The real 'F' word

Forgiveness.  Something that we all struggle with, something that is so difficult to implement.  Yet, it is the best tonic for a lot of our wounds in life.  But we have to ask ourselves: what have we suffered? Is Mrs X hurt because she's had a long-standing feud with her sister over so many petty issues, which have now built up into a concrete standoff? Is Mr H hurting because his boss at work treats him with disregard?  Is Ms L hurting because her mother reprises her over everything she sets out to do in life? And are you hurting because the guy standing next to you on the Tube stepped on your toes and jumped off without apologising?  Mrs X, Mr H, Ms L and "you" all have something in common - the first thing you probably think of is how they/"you" are going to avenge the hurt/pain.  

How about giving the 'F' word a shot?  Forgiveness.  After all, if a rape victim, a 9/11 victim and genocide victim have been able to forgive their perpetrators for what are clearly abhorrent crimes, then why can't we forgive others in our daily life? We are fortunate enough to have not suffered such horrific tragedies in life.  Yet we all have our mini-tragedies in life - some of us battle with broken relationships, some of us battle with inferiority complexes, some of us battle with people who said nasty things to us when we were kids. 

I recently came across the Forgiveness Project.  The Forgiveness Project works at a local, national and international level to help build a future free of conflict and violence by healing the wounds of the past. By collecting and sharing people's stories, and delivering outreach programmes, The Forgiveness Project encourages and empowers people to explore the nature of forgiveness and alternatives to revenge.  It is a UK-based charitable organisation which explores forgiveness, reconciliation and conflict resolution through real-life human experience. Many of those whose voices are celebrated in their exhibition and on their website, also share their stories in person. The organisation works in prisons, schools, faith communities, and with any group who want to explore the nature of forgiveness whether in the wider political context or within their own lives.  The Forgiveness Project has no religious or political affiliations.  

Let me share one of the several stories on their website with you:

Bud Welch’s 23-year-old daughter, Julie Marie, was killed in the bombing of the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City. In the months after her death, Bud changed from supporting the death penalty for Timothy McVeigh and Terry Nichols to taking a public stand against it. In 2001 Timothy McVeigh was executed for his part in the bombing.

Three days after the bombing, as Bud watched Tim McVeigh being led out of the courthouse, he hoped someone in a high building with a rifle would shoot him dead. He wanted him to fry. In fact, he'd have killed him himself if he'd had the chance.

Unable to deal with the pain of Julie’s death, he started self-medicating with alcohol until eventually the hangovers were lasting all day. Then, on a cold day in January 1996, he came to the bombsight – as he did every day – and he looked across the wasteland where the Murrah Building once stood. His head was splitting from drinking the night before and he thought, “I have to do something different, because what I’m doing isn’t working.”

For the next few weeks he started to reconcile things in his mind, and finally concluded that it was revenge and hate that had killed Julie and the 167 others. Tim McVeigh and Terry Nichols had been against the US government for what happened in Waco, Texas, in 1993 and seeing what they’d done with their vengeance, he knew he had to send his in a different direction. Shortly afterwards he started speaking out against the death penalty.

He also remembered that shortly after the bombing he’d seen a news report on Tim McVeigh’s father, Bill. He was shown stooping over a flowerbed, and when he stood up Bud could see that he’d been physically bent over in pain. Bud recognized it because he was feeling that pain, too.

In December 1998, after Tim McVeigh had been sentenced to death, Bud had a chance to meet Bill McVeigh at his home near Buffalo. He wanted to show him that he did not blame him. His youngest daughter also wanted to meet Bud, and after Bill had showed him his garden, the three of them sat around the kitchen table. Up on the wall were family snapshots, including Tim’s graduation picture. They noticed that Bud kept looking up at it, so Bud felt compelled to say something. “God, what a good looking kid,” he said.

Earlier, when they’d been in the garden, Bill had asked Bud, “Bud, are you able to cry?” He’d told him, “I don’t usually have a problem crying.” His reply was, “I can’t cry, even though I’ve got a lot to cry about.” But now, sitting at the kitchen table looking at Tim’s photo, a big tear rolled down his face. It was the love of a father for a son.

When Bud got ready to leave he shook Bill’s hand, then extended it to Jennifer, but she just grabbed him and threw her arms around him. She was the same sort of age as Julie but felt so much taller. Bud doesn’t know which one of them started crying first. Then he held her face in his hands and said, “Look, honey, the three of us are in this for the rest of our lives. I don’t want your brother to die and I’ll do everything I can to prevent it.” As he walked away from the house Bud realized that until that moment he had walked alone, but now a tremendous weight had lifted from my shoulders. He had found someone who was a bigger victim of the Oklahoma bombing than he was, because while he can speak in front of thousands of people and say wonderful things about Julie, if Bill McVeigh meets a stranger he probably doesn’t even say he had a son.

About a year before the execution Bud found it in his heart to forgive Tim McVeigh. It was a release for Bud rather than for Tim.

This is what Bud says about his forgiveness ordeal:

The Forgiveness Project has several other real-life stories on their website.  Visit theforgivenessproject.com/stories and click on any one of the pictures of the forgivers there.  

The Forgiveness Exhibition is a series of posters that tell the stories of some of these forgivers.  It is on from 8 June to 16 June at Imperial College London, Main Stairwell, Sherfield Building, South Kensington Campus, London.

The impact of the Forgiveness Project on me

It has cracked open my heart.  I, like the rest of you, hold grudges, and do struggle to forgive.  It is only human to struggle to forgive.  But, hearing stories such as Bud's, it makes one realise the empowerment that one can get from implementing the F word. 

It reminds me of the day when Jains celebrate forgiveness.  The day of Samvatsari, the last day of the 8-day Paryushan festival of the Jains, is the day on which forgiveness is asked for.  Jains shed their egos and ask for forgiveness from others around them by saying Micchami Dukkadam.  Micchami  means  to be fruitless (forgiven) and Dukkadam means bad deeds.  Therefore, Micchami Dukkadam means "may my bad deeds become fruitless".  Samvatsari is a day on which one asks for forgiveness and one receives forgiveness.

Saying Micchami Dukkadam is easy.  But the act of asking for forgiveness and forgiving goes beyond just one day in the year.  The real battle is the implementation of forgiveness in life.  

Using Bud's example above, I hope I can start forgiving and continue to be able to forgive.  It will be difficult - but it will be worth it. As Desmond Tutu says: "To forgive is not just to be altruistic, it is the best form of self-interest".

Devotion in the desert

There are many of us who feel most "connected" to the divine force through music. I am one of those. My ibaadat or bhakti stems from music. That is the language I feel most comfortable using when communicating to God.  This Rajasthani folk song conveys precisely that comfort:

dheemo dheemo madhuro ri baaj re baaireeya 

softly, softly, sweetly blow, O breeze

tanri banṛaaoon dhola raaji taansali e lo 
I make a serving dish, sweetheart, of my physical being

manṛe ri karoon man waar re baaireeya 
and following my heart, I offer up my heart to you, O breeze

senṛaan ra baairya dheemo madhuro ri baaj 
listen, O breeze, softly and sweetly blow

raajo ji padhaarya raaji mahal men e lo 
when my prince arrived in the royal palace

doodaan barsyo mew re baaireeya 
he brought such happiness and prosperity that it rained milk, O breeze

senṛaan ra baairya dheemo madhuro ri baaj 
listen, O breeze, softly and sweetly blow

inṛ dis maan mhaaro raaji lo base re lo 
in this direction, does my darling prince live

senṛaan ra baairya dheemo madhuro ri baaj 
listen, O breeze, softly and sweetly blow

In the parched, dry lands of the desert, how one longs to experience the rare pleasure of a cool breeze and precious rain.  How beautiful that imagery becomes when we begin to transpose it to devotion. Devotion, here, is devotion to God. The desert-wanderer seeks the cool breeze, just as the devotee seeks his Master.  And it is that yearning, that longing and that deep-seated desire to meet one's Master that is expressed in one's ibaadat or bhakti.  There is no agenda, no politicisation and no dogmatism involved in that yearning.  It is simply the search to realise and understand one's Master, within oneself.  

Bridging urban with rural

Rohail Hyatt, the man behind Pakistan's revolutionary TV show featuring live musical performances, is a musical genius. Coke Studio is unique.  There the focus is on the fusion of the diverse musical influences in Pakistan and Northern India, including eastern classical, folk, and contemporary popular music. The show provides a platform for renowned as well as upcoming and less mainstream artists, from various genres and regions, to collaborate musically in live studio recording sessions.  

What's great about Coke Studio is that each broadcast session is, in fact, a live recording session.  That way you get to see the energy of the performers raw and at their best. 

Season 4 has just gone live on air.  In Episode 1, I was treated to an exemplary piece of fusion.  Hyatt brings together a village folk singer and poet from the Baluchistan area, Akhtar Chanal Zahri, and Pakistan's hiphop and urban queen, Komal Rizvi. The result is a seamless and unmitigated mixture of modern funk groove with a conventional folk song written by Zahri, which proudly sings the praises of the province he hails from.  But this is not what Hyatt does best.  Hyatt's excellence stems from his ability to surprise his audience.  The surprise in the performance below is when he links in Rizvi with the evergreen Sufi Sindhi classic "Laal Meri Path", well-known to audiences worldwide - and he does it when you least expect it!  The result is the spectacular elevation of both anthems to dizzying heights.

Here is the video clip:

If you are interested in understanding Zahri's lyrics, then click here for an English translation. On the opening page, hit the lyrics button under the video.

Through Coke Studio, Hyatt has shown us exactly how to bring traditional folk music back into "mode". Take Sanam Marvi's rendition of Pritam, a Rajasthani folk song, which prior to Coke Studio, had only been heard in the remote villages of the Rajasthan desert.  When Hyatt loaded Marvi with the onerous duty to bring Pritam to life for the wider audience, she lived up to it.  The result was an earthy and organic song which dwells on the arrival of the desert’s most celebrated season – the monsoon – and describes how it colours the landscape and breathes new life into the desert. Coke Studio brought Pritam to the present-time fusing Sanam Marvi’s strong and textured vocals with contemporary open-tuned guitars layered over an unmistakable folk groove.  Take a look at Marvi's rendition of Pritam  below - singing in the traditional Madvadi dialect, Marvi’s talent is palpable as she projects the emotions of a woman whose loved one is leaving the desert home:

Click here to see an English translation of the soulful lyrics

Today's audience is not yesterday's audience.  Folk has a lot to offer to those of us longing to reconnect with our roots.  But it needs to be revamped and redressed. The devil, though, is in the dressing. The original message and soul of the song should be retained. Hyatt, somehow, knows exactly how to do just that!  Time for a few more Coke Studio-esque programs on South Asian TV, please.  Enough of the factory-produced X Factors and Indian Idols!

This Easter savour the coffee, not the cup...

The video explains it all:

A rendez-vous with Asha Bhosle and Ustaad Shujaat Khan by the Thames

We all have those "once-in-a-lifetime" moments, moments we know that are unlikely to come knocking at our doorsteps again.  So when I caught word in January 2011 of Asha Bhosle's March 2011 UK tour, I instantly procured my tickets for her London concert at the Royal Festival Hall on the Thames' south bank.  

Ever since then, my excitement grew as the concert drew closer with each passing day.  Indeed, the evening of Wednesday 16 March 2011 was truly magical.  As I sat in my front row seat, I waited with abated breath.  I leafed through the glossy programme, not really troubling myself to read the backgrounds of either Bhosle or Khan.  After all, I knew all there was to know about these two legends -  I just wanted the magic to begin!

And as the lights dimmed, I knew that this was it - my "once-in-a-lifetime" moment.  Sonia Deol and Sanjay Sharma (both exemplary radio presenters at the BBC Asian Network) kicked off the evening with an introduction (in English by Sonia and in Urdu by Sanjay) to the evening that only furthered my appetite. 

As Sonia and Sanjay concluded their introduction, Ustaad Shujaat Khan, along with his ensemble of musicians, graced the stage.  I could not believe that I was sat but a few metres away from my favourite sitarist!  Khan opened the concert with an introduction to the album "Naina Lagai Ke" which he and Asha were promoting in the UK, an album of ghazals with a semi-classical basis.  Immediately, I knew that this was going to be an evening sans commercial Bollywood. 

As I waited for Khan to pick up his sitar, I sat there hoping secretly that he would open with my favourite Sufiana piece of the Hazrat Amir Khusrao kalaam.  And lo and behold, as though he had read my mind through some mystic form of telepathy, he started his first alaap which immediately told me that my prayers had been answered.  I could feel the energy transcending across my veins as Khan rendered most immaculately "Chaap Tilak Sab Cheen Li".   Here is a video of Khan performing the same piece at a concert in 2008:

After this scintillating performance, Khan proclaimed "It's time to get Ashaji out".  Amidst a furore of excitement, Ashaji graced the stage with her hands joined in the namaste position.  Clad in a sea-blue saree, Ashaji looked ethereal!  This 77 year old legend adorned a white flower in her hair, adhering to the idiosyncratic style she established years ago.  She was welcomed on stage with a standing ovation from the audience amidst an already electrified atmosphere.  The crowd grew even more excited when she opened with the first alaap of "In Aankhon Ki Masti".  What a treat to hear and see the song sung by the very legend herself!

Ashaji with Ustaad Khan, performing In Aankhon Ki Masti

Soon after "In Aankhon Ki Masti", she went on to sing "Dil Cheez Kya Hai".  As the evening progressed,  Ashaji and Ustaad Khan performed their semi-classical ghazals from their new album Naina Lagai Ke, one of which, as presented in the video below, I endeared to the most:

It was an evening of authentic melody and that, in my opinion, was real music:  two artists coming together to do what they do best without rehearsals or a pre-fixed songlist.  They performed whatever their hearts directed them to perform.  Both Ashaji and Ustaad Khan admitted to have not rehearsed for the show, because the concept was designed to be a jugalbandhi between the two, whereby each would go with the flow.  This only added to the evening's authenticity, charm and appeal.

After the interval, Ashaji graced the stage in a yellow, sparkling saree.  Upon the insistence of Ustaad Khan, Ashaji indulged the audience with "Aaj Jaane Ki Zid Na Karo" and "Naam Gum Jaayega", before moving on to give the crowd a treat of her well-known mimicry talents.  She chose to sing her own song "Tora Mann Darpan Kehlaaye" in the voices and styles of Malika-E-Taranum Noor Jehan, Lata Mangeshkar, Ghulam Ali and Helen.  A true entertainer, Ashaji held the crowd in her hands with her down-to-earth, no-frills approach.  For instance, as she walked on stage after the interval, she came round to the audience in the front and asked if her saree was suited to the occasion!  There were several times in her renditions when she chose to introduce a new stylistic approach to established songs, and each time she did so she chose to check with her audience to see if they approved.   

Asha "tai" treating us with Aaj Jaane Ki Zid Na Karo

Checking the suitability of her saree with her audience

The magic ended with a special request made by almost everyone in the concert: Chura Liya Hai Tumne Jo Dil Ko.  And on this high-note, my "once-in-a-lifetime" evening came to a gracious end. 

A youthful evening of promise

Last Sunday (6 March 2011) I attended a concert organised by Milapfest at London's Southbank Centre. It was a groundbreaking event in South Asian Classical music with the presentation of the first ever National South Asian Music Orchestra. The event, aptly titled ‘Confluence’ marked the coming together of two existing South Asian music orchestras, Samyo and Tarang, playing a new genre of Indian music which was at once modern, traditional, contemporary and classical. 

Led by Samyo & Tarang conductors Gaurav Mazumdar and Manorama Prasad, the orchestra performed a repertoire of specially composed music which was entertaining and inspiring. The list of composers represented some of India’s best musicians, including Carnatic superstar Bombay Jayashri. The evening ended on a high with a trip down memory lane, showcasing much-loved Bollywood songs from the 1960’s to present day, instantly connecting all generations present.

Confluence performed to a packed house, filled with music enthusiasts and many notable dignitaries including the High Commissioner of India, H.E Mr. Nalin Surie and Director of Nehru Centre, Monika Mohta.

The show also included the launch of Samyo’s first CD, Tributes, presented on stage by Samyo and Tarang patrons, Mr. Mukund Jobanputra and Mrs. Urmila Jobanputra

.

Given the Jobanputras' backing, it was not surprising to see a large Gujarati audience at the event, and I felt proud of the support that the Gujarati community in London afforded to such a great event. 

Particularly striking, in respect of Samyo, was the sheer youth of the orchestra. Samyo is a young orchestra, membership of which is availed to under 18's only. In the video above you can see that some of the members are very young - my guess is that the young boys playing the violins are perhaps just over 8 years old! 

The South Asian youth in Britain desperately needs more outlets such as these. This is a great way to expose the South Asian youth in Britain to the enriching effects of South Asian classical music. When you create constructive channels of energy for youth, you secure the development of a pluralist, passionate and promising generation that is safeguarded against the rapidly growing tentacles of extremism and seclusion.

An intoxicating affair with Mirza Ghalib (1797 - 1869)

Almost a month ago I discovered a beautiful "Qawwali" whilst aimlessly browsing Youtube.  "Koi Umeed Bar Nahin Aati" performed by Rahat Fateh Ali Khan instantly seized the core of my very being.  Ever since, I have been listening to it every morning on the Tube to work.  It was the fact that I had not listened to a Qawwali for a considerable length of time that drew me to this electrifying song.  You see, I grew up in an intensely musical home, my parents being avid fans of possibly all genres of North Indian music (ranging from Retro Bollywood and Hindustani Classical to Ghazals and Qawwalis).  It therefore comes as no surprise that I had the good fortune of growing up in an enchanting atmosphere that had infused into it the voices of Lata Mangeshkar, Asha Bhosle, Rafi, Jagjit and Chitra Singh.  Consequentially, these voices played in my sub-conscious throughout my childhood.

So when I first encountered "Koi Umeed Bar Nahin Aati" on You Tube last month (in two parts as embedded below), I felt a profound sensation of satisfaction - the sort of satisfaction that is akin to the satiation that spreads across your nerves when you take the first sip of your ice-cool drink on a scorching day.  My sub-conscious yearning for a soulful Qawwali was now appeased.

The beauty of "Koi Umeed Bar Nahin Aati" rests in Rahat's impeccable rendition and his alluring voice - true.  But upon careful introspection I cannot resist concluding that it is the kalaam (the writing penned, or verses created, by an author or a poet) of this piece that perfects it and enhances its charisma to intoxicating heights. This rendition by Rahat is unique in that its fabric is carefully and intricately threaded together using a number of Ghazals (conversations with one's lover, often understood to be God) all penned by Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib (1797 - 1869), a genius of Persian and Urdu poetry in the era of British India.

The only surviving photograph of Mirza Ghalib (1797 - 1869)

In the first video above, Rahat opens the Qawwali's rendition poignantly with the two verses from one of Ghalib's most popular Ghazals.  The first verse reads:

"Yeh nah thii hamaarii qismat, ke visaal-e yaar hotaa,

agar aur jiite rahte yihii intezaar hotaa."

"This was not our destiny/fate, that union with the Beloved would take place,

if we had kept on living longer, there would have been this very same waiting."

My take on this verse is that it neatly encapsulates one's longing to be united with God, one's Beloved in this verse. There comes a time in everyone's life when the long wait to be reunited with God can no longer be endured, the apparently eternal orphancy becomes unbearable.  Since waiting is more painful than death,death is preferable, this saving oneself from the pain of waiting for union with the Beloved. This is pure devotion!

"Yeh masaal-e tasawuf! Yeh tera bayaan; Ghalib,
tujhe ham vali samajhte jo nah baadakhaar hotaa."

"These problems of mysticism! This discourse/exposition of yours, Ghalib,

we would consider you a saint-- if you weren't a wine-drinker."

What a beautiful verse! Here Ghalib reminds us, with unmitigated elegance, of human imperfection.  We all have role models, people we aspire to emulate, individuals upon whom we confer the highest order of reverence and admiration.  All too often, we make the mistake of viewing these role models as perfect souls.  Indeed, Ghalib's poetry invokes in the reader such intensity and intoxication that it is all too easy (and convenient!) to view him to be a personification of perfection.  Yet here he shatters all ego and all arrogance by reminding the reader of his weakness - wine.  Complimenting Ghalib on either his mystical tendencies, or his mystical tendencies and his poetic abilities both, we find his work almost enough to make him plausible as a saint.  But of course, as the verse remarks in a candid and superior tone, Ghalib's attachment to wine prevents any such illusion from developing.  The use of the downward "tu" for 'you' increases the effect of condescension and derogation.

"Koi Umeed Bar Nahin Aati" offers us a plethora of Ghalib's sparkling works.  My journey of Ghalib's works has only just begun - and I am already intoxicated by his devotion, wit and splendour!  As I attempt to better understand Ghalib, this spiritual intoxication gets ever more enjoyable!