Farid Ayaz, Abu Muhammad — Sanjan Nagar Institute, 2007

We take a break in this post from our tradition of presenting music from the personal collection of Asif Hasnain mamu and his father, the late Mr. Mehdi Hasnain. The session we are sharing here was recorded in Lahore in 2007 at the Sanjan Nagar Institiute of Philosophy and Arts.

The founder of the institute is Mr. Raza Kazim, an eminent lawyer, activist, intellectual, and musicologist.  Mr. Kazim comes from a family of lawyers with roots in U.P.  He migrated to Karachi in September 1947, later settling in Lahore to pursue his legal practice.

Mr. Raza Kazim

When I met him last December at his Lahore residence, Mr. Kazim shared copies of a couple of qawwali sessions recorded several years ago at his Institute.  The Institute is housed in a villa that also hosts a recording studio and a workshop for building high-end audio amplifiers and speakers.   My wife (who is his niece) and I spent a couple of hours with him that lovely Saturday morning in a rewarding conversation that covered a range of subjects from the Pakistan Movement to Marxism, genealogy and personal influences, and, of course, music.   I came out so much the richer for the conversation.  It will be impossible for me to do justice to Mr. Kazim's fascinating life and extensive achievements.  I can only point interested readers to his website and to a recent interview for more information.

Incidentally, his daughter Noor Zehra is an accomplished sitarist and has been working with Mr. Kazim on testing and demonstrating the prowess of the Sagar Veena, an instrument of the veena family invented and perfected by Mr. Kazim over the last thirty years.  (As it happens, Sagar Veena was the original name for this instrument.  After many years Mr. Kazim has recently concluded that the appropriate name for it is Shruti Sagar, so that's what it's called now.  The famous Pakistani sitar master Ustad Sharif Khan Poonchwala was a close acquaintance of Mr. Kazim and affectionately referred to the instrument as "Raza Been," a name Mr. Kazim did not consent to.  To my knowledge there is at least one published recording (from EMI in the 1970s) featuring Ustad Sharif Khan performing on the instrument.  Some lovely recordings of Ms. Noor Zehra playing the Shruti Sagar can be heard here.)

Mr. Kazim kindly permitted me to post the qawwali recordings on the blog.  This session stands out to me for a couple of reasons.  First, for the high quality of the recording.  And, secondly, for the crisp and measured presentation style Farid Ayaz had chosen for the melodious recitals.  The tracks of this session, especially Kanhaiya, Khabaram Raseeda, and Moray sar se tali bala, are among the finest renditions of these brandishes I have heard Farid Ayaz & Abu Muhammad perform.  The Harshab manam futada was new to me and left me mesmerized.  It has been sung the way it should be.  Overall, the session belongs in the category of memorable live performances that come about only in the presence of discerning audiences. — Bohotkhoob.

1992 Mehfil - Munshi Raziuddin & Sons

We spent that year’s summer leave in Islamabad with my cousin Minni and Nusrat Ali Shah, her husband, a politician of some consequence in the Islamabad of that era.

Abu Mohammad (Munshi Raziuddin’s second son and one of the three principle singers in the troupe) had been told of our trip, and he called Islamabad. I told him that it would be a pity that we would not be coming to Karachi and, consequently, in keeping with tradition, we would not meet nor have a musical evening that year. Munshi Raziuddin sent word that they would not countenance such mutual deprivation, and they volunteered to come to Islamabad. And so they did, braving an exhausting overnight train journey from Karachi.




In yesteryear, the train journeys in Pakistan were an adventure. Trains like Tezgam (fleet footed), Khyber Mail, Chenab Express, Tezrao (speedy flow), and Bolan Mail connected the far flung corners of the country. The British-built train stations, whether large or small, boasted a characteristic colonial architecture that was functionally suited to the environment of the country, a holdover from the majesty of the Raj and a tribute to the common sense and aesthetics of the designing civil engineers. The sounds and smells of train stations are something that live with me to this day, and not least were the smells and taste of the food. The biryanee, whether served by the Pakistan Western Railway or the hawkers and vendors at train stations, remains one of the culinary legends of the subcontinent. However the years have not been kind—the railways have fallen apart and train journeys have become an excruciating experience for those unfortunate or mad enough to undertake this form of travel. Such were the travails that Munshi Raziuddin and the group undertook in their journey of love to be with us that day.

They arrived In Islamabad in the afternoon and arrangements were made for them to rest. Munshi Raziuddin, irrepressible as he was, instead spent a couple of hours in mirthful conversation describing the rigours of the train journey and catching up on matters personal, worldly and spiritual. The conversation and laughter would have gone on until the evening when the mehfil (concert) was to start, had I not implored him to sleep and get some rest.

The energy generated by the joyous afternoon reunion is testified by the test recording (Track 1). What was supposed to be a two-minute test piece went on for about 16 minutes. Starting with Chayya Nut, they wove together snippets of all my favourite raagas and cheez (musical items). These comprise a comprehensive performance in itself, and an exhilarating one. As far as I was concerned, the evening could have stopped there and I could have gone to bed, musically satiated.

That evening, Minni and Nusrat invited several Islamabad notables. The Islamabad crowd was a far cry from the rambunctious gatherings in Karachi. Here the people were affected, terribly conscious of their place in the political, bureaucratic and social pecking order—a very muted, stiff and self-conscious group. No wonder that Pakistan is in the terrible state that it is, with its destiny in the hands of this constipated lot! An indefatigable lady, a political type, who till this day is very much a fixture of the inner circles in Islamabad, provided a remarkable counterpoint. She rocked and rolled away with abandon, quite oblivious of the effect her ample endowments created on the stuffy gathering.

As is usual, the Manqabat is the point of departure for the mehfil and a short mystical/musical/contextual oral introduction is presented.  In the introduction that evening, Munshi Raziuddin did something unusual in going to a philosophical rather than musical plane. He recalled a reported instructional discussion between the Prophet of Islam and his regent and son-in-law, Hazrat Ali. In response to the Prophet’s question, Hazrat Ali states that the Qur’an would divinely guide decisions in his tenure of governance. The Prophet questions Ali as to what he would do if clear guidance were not found in the Qur’an. Ali states that he would follow the ahadis and traditions. Again, came the question, what if these did not provide clear instruction, to which Ali replies that he would exercise his own judgment and reason in the light of the divine guidance of the Qur’an and the precedents recorded in the ahadis.

I think this was Munshi Raziuddin’s answer to a question that I had posed him once, some years earlier, where we had debated the question of reason versus belief. In this recollection he implies that divine guidance, belief and reason have their respective and clear roles in worldly life. Divine guidance and belief establish boundaries within which reason is exercised in the conduct of public, social and private matters. Divine guidance and reason are two pillars supporting human conduct. One without the other is meaningless. Hazrat Ali’s life and example is the epitome of the power of combining the two in the quest for social justice and common human decency. I suppose Munshi Raziuddin also saw it fit to recall this perspective for the benefit of some of those who were Powers That Be in Islamabad…

All this points to the centrality of Ali’s worldview to the Sufi ethos. As a sufi, in a state of wajd (ecstasy) proclaimed:

Banay sufi jazbaat main behnay waaley! 

Qalandar bane ishq main jalnay walay! 

Qutub bane ranj o gham sehnay walay! 

Wali ban gaye Yaa Ali kehnay wale!!! 

YAA ALI ! HAQ!!!!

The concert proceeds with a series of manqabats and qaseedas, culminating with Baro Ghi Ke Diye Na, Aaj Bhadawa and Mere Bane ki Baat na Puchcho. These established the strongly devotional and mystical character of the mehfil.

Musically, in my opinion, the high point of the first part is the recital of Raaga Bahar Phool Rahi Sarson. Abu Mohammad’s galakari is quite brilliant in this one. Whereas this piece is normally rendered in Purbi couplets, they wove in Persian couplets one of which Munshi Raziuddin directed at me (3:20):

“Sahibzadeh Sahib…Na mohtajam ba gul gashtay chaman ay baaghban hargiz, Bahaar I sadhh chaman dar abid i jaana na mi gham (?)…”

Now, don’t ask me what this signifies, my ignorance prevents me from comprehending the true meaning and beauty of the poetry, but the sound of Persian is just so melodic! Could someone with the better education enlighten me with the meaning of this and its preceding couplets?

There is a lively rendition of a familiar Qawwali Khawaja Piya. This is a popular dhammal piece, but listen to the digression from about 07:05 to 07:54 where there is a switch of tempo and flirtation with khyaal style exposition. Transitions such as these are difficult and not for the faint of heart! What mastery and control over the musical expression! And then shortly afterwards they float off to Khausro’s world of ecstatic worship, to the world of dervishes, with Nami Danam chi Manzil Bood!

Nami danam chi manzil bood shab jaay ki man boodam;

Baharsu raqs-e bismil bood shab jaay ki man boodam.
Pari paikar nigaar-e sarw qadde laala rukhsare;
Sarapa aafat-e dil bood shab jaay ki man boodam.
Khuda khud meer-e majlis bood andar laamakan Khusrau;
Muhammad shamm-e mehfil bood shab jaay ki man boodam.

English Translation:

I wonder what was the place where I was last night,

All around me were half-slaughtered victims of love, tossing about in agony.
There was a nymph-like beloved with cypress-like form and tulip-like face,
Ruthlessly playing havoc with the hearts of the lovers.
God himself was the master of ceremonies in that heavenly court,
Oh Khusrau, where (the face of) the Prophet too was shedding light like a candle. [1]

The mid piece of the concert is a rendition of Sundhar in Tilak Kamod, a raaga that is eternal. By this time they were well settled in and there is a distinct calmness in the air. Listen to the tremulous voice of Munshi Raziuddin with evocative and unusual Hindi/Khari Boli bandishes. Munshi Raziuddin comes into his own, at several points, a tender and mellifluous voice, tremulous with age but strong in musicality and precise in enunciation. Every time I pay homage at his grave, I hear this voice as my parting impression and our farewell.

In deference to the Punjabi audience they sang the piece Ni Mein Jana Kheriyaan De Naal (O! I will not go with the Khers) by Waris Shah, the 18th century poet of the Great Punjabi Love Story Heer-Ranjha. Heer is married off by her family to someone from the village of Kher, and Ranjah, broken hearted, becomes a jogi. They are reunited when he wanders through Kher, and she escapes with Ranjah, the jogi, to return with him to her parents’ village. A few years previously when the group came to Vienna, I had asked them to include the piece Mein Nai Jana Jogi De Naal in their repertoire. There is a masterful rendition of this by Nusrat Fateh Ali which is a favourite. Rather than replicate Nusrat’s Dhamaal, they slowed the tempo, and blended it into their Gayaki style, and then Ayyaz, during the performance, sang a second movement, his innovation, with the phrase Veh Mein Nai Jana Khareyaan De Naal. How this came about is the subject of another anecdote that awaits a future post on this blog.

In the next track Nami danam chi manzil bood they blend Khusrau's Persian with a couple of Munshi Raziuddin's favourite Urdu couplets Voh kaun sa tha maqam e junoon khuda jane and kya kahoon, kisse kahoon, kaise khaoon, kyoonkar kahoon as well as with Hafiz's Mun malak boodam o ferdos e baraeen jayam bood, Adam avurd dareen deyr e kharaba badam (I was an angel and my dwelling was sublime Paradise, But Adam brought me into this seemingly flourished but ruined cloister).  Wah!  

And then this standard, yet ever so neat, poetic transition into Yaad Hai Kuchch bhi Hamari Kanhaiya, a Hindi Bhajjan, via Momin Khan Momin's Voh jo ham mein tum mein qaraar thaa tumhein yaad ho ke na yaad ho, Vahi yaani vaadaa nibaah ka tumhein yaad ho ke na yaad ho (That peace which existed between you and I, whether you remember it or not, That promise of loyalty, whether you remember it or not).  What an apt transition from one kalam into another completely dissimilar one; leading the listener from a contemplation of some outwordly manzil (station) of junoon (excitement) to the theme of yaad (remembrance)!

In developing Kanhaiyya, they construct an ornament of verses drawn from different poets that explore the emotions of yaad, intezaar (longing), and judai/furaq (separation). The first verse is Iqbal's couplet Bagh-e-bahisht se mujhe hukm-e-safar diya tha kyon, Kaar-e-jahan daraaz hai, ab mera intezar kar (Why did You order me to journey out of Paradise, The affairs of this world occupy me, You must now wait for me); an unknown Purbi poet's Sona lenay Pi gaye aur kabse gaye pardes, Sona mila na Pi mila, moray chandi ho gaye kes (My beloved left in search of gold, Neither he nor the gold was found, [in forlorn waiting] my hair turned white); Khusrau's Purbi verse Jo mein jaanti bichrat hain saiyan, ghongta mein aag laga dayti ... (Had I known my beloved was departing, I would have burned my veil); and another one of Munshi Razi's oft-recited verses Mora haat deikh baraham yeh bata key yaar milayga kab, Tere mon se nikle khuda kare keh abhi abhi is hi haal mein (O Brahman read my hand and tell me when I will meet my beloved, May you utter with God's will that [I will meet him] now and in this very state of being).

In all of Sufi mystical poetry, there are several levels of meaning. Taken literally, the poetry can be interpreted as the yearning for a temporal beloved. Beautiful as the love poetry is, its full power lies in the discovery of deeper meaning. At one level the poetry expresses the love that the Sufi poet (for example Khusrau) has for his spiritual guide (Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya) as the connection to God. In the ultimate, it expresses the direct desire for communion between the Sufi and the Creator, the desire for the Sufi to be united with the Creator, the ultimate beloved. Hence temporal life is expressed as separation from the Eternal and passage from the temporal world to the Eternal a joyous reunion with the Creator, for which the Sufi thirsts whilst in the temporal world.

The taraana in Raaga Zeelaf is yet again embellished with embedded verses:  Bahaan churahe jahat ho so nibal jan kar mohe, Phir dame say jao ge tab marad badoon gi tohe and Hazrat Usman Harooni's Biya jana tamasha kun key dar ambohey ja bazan, Basad saman e ruswaee sarey bazar mi raqsam. (Come Beloved! See the spectacle that in the crowd of the intrepid and daring, With a hundred ignominies in the heart of the market, I dance!)

The fluency of these poetic and musical transitions display a mastery that never ceases to amaze me.  Together in these three tracks, in the space of just a few minutes, they manage a tour d’horizon of all the major linguistic and poetic forms of North West India!

Their Tarana in Raga Zeelaf on this occasion was a very special expression of a center piece in their repertoire. This Taraana is only surpassed by what Ayyaz sang, but I did not record, on another occasion. Their second trip to Vienna was organized with a friend and Indophile, Andy Malleta. Andy owns a large apartment building in town, with an ample central courtyard, in which he organized an oriental musical festival. He erected a shamiana in the courtyard with a farshi (floor) seating arrangement, diyas and the works--a beautiful setting. Abu Mohammad and Ayyaz opened the festival, to be followed the next day by some Korean shamans who sang, and so on. Anyways, before the actual performance, Ayyaz and I sat in a room, by ourselves, and Ayyaz by way of Ryaaz, began to recite a succession of taranas with the Tanpura as his only accompaniment. The intimacy of the moment and his intensity were such that I do not know which of us was the more transported. He sang for about half an hour and one walked out of that interlude with the head in the clouds. They sang beautifully that night and were featured on Austrian television.

They conclude with a Qaseeda devoted to the Prophet’s grandson, Hazrat Imam Hussain, the younger son of Hazrat Ali, and Bibi Fatima, the only surviving child of the Prophet. I have a better performance of this piece, where they went from Qawwali to the Marsiyah form--that too will have to await another post on this blog. However this short expose may introduce the reader to the Imam Hussain epic which is the Islamic passion play of supreme sacrifice while speaking Truth to Brute Power.

All in all, the Islamabad evening was one in which the audience did not inspire the musicians, but the musical force of the Qawwals was such that they were able to pull the audience to a higher and more refined level of poetic and musical appreciation. This was something that Munshi Raziuddin held as sacrosanct in his effort, to pull his audience to his plane rather than descend to the common temperament. On my enquiring as to how he managed this, he told me that he would constantly survey his audience, seeking resonances in individuals and would “enlist” the support of one or two who seemed to appreciate the music, then turn his attention to another and then another, fine tuning the music and poetry to create a string of enthusiasts in his audience. This is not just a matter of technique, it lies at the heart of the Sufi experience, the contact with an individual, then another, yet another until there is an inexplicable transmission of shared sentiment to a whole community, the audience at a mehfil, or a following of a sage.

This has been learned by his sons to great effect. I have heard them sing classical khyaal mehfils while also hearing them create the atmosphere of a Mehfil-i-Samaa and they even have totally secularized the Qawwali form to recite Sufiana kalam at a mandir!

This, I would suggest, is the essence of Qawwali. It inspires the spirituality existent in every faith, and creates a sense of connection with the eternal. I have asserted elsewhere that the Islamic influence in the subcontinent was not so much the doing of conquerors and kings. It certainly was not inspired by the merciless harangue of the mullah. Indo-Islamic civilization grew and thrived primarily as a result of the message of love, universal brotherhood, justice, humanity and peace conveyed by the various Auliyas and Sufi saints. Qawwali was one means of conveying this message. Humbleness, personal example and compassion were another. One can testify with heartwarming conviction that, despite the madness of this present time, at least one of those traditions is alive and thriving. May the Almighty always will it that way.—Asif Mamu

Notes:
1. The poem and the translation both are taken from the site http://www.alif-india.com/love.html and is added here with the permission of the site owner. Mr Yousuf Saeed holds the copyright of this poem

Vol I
1. Riyaaz (Raagas Chaya Nat, Bilawal, Suha, Malkauns, Nand)
2. Qaul - Man Kunto Maula
3. Baro Ghee Ke Diyena Bhaile Aamana Ke Lallana - Aaj Badhawa

Vol II
1. Haryala Bana Ladala - Mere Bane Ki Baat Na Puchcho
2. Phool Rahin Sarsoon (Raaga Bahar)
3. Piya Piya - Tarana (Raaga Suha)
4. Khwaja Piya Piya - Nami Danam Ke Akhir Chun Dam-e-Deedar Mi Raqsam

Vol III
1. Chaap Tilak
2. Baji Lagi Tan Man Dhan - Chaap Tilak - Dam Hamadam Ali Ali
3. Mun Bajras Har Dum Ali Ali
4. Ali Ghar Deyo Badhai
5. Paniya Bharan Nahi De - Mangal Karan Sundhar (Raaga Tilak Kamod)

Vol IV
1. Ni Mein Jana Kheriyaan De Naal
2. Nami Danam Che Manzil Bood - Kanaiyyah - Tarana Zeelaf - Aye Dilbagir Daman-e-Sultan-e-Auliya

1994 Mehfil - Munshi Raziuddin & Sons

We were in Karachi on home leave.  Abba and I fixed an impromptu session at one of Abba’s long time friend Shamin Malik’s house near the Quaid-e-Azam’s Mazaar.  Shamin is a prominent businessman based in London and Karachi.  His house is a pre-partition building that he has restored to its pristine glory, with taste and respect for the original that is found rarely in Karachi.  The high ceilings and tiled flooring created very good resonant acoustics and the “concert hall” effects can be heard as picked up by the indestructible Akai cassette deck.




The acoustics were complimented by a great deal of enthusiasm and energy in this session which can be perceived from the very first track, a sound test in which they sang a Tarana in Tilak Kamod. Ayaz and Abu Mohammad were getting their confidence as performers.  The special familial bond had been reinvigorated recently when they made their first trip to Vienna in November 1990.

Talking of the Vienna trip, Abba was in his element, exchanging reminisces with Munshi Raziuddin of the Vienna trip and his past joy of their music.  We have included these conversations in this posting, not least to give the listener a feel of the beauty of the melody, vocabulary and idiom of Munshi Sahib’s language, all of which are not found in contemporary conversation in the subcontinent.  As with many victims of modernity, the beautiful imagery of everyday Urdu expression has also succumbed to the vicissitudes of time and expedience.  The hue and colour of Munshi Raziuddin’s language is unlimited when it comes to communicating and radiating affection.

The rendition of the Qaul Mun Kunto Maula has an unusually beautiful alaap in Shyam Kalyan, deliberate and drawn out.  The section from 3:17-7:10 is so full of ihteraam (respect) for the musical notes, and with a full-blooded expansiveness.  Ayaz's son, who I heard the first time, adds a pretty falsetto voice and timbre to the choral ensemble (he comes into his own from 11:20 onwards).

The overall temper of this session was set in the Kalyan thaat predominantly, established by the Man Kunto Maula alaap and the third piece Sawan ki Sanjh.

The rendition of Phool Rahi Sarson was the high point in my opinion.

I only fully appreciated this composition of Ameer Khusro’s after experiencing the winter in rural UP, in Jaunpur District.  In December 1984, when Juni was a tad above a year old, we went on home leave to the subcontinent.  My mother-in-law took us to her ancestral home where she was in the process of restoring her maternal grandfather’s haveli and farming the land that was her inheritance. This part of rural UP has a distinctly feminine beauty in its gentleness, a contrast to, say, the rugged handsomeness of the Pothwar region in Pakistan.   It was cold, crisp and sunny.  I would walk though the fields every morning to savour the flat, open countryside that seemed to go on forever.  A strip of yellow from the mustard flowers, in full bloom, with a carpet of green underneath, punctuated the vivid cloudless blue of the morning sky.  One morning, some peacocks in the near distance broke into full dance and the riot of colour was breathtaking with the lush blues, yellow and greens of this scene.  Quite spontaneously the phrase of this song and the tune of raaga Bahar filled the head…it seemed such an intimate echo of the fertile majesty before me.  A joyous moment and one thanked God for his bounties, not least for the gift of our son.

Around 8:00 Ayaz changes tempo, delightful galakari.  And what a masterful transition of tempo without breaking the beat! The Taraana (about 12:40)...fabulous!

They had a mental construct of where they wanted to go from the Bahar, however Abba challenged them by asking for the switch to Shankara.  A spontaneous request and change in the flow is not easy for the ordinary performer to accomplish, but they did it brilliantly, taking it all in stride.  Abba often talked about how he first heard this raaga, during his childhood in Banur in Patiala, our family’s ancestral home of some seven centuries.  Abba was 12 at the time (this must have been 1927), and ever since then had a haunting association of Shankara with Banur, a wonderful childhood and his lost home.

My visual image of Shankara—which is such a sensual raaga—is that of a haughty, beautiful princess, carried rhythmically by her palanquin bearers, wonderful whimsy in her look, an arrogance yet fundamental care for humanity, tenderness that cannot be allowed to express itself because of her stature in a highly stratified class consciousness society.

Despite the effortlessness in entering the Shankara, I feel the tarana they added at the end did not go with the stellar performance of the main raaga, and it offers a somewhat tentative attempt to round it off.

By the time they got to the subsequent Hameer they had recovered their musical composure.  We have various renditions and have written about the raaga in another posting on this blog; suffice it to say that this rendition has its characteristic beauty.  To play on an old saying, you have not lived if you have not heard Hameer or savoured its mood!

And the Maru Behag, another favourite, what a beauty!  They start with an ethereal, slow classic alaap reiterating the root notes around 5:50.

This entire session is characterized by brilliant transitions.  In the Mere Bane ki Baat, for instance, around 7:20 there is brilliant interlude to Maand and a return to it around 11:50 for a couple of moments.  Also notice how the Chaap Tilak (raaga Des) is flirtatiously interspersed brilliantly with raaga Kalawati and other raagas. Around 27:00, Ayaz switches from Abu Mohamad's Tilak Kamod detour into raaga Basant Mukhari with the comment Aik thaat reh gaya tha mein ne kaha woh bhi paish kar doon.  Pretty much all the major thaats are covered in this one piece!

This is one thing that is beautiful about masterful Qawwali that no single raaga is adhered to in any given piece.   Here there is an exquisite transition from Maru Behag to Bilawal...so smooth and emotive.  That is what music is all about!

Aey Daiya Kahan Gaey Ve Logh, soulful poetic bandish, suits the temper of the raaga, a wistful and plaintive melodic mood.  This bandish in Bilawal becomes evermore more poignant for me at this stage in life, when loved ones, lifelong companions, dear friends leave for their eternal destiny.  May they have eternal peace.  Their presence in life has made it such a rich and beautiful affair.  They will always live in our hearts and minds.

After the conversation interlude between Munshi Raziuddin and Abba they returned to Tilak Kamod, where they had started this evening.  The energy of the evening and their performance is that after all these hours of singing, both Ayaz and Abu Mohammad could embark on brilliant galakari, heard from 6:00 onwards.  The bandish is rather unusual ‘Piaray pardesi ghar aa ja saavan mein'.  A powerful piece of poetry directed at me, expressing their love and the desire to see me back home.  I have since returned to a Pakistan that is very different to that which I left 38 years ago, and to the realization that home is a state of mind, people and circumstance rather than a place.

The last part of this session entails my son Ali doing his impersonation of Michael Jackson.  He was eight at the time, and full of beans.  He took up the microphone and proceeded to Do His Thing.  Even till today he hasn’t yielded the fantasy of being a pop star.  This performance seems to have lived in the Qawwal’s minds.  At my niece Niya's concert in 2008, commemorating her first birthday, Ayaz remembered this one when he said Hamaari nazrain Ali par theen magar in ka khyaal kaheen aur tha.  It was Ali’s cuteness, rather than his talent, that probably left the indelible impression. — Asif Mamu.

The Qawwalis sung were:

01 Tarana (Raaga Tilak Kamod)
02 Sazeena (Raaga Tilak Kamod)
03 Qaul - Man Kunto Maula
04 Sawan Ki Sanjh (Raaga Shyam Kalyan) - Tarana (Raaga Gaud Sarang)
05 Mein Kaisi Karun
06 Baro Ghee Ke Diyena Bhaile Aamana Ke Lallana
07 Mare Bane Ke Baat Na Puchcho
08 Mun Bhajras Har Dum Ali Ali
09 Phool Rahin Sarsoon (Raaga Bahar)
10 Kagawa Bole Mori Atariya (Raaga Shankara)
11 Raaga Hameer
12 Rasiya Ao Na (Raaga Maru Bihag) - Aey Daiya Kahan Gaey Ve Log (Raaga Bilawal)
13 Chaap Tilak Sub Chehney
14 Chaleya Re Pardesi Naina Mila Ke - Bara Jori Nahi Re - Tarana (Raaga Bhairavi)
15 Conversation between Abba and Munshi Raziuddin
16 Ab Ke Sawan Ghar Aaja (Raaga Tilak Kamod)
17 Mangal Karan Soondhar (Raaga Tilak Kamod)

Munshi Raziuddin Ahmad Khan: A Recollection

A Mehfil at a Musical Crossroad

"It was the winter of 1966. My father was Collector of Customs Karachi, and for some reason the Customs Officer's Association decided to hold a musical evening at the Customs Club. At his suggestion they invited a Qawwal Group called Manzoor Ahmed Niazi aur Hamnava--he had heard them and liked their music. And since my father was the chief guest it was mandatory that the family attend. I went with some reluctance, being an adolescent with a western education. I was more into the raging musical earthquake brought about by the Beatles, and I really didn't look forward to another evening of indecipherable and boring Desi Classical music. The pill, however, was sweetened by the fact that some of my cousins would be there.

"The performance started and there was this diminutive but distinctly attractive man sitting in the middle of the front row of the Qawwals, conducting the choral ensemble. His gestures, which seemed staccato and comical at first, gradually absorbed the listener with the charisma they radiated. The music was moderately boring, and I tempered the boredom by making eyes at a Norwegian moll brought along by a guest who was a prominent Karachi industrialist of the time. The attempts to gain the lady's attention were roundly unsuccessful, so the mind wandered back to the music and the spectacle of the performance. Towards the end of the concert they sang Qamar Jalalvi's Mareez-i-Mohabbat which turned out to be a terribly flirtatious Ghazal and got the audience rocking. They rounded off the performance by singing Dumha Dum Must Kalandar. The rhythmic brilliance was such that I was hooked, no contest offered by the Beatles.

"Therein lies the beginning of a forty-year association with the house of Munshi Raziuddin. In the earlier days, us kids would think that he was Manzoor Qawwal and would refer to him as such. This misapprehension was prompted by the fact that Munshi Raziuddin was conductor, lead singer and master of ceremonies of the troupe and it was only logical that he be THE Manzoor Qawwal.

"The troupe broke up in the mid-sixties. With time, Bahuddin became the most prominent. But with the emergence of Abu Mohammad and Fareed Ayaz, Raziuddin's offspring have become Pakistan's foremost contemporary Qawwals, and after Nusrat Fateh Ali's demise, the most internationally traveled. They are too classical to attain Nusrat's World Music status, but it does the soul a lot of good to see that they have a devoted audience.

Friend, Philosopher and Guide

"Munshi Raziuddin's home in Karachi, near Gandhi Gardens, is a wonderfully chaotic place in an overcrowded neighborhood that never sleeps. The home, always warm and welcoming, abounds with several children and countless grandchildren. Munshi Raziuddin had his room, at the street level, abutting a drain, where he would stay among books, manuscripts and magic potions, very much a presence in the neighborhood. One spent many an evening here, sitting in cross-legged comfort in impromptu mehfils where Razi Mian or his sons or Naseeruddin Saami, his nephew and son-in-law, would provide demonstrations of the intricacies of one or the other raaga. At other occasions time would be occupied by genial conversation covering various matters, spiritual, musical or worldly. This home has hosted many a scholar, singer or aficionado eager to steep in Razi Mian's musical tradition.

"Munshi Raziuddin descends from Tanras Khan, a major figure of the Delhi Gharaana who performed and was prominent in the court of the last Mughal emperor, Bahadur Shah Zaffar. He spent his earlier years in Hyderabad Deccan. His desire for learning and his inquisitiveness caused him to master just about any language or dialect spoken in Northern India as well as Arabic and Persian, and to travel the length and breadth of pre-partition India, as well as the Middle East. His first trip to Europe was to Paris, in the inter-war period, when he was a youth. He accompanied some Sufi with whom he was rather taken at the time. He did not visit the continent again until 1990.

"His spoken Urdu had a mellifluous beauty that is no longer encountered. His mastery of poetry enabled him to weave a tapestry of expression, combining couplets from diverse poets to create a singular poetic context. His knowledge of the raaga was absolute, and rare was a song where he would stay within the confines of a single raaga, choosing instead a medley of raagas, poets, couplets and languages to create the musical experience. He successfully resisted the urge to resort to the vulgarization of Qawwali and stayed in the gayaki as had passed through the generations of his lineage. Despite his adherence to tradition, he was intensely curious about the contemporary world. In his first visit to Vienna, one of the first things he wanted to hear was Michael Jackson, who was the rage at the time. On hearing some of my children's favourite tracks, he proceeded to try and spot the raagas that could be the root of Michael's songs.

"In addition to his domains of musical knowledge he studied and practiced Yunani medicine, and was a learned Sufi Scholar. He had that rarely encountered intellectual clarity to be able to express simple answers to the most complex problems. He was a cook of fairly fearsome proportions and had a terrific—and irreverent—sense of humour. In later years he took to distinctly eccentric forms of dress. Despite his flamboyance, he was modest in spirit. My wife, in the Indian gesture of respect, would bend down and touch his feet on meeting him, and one could see his embarrassment at being so deferentially greeted by a Saydani.

"Above all, he was a friend, philosopher and guide. His passing has left an unfillable spiritual and intellectual vacuum. He rests at the elbow of the main mausoleum of the Mewa Shah Graveyard with a prominent sign adorning the canopy over his grave. In Urdu, it says 'Hazrat Munshi Raziuddin Ahmad Khan, Qawwal', and a couplet expressing his desire to change the world with his music. A simple sarcophagus covers the grave, and visitors have draped chadars over it, in reverence to the man's memory. Weighing the chadars down are two pieces of marble with the English 'Welcome' and the Urdu 'Khush Amdeed' etched on them. A sweet, warm and naïve touch for a man who was an edifice of knowledge yet never lost his innate innocence and affection for life."

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Text taken from Asif Mamu's "Notes on the Music".