In the post on the 1988 concert, I had mentioned that Razi Mian, Fareed and I had been thinking of organizing their first performances beyond the Subcontinent. This was a flight of fantasy and faith on all our parts. None of us had a clue as to what it would take to organize a European concert tour. Importantly, figuring out a way to recuperate the airfares of seven people, housing them, and organizing their transport across the Continent seemed formidable. To say nothing of organizing a programme of concerts.
Whenever I voiced my worries and felt daunted by the prospect ahead of us, Munshi Raziuddin would retort in his inimitable manner “Sahibzade mian, koi parayshanee ki baat nahin, Allah raastay kholay ga…” (Dear Boy, there is nothing to worry about, Allah will remove the obstacles…).
And so, a proverbial bare bones budget was put together for flights to London, a train trip to Vienna, and performance engagements in London, Vienna and Amsterdam. While they used their incipient fan club and contacts to schedule engagements in London and Amsterdam, the organization of the Vienna leg of the tour, which would last a week, fell on me.
Of the numerous concerns on my mind was that Nusrat Fateh Ali had opened a one-week music festival in Vienna the previous year. Nusrat took Vienna by storm (as he did almost all other European capitals) and the overflowing local audiences had been captivated by the dynamism and energy of his musical style, which was quite different from the more mellow mood of Munshi Raziuddin and his sons. As a result of his Vienna performance, Nusrat’s recordings were a regular feature of the evening international music hour of FM4, the local English language radio station. My worry was that Vienna’s audiences would not take to the other, more tempered style of Qawwali.
Then there were any number of other, more practical, worries. While he did not mention it, I was aware that Munshi Raziuddin had committed quite a bit of his savings into the travel required from Pakistan, and we just could not afford to fail. My being a UN functionary hardly afforded familiarity with the world of logistics, business, and musical promotion. Believe me, I spent a few sleepless nights pondering over these sorts of things, leave alone having nightmares of an empty hall somewhere in Vienna with no one by way of an audience!
… Divine and Human Intervention Saves the Day
But Razi Mian’s faith turned out to be well-founded, and Allah did, after all, open raastas. A couple of weeks ahead of their arrival, I went down to the Pakistan Embassy to give them an idea on what was being planned. The Embassy was awaiting the arrival of a new ambassador and a young First Secretary was Chargé d’Affairs for the interim. He sent me to his number two, a young diplomat by the name of Amjad Sial, a most resourceful and pleasant young man. Well, Amjad decided to take things seriously and got the wheels of his network in motion. Before we knew it a rather successful Sikh restaurant owner named Toni, who had a Pakistani partner, joined our effort. Toni undertook to organize the public concert, after hearing a tape of one of their recordings. We found a Sri Lankan chap to rent us his VW microbus and drive it for transport over the week. A dear friend, Gerda Hassan Khan, had a vacant city apartment where we could put them up. This same friend had a large enough suburban house where we could hold a private mehfil.
All this fell into place in a couple of days—all my trepidations vanished. We decided to do three concerts over the seven day-period—a concert for the diplomatic community at the Pakistan Ambassador’s residence, a private concert at the aforementioned friend’s house, and a public concert at a fairly decent hall which we managed to rent. They would arrive by train from London and depart immediately by road after the public concert for Amsterdam, where they had to perform at a music festival the day after. Once everything fell in place, it all seemed ridiculously simple and straightforward. May Allah bless Gerda, Amjad Sial, Tony and the others.
… The Ambitions are Realized
And so they arrived in Vienna on a raw, grey, cold and miserable November Sunday evening. Seeing Razi Mian alight from the train with his infectious smile and the familiar twinkle of his eye radiated a ray of sunshine illuminating the grey evening. “Kyun mian Syed! Hum pohonch gayé!” he exclaimed (Well master Syed! We have arrived!). We embraced, the euphoria causing peels of spontaneous laughter. We repaired to my place, where my Indian wife had prepared her signature and unbeatable biryani for dinner. On the way Razi Mian told me that this was his second trip to Europe, the first one was to Paris in the 1930’s when he accompanied a Sufi teacher. In his usual style he took it all in with a running commentary (most of it really witty and irreverent) of what transpired on the train journey and in their transit in London. The sons were a bit awed by the clean, orderly and pretty vistas, quite a contrast to the unceasing energy, chaos and colour of Karachi and Qawwal Gali. It was a joy to see their awe at the order of things. The uniqueness of the first discovery is something that cannot be repeated.
On his arrival at our doorstep, my wife stooped down to touch Razi Mian’s feet in deference. Razi Mian seemed to be overcome with embarrassment at being so greeted, as he touched her head by way of blessing her.
As soon as he found his bearings (which did not take long), Munshi Raziuddn asked to hear recordings of Micheal Jackson, the current rock rage. “Mian sahib, yeh Michael Jackson kyaa cheez hai?” (Young man, what kind of thing is this Michael Jackson?). I think we listened to “Thriller”, and Munshi Ji seemed sufficiently impressed to try and discern the raagas that formed the melodic base of various tracks. This hopeless endeavour achieved little except to make everyone collapse in laughter.
We eventually went into dinner and the apartment resonated with noisy conversation, laughter and a general warm chaos. My sons, seven and five years old, were hugged, cuddled and spoiled to their hearts’ content. All this propelled me suddenly into a familiar atmosphere of the warmth and affection that permeated my Karachi of that time.
The muscles of the body relaxed while the inner glow and smile grew …
I had taken the week off, as much to oversee events as to spend as much time as possible with Razi Mian and his sons. Fareed seemed impressed with my taking this time off, observing “Yaar dekho! Aam taur pur logh vilayat main apnay baap kay liay haftay bhur ki chutti nahin laitay hain…” (Just look at that! Usually people in the west do not take a week off from work even for their own fathers…) The next day was absorbed by sightseeing, the splendid views of the city from the surrounding hills (which were compared to Murree) as well as a drive through the centre of town (where everyone was terribly impressed that cars and people actually stopped at red traffic lights, unlike Karachi…). The imperiousness of the inner-city buildings evoked comparisons with the imagery of the stories of Alif Laila (the Thousand and One Nights).
The next night, we had organized a dinner with some friends, who were more than curious to meet this group, since they had heard so much from us about the music and traditions. Initially, the conversation was muted with our two sets of guests trying to size up each other. There was a particular couple, Christof and Elisabeth Penzias, who were the ice breakers. Christof came straight from work, in his business suit and tie, brimming with confidence and ready to make short shrift of the oriental spiritualism we had talked about—and which did not impress him. His wife, Elisabeth, was altogether different and of a dreamy poetic and artistic mind. At some point Elise asked Fareed why Qawwali invoked the name of Ali. Fareed deferred to the father and therein started the evening.
Munshi Raziuddin sat on the floor, and the rest of us arranged ourselves around him as best as we could. He spoke his lyrical Urdu, and I had to interpret for our company. After he went into an explanation of Hazrat Ali’s significance to Sufi Qawwali, Christof rather provocatively said that he found all of this rather interesting but of no consequence, as he did not believe in God, and had left the Church at an early age.
Munshi Raziuddin turned his attention for a bit, looking deep into Christof’s eyes.
“Mian in say kehyay kay yeh nihayat hi Ulloo Kay Patthay hain!”
(Please tell him that he is the son of an owl!)
“Sooraj tullu hotha hay, aur ghuroob hota hay…”
(The sun rises and sets)
“Aaap agar undhay hon aur suraj na dekh sakain”
(If you are blind and cannot see the sun)
“Iss kay yeh nahin manay kay sooraj nahin hai!”
(Your unawareness does not mean that the sun does not exist!)
Now I had a problem—how was I to translate the sense behind the first phrase? In subcontinental parlance “Uloo ka Pattha” (Son of an owl) is a derogatory term, signifying (to put it mildly) the height of idiocy. In Occidental culture the owl is, on the contrary, the symbol of wisdom. However, I managed to get both literal and figurative meanings across to Christof.
With that as his opening salvo, Munshi Raziuddin summarized Avicenna’s logical argument for the existence of God (“Proof of the Truthful”), linked it to the legend of Khusro’s response to Pandit Gopal and Khusro’s subsequent first expression of Qaul/Qalbana in Khat/Zeelaf, reciting the first verse of that piece. In the space of a few minutes, Munshiji spanned logic, spirituality and Qawwali. This left his audience rather speechless.
Off came the tie and jacket and down came Christof from his perch on a sofa to sit at Munshi Raziuddin’s knee…
The discussion then wandered into all sorts of directions, musical, philosophical and spiritual, commanding my entire mental resources for translating the outpouring of ideas.
The discussion went on till the wee hours of the next morning, despite it being a weekday. At the end of it, while making some profound point, Munshi Raziuddin entered a state of vajd (trance), loudly chanting “Haq!” (Truth!) and fell into a sajda (prostration). The suddenness of this movement caused our guests to think that he had a seizure or worse yet, a heart attack. We explained his state to our ashen faced friends, and he soon regained his composure, to their relief.
“Aaj asli Qawwali hui hay!” He said (today we have had a real qawwali (remembrance)).
Needless to say, that evening created an instant fan club. I last met Christof a couple of months ago. More than thirty years after the event he recalled that evening in vivid detail, confessing to having been taught a lesson in humility by what he thought was “just an oriental singer” but turned out to be a man of deep spirituality, wisdom, humour and knowledge.
I discovered another facet of Munshiji’s personality that week—that of a strict and concentrated Ustaad combined with a gentle, caring father—two seemingly opposed characters. He would ask Fareed or Abu Mohammad to sing one or the other phrase running through his mind and stop them with a rather abrupt scolding grunt at times, asking them to use one or the other subtle inflection. I was so impressed by his ability to reconstruct what had just been sung, and his relentless pursuit to shape the performance he envisaged.
And yet, one of the first things he asked me was to get a supply of almonds and other dry fruit, which he ground into a milk-based tonic, which he gave the sons three times a day to fortify their energies against the cold. The tenderness of his eye reminded me of my grandmother, who prepared the same sort of tonic for us children every winter….
The three performances we held that week were all very different. The one at the ambassadorial residence was stiff and formalistic as all diplomatic events are. The second performance, at Gerda’s home, involved friends and music enthusiasts, becoming a full scale Mehfil in the heart of Central Europe. This Mehfil is presented here. The third performance, the public one, turned out to be a spirited and vibrant affair and it was held on the eve of their departure for Amsterdam.
The public performance was held at a time when there was no YouTube, Internet etc., so the subcontinental population of Venna was starved of music and already charged with a healthy nostalgia. In addition, Nusrat’s Fateh Ali’s performance and impact over the previous year had whetted local interest in Qawwali.
Fareed showed a keen sense of his audience and, in no time, had them dancing away in the aisles and in front of the stage…The concert ran for couple of hours till 10:30 pm, but neither singers nor performers wanted to let up. At about 10:45 I grew alarmed. According to local law the music could not go on past 10:30. In addition they had to leave soon for Amsterdam to make it for the next morning’s engagement. Munshiji and I were in the wings of the stage and I signaled Ayaz, imploring him to finish. He announced the end of the performance on account of their having to take a long road journey. His announcement was met with audience protest and yelled requests for just one more encore. At which point Ayaz got all of the group to pick up their instruments, walk down the front of the stage and they trooped out through the main aisle, audience on either side, to the exit of the hall, with Ayaz singing away all along! They walked into the waiting microbus, with the Sri Lankan driver. We thus bundled our intrepid Qawwals, the driver, a supply of shami kababs and parathas and bid them a safe journey to Amsterdam. It snowed on the way but the overnight drive got them to Amsterdam to the stage just in time for the next performance.
After all this, I retired to my bed, exhausted after the intense week, to sleep over the whole weekend and acclimatize myself to a normal pace of life, less filled with adrenaline and emotion.
The Mehfil
Talking about the mehfil presented here seems a bit anticlimactic.
I love the spoken introduction (Track 2) by Razi Mian. It goes over a familiar story, but Munshiji’s beautiful language, its rhythm and elegance never cease to move me. The opening piece (Geet Govind/Khat Zeelaf) has a classic flavor that is rarely performed nowadays. It formed a soft entry into the performance.
They come into full stride by track 6 (Chaap Tilak) despite the classical authenticity they had calibrated the performance to get both the initiated and the uninitiated swaying in appreciation… I love the bandishes and the girah bandi employed in this performance. As a friend observed, the audience began to be transported into a musical experience that transcended language and cultural restraints.
Then there is this lovely, melancholic “Piya Ke Milan Ki Aas” in Raaga Jogya, a very difficult transition to a beautiful classical thumree. I assume this was requested by one of the audience.
The rest of the performance weaves in and out of the kalaam of Baba Bulleh Shah, Khawaja Ghulam Fareed and Waris Shah as well as that of Hazrat Ameer Khusro.
The switch to Punjabi Sufi poetry was, in no small measure, due to their recognition of Hayat Mehdi, my dear friend, mentor and elder brother, who they met after a decade or so. Hayat had a distinguished career as Pakistan’s ambassador to Austria and senior official of the United Nations. Despite his decades abroad with his international career, Hayat’s heart and soul has never left Lahore and this mehfil offered him an emotional catharsis.
The Punjabi poetry is spliced with couplets in Urdu, Persian and even, at two points, Sindhi and Pushto, in a beautiful tapestry of poetry and linguistic colour.
To my mind the best of the Punjabi kalaams (tracks 10-12) was the recitation of “Jogya” from Waris Shah’s “Heer Ranja”. Fareed was very brave in reciting this as it is inextricably associated with the genius of Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. This recitation was at Hayat’s request. I doubt that they would have sung it for anyone else, not wanting to tread on Nusrat’s path. But they give it their flavor in the girah baandi, not least by coupling it with a second piece “Main ni jana khhairan day naal”, a beautiful transition…
Overall the tempered performance conceals a controlled energy. Nowadays Qawwals tend to vent their energies by bellowing or screaming, usually an unpleasant experience. In this instance, the disciplinary effect of Razi Mian’s presence channeled the energy to creativity in poetic span and musicality.
I realized the energy in the performance, though. After the customary “dhamaal” at the conclusion of the last piece “Laal Mairee”, Fareed lifted and showed me Ali Akbar’s tabla.
The skin of the tabla had blood on it, and Ali Akbar’s fingers were bruised and raw….
End Note
Thus began their international career. Today, 35 years later, there is no continent Fareed and Abu Mohammad and their ensemble have not visited. New York and Delhi seemed like their backyard and the prayers, training and care of Munshi Raziuddin have rewarded them the due fruits of their labour. They have been to Vienna several times since. Their second trip was two years later when they inaugurated a music festival organized by an Indophile friend. That trip was tastefully organized under an outdoor shamiana (tent), and TV and impresarios in attendance.
This first trip and our shared times became the subject for granular discussion for years thereafter, inspiring loving memories, laughter and creating bonds that time cannot erase.—Asif Mamu.
Playlist
- Sazeena
- Intro — (Beautiful lyrical language, classical vocabulary) [09:35]
- Sawal—Geet Govind [11:00]
- Jawab—Khat/Zeelaf [17:46 ]
- Manqabat: Mun Kuto Maula [20:00]
- Naat: Marhaba Ya Nur al Ainee [37:54]
- Khwaja Ji/Tu Bara Ghareeb Nawaz [52:30]
- Chaap Tilak [1:20:30]
- Pya kay Milnay ki Aas/Raaga Jogiya [2:04:40]
- Hut vey Mullah/Namee danam/Tairay Ishq Nachaya [2:17:30]
- Mai Nahin Jana Jogi de Naal [2:43:40]
- Main Nahin Jana Khairayan de Naal [3:01:50]
- Laal Mairee [3:06:50]
- Salam [3:17:10]
