh my saffron beloved, Come to my abode.
Depressed and dejected with the ever rising religious extremism, intolerance and hatred in the world at large, helplessness over powers oneself. The only ray of hope left are the few shining stars in this dark sky that shone on our lands several centuries ago. Their golden words still need to be heard and heeded by one and all.
Kabir from India and Bulleh Shah from what is now Pakistan are two voices that spoke of peace and love beyond beliefs and borders. They were shunned in their own times, but if they were reborn now, they would not find much has changed from those days.
Reminscing their poetry, I dare to use them on painting a silk scarf.
The scarf background is black, which represents the dark ages of extremism, intolerance and bigotry that we currently are going through.
The golden messages of the verses are scribbled in golden ink, The verses chosen relate to the abundance of knowlege, in this era of information revolution, but the information that still fails to convey the message of peace and tolerance that it should accompany.
The languages have been reversed,
Kabir written in Urdu and Bulleh Shah in Hindi so that both sides are able to read them.
Bulleh Shah here says:
Parh parh aalim faazil hoya, kadi nafs apne nu parheya ai nayi, Ja ja werda mandi maseetey, kadi man apne nu wareya ai nayi.
( You read bookes, became learned, but never read (compassion in )your own conscience, You visited temples and mosques, but never visited (the love)in your own heart.)
Kabir says:
Pothi parh parh jag muwa pandit bhaya na koi, Dhaayi akher prem ka parhe to pandit hoye.
{The whole world read books after books, but no one became learned, Read two and a half words of love ( peace and compassion), to be a learned}
The peace symbols in the middle of the silk scarf are crisscrossed by chaos and confusion prevalent in our times.
The edges below the verses represent the hearts interlinked through love and peace, if only we heeded the verses in spirit.
It was heartening to see Kabir’s message of love and peace ( coincidentally the same verses that I was scribbling), being presented in another art form, called Dastangoi. I dedicate this piece and the blog to this wonderful Kabir presentation. 🙂
Published in Express Tribune Blogs here > http://blogs.tribune.com.pk/story/33221/you-can-play-holi-too-even-if-you-are-muslim/
Phagwa, more commonly known as Holi, celebrated on the full moon day of Phalgun, is a festival that heralds the arrival of spring. Played with dry and wet color, it is a symbolic expression for the changing temperatures and the blossoming fields.
Since very young, on the morning of Holi, I saw my Muslim parents being called at the gates of our house in Delhi, by a group of faces immersed in colors, who all looked almost identical. As my parents walked out, they were enthusiastically smeared with color by the crowd, and they too lost their identity with crowd. It left no clue as to who was who, when they roared together with laughter and excitement. As we siblings grew up, we joined in too, with our set of friends.
Holi, as I envision it, is a perfect way to depict a spirit of universal brotherhood beyond color, creed, caste or social status.
If taken in it’s true spirits, Holi never was and never is meant to be a religious festival to be celebrated by a select faith.
Though, like other religious festivals, it too claims a legend with a victory of the good over the evil ( The Story of Holika). However, from the context of its current celebration, it is said to have begun by the love duo Krishna and Radha.
Krishna as a young boy, being extremely dark complexioned, complained to his mother Yashoda, why was he dark, while his beloved Radha fair?
The conversation between a complaining son, and his doting mother, is narrated beautifully, in a famous folk song:
(Krishna asks mother Yashoda: “Why am I dark, while Radha is so fair?” Mother smiles and replies: “Listen my dear, the fair Radha’s kohl eyes have swept you with their magic, and hence are you so dark.)
And one day teasingly to console Krishna she is said to have told him: “What’s in a color? Go and smear Radha’s face with any color you like.”
And Krishna out of love for Radha, smeared her with red color( gulaal).
Legend claims that thus began the playing of colors ( Holi khelna), between Krishna and Radha along with her friends referred to as Gopis.
Their romance with playing Holi has been immortalized in many miniature painting s:
Another one, with in Mughal art:
Mughal Emperors too fancied Holi, for its association with color and romance. They brought the practice of playing Holi to their courts and palaces.
Akber is no surprise, knowing his secular conviction and a Hindu Queen, Joda Bai.
Jehangir, the romantic art connoisseur, is documented to have played Holi with his Queen Noor Jehan in his palace and called it Eid-e-Gulabi. It isnt hard to imagine the ecstatic aroma and aura that must have been created in the palace by red gulaal, rose petals ( gulab paashi) and rose water (aab paashi)being sprinkled during the royal play.
Auranzeb’sfancy for the colors of Holi came as a surprise to me. Writes Lane Poole in biography Auranzeb: “During his time there used to be several groups of Holi singers who besides reciting libertine lyrics also indulged in salaciousness, accompanied by various musical instruments.”
Bahadur Shah Zafar’s verses on Holi now are sung as part of the phaag ( folk songs of Holi). One of the most sung verses being:
Kyo Mo Pe Rang Ki Maari Pichkaari Dekho Kunwar Ji Doongi Mein Gaari (Why drench me with color spray,
now my prince, I will swear at you)
Bahut Dinan Mein Haath Lage Ho Kaise Jane Doon Aaj Phagwa To Son Ka Tha Peeth Pakad Kar Loon.
(After long have you come in my hands, how will I let you go?
Today is Holi, and perfect time to catch hold of you)
This is Mughal Emperor Jehangir playing Holi in his palace:
Sufi poets too eulogized the Radha Krishna romance and Holi, when expressing their love for their revered Sufi Saints or even God.
To begin with Sufi poets, it is Shah Niaz’s‘sHori Ho Rahi hai, (immortalized by Abida Parveen):
Holi hoye rahi hai Ahmad Jiya ke dwaar Hazrat Ali ka rang bano hai Hassan Hussain khilaar Aiso holi ki dhoom machi hai chahoon or pari hai pukaar Aiso anokho chatur khiladi rang deeyon sansaar “Niaz” pyaara bhar bhar chidke ek hi raang sahas pichkaar.
(Holi is happening at beloved, Ahmed’s (saww) doorsteps. Color has become of Hazrat Ali (as) and Hasan (as), Hussain (as) are playing. It has become such a bustling scene of Holi that it has become talk of the town, people are calling others from all over, What unique and clever players (Hasan and Hussain) that they colored the entire world. Niaz (the poet) sprinkles bowlfuls of color all around, the same color that comes out of thousands of pichkaaris ( spray guns).)
{Thanks to Ali Rehman @Baahirezaman for the translation}.
Bulleh Shah also played Holi with his Master:
Hori khailoongi keh kar Bismillah Naam nabi ki rattan charhi, bond pari Illalah Rang rangeli ohi khilawe, jo sakhi howe fana fi Allah
(I shall play Holi, beginning with the name of Allah. The name of Prophet is enveloped with light, He only makes us play with colors, who annihilates with Allah)
Amir Khusro relates to Holi through multiple fascinating ways, in various places. Khusrau refers not just to the color, or the play but of the birth place of Krishna Mathura in the famous Aaj Rung hai rey:
Gokal dekha, Mathra dekha, par tosa na koi rang dekha Ey main dhoond phiri hoon Des bides mein dhoond phiri hoon,
Purab dekha pacham dekha uttar dekha dakkan dekha Re main dhoond phiri hoon Des bides mein dhoond phiri hoon,
Tora rang man bhaayo Moinuddin Mohe apne hi rang mein rang le Khwaja ji Mohe rang basanti rang de Khwaja Ji Mohe apne hi rang mein rang de
{In summary: I saw Gokul, Mathura ( bith place of Krishna) and even East to West I roamed, but I did not find anyone with a color like yours. My heart is enamored by your color, hence color me in your shade, my master.}
Another lesser know verse I came across is:
Khelooongi Holi, Khaaja ghar aaye, Dhan dhan bhaag hamarey sajni, Khaaja aaye aangan merey..
( I shall play Holi as Khaaja has come to my home,
Blessed is my fortune, O’ friend,
as Khaaja has come to my courtyard.)
Needless to repeat, there are ample such examples. No matter how much one may attempt, it is impossible to separate the two inter-meshed cultures coexistent for centuries in the subcontinent. These celebrations of culture are all about love and inclusion, and absolutely nothing about hate and discrimination.
Let’s celebrate then, with an open heart !
Here is the link to Amir Khusrau’s Kheloongi Holi, Khaaja ghar aaye:
Next time,
you are stranded in your car,
in a snow storm,
snail pacing thro the traffic,
Turn on a soft music and,
watch each snowflake closely,
so beautifully crafted,
yet none two identical,
in shape, size or character,
sailing down, leisurely,
in a silent chaos,
trying to speak to you.
And hitting the windscreen,
trying to reach you,
To whisper to you,
“How pure, soft, different are we.
But so short lived as individuals,
While so lasting when together.”
Blind to Bounds 
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