By Vithal C. Nadkarni - The Economic Times - India
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Bringing peace to the partitioned land
As a boy growing up in Rajasthan, Rajkumar Rizvi remembers being led to the desert dunes for daily riyaz by his father, Noor Mohammad Khan. In the stillness before dawn, the Ustad would instruct the future ghazal expert into nuances of ragas such as Bhairav and Lalat.
From those early memories, Rajkumar recollects a song Lagan bin jage na koyi (Without wedding no one keeps awake) that celebrates night birds such as the anxious mother with her mewling child and the sage ‘married’ to the Lord, who alone are immune to the wiles of the God of Love.
Their riyaz also included verses from Masters like Sheikh Fareed and Amir Khusrau, which conceal sublime messages under their earthy images. Khusrau’s famous swan song composed after the death of his Master, the Sufi sage of the Chistiya order, Nizamuddin Aulia, talks, for instance, about the beloved sleeping with her face covered (Gori sohe sej pe mukh pe dhal ke kes). But it’s the Master, whose demise has darkened the world, signalling the poet to depart as well (Chal Khusrau ghar aapne ab saanjh bhayi chahu des).
Today, Rajkumar is grooming his talented daughters, Runa and Neha, to handle the intricacies of Hazarat Khusrau’s compositions. Although the milieu has changed dramatically — a flat in a high-rise tower has replaced the susurrating sands of Rajasthan — the rigour of the riyaz remains unchanged. That’s the soul of our classical tradition.
It has always balanced continuity with change, to welcome all sorts of diversities in its fold. For example, Basant Panchami, the ancient Hindu spring festival of colours, is also celebrated by many Muslims in India, especially at the tomb of Hazrat Nizamuddin in Delhi: as perfumed clouds of kesar, abir and gulal rise, the identities of Master and disciple seem to disappear in the riotous exchange of colour.
Even as the 700-year-old festival started by the Chisti Master and his multi-talented disciple continues unbroken, novel forms for the New Age such as the Jahan-e-Khusrau Sufi music festival (which begins at the end of the week in Delhi) have blossomed.
Muzaffar Ali, the painter-film-maker-fashion-designer who started the festival as a tribute to Hazrat Khusrau’s creative spirit, and to contemporise Sufi music for younger audiences, firmly believes that only the artists of the region have the power to restore peace to the partitioned subcontinent.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
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Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Jahan-e-Khusrau Sufi music festival begins at the end of the week in Delhi
By Vithal C. Nadkarni - The Economic Times - India
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Bringing peace to the partitioned land
As a boy growing up in Rajasthan, Rajkumar Rizvi remembers being led to the desert dunes for daily riyaz by his father, Noor Mohammad Khan. In the stillness before dawn, the Ustad would instruct the future ghazal expert into nuances of ragas such as Bhairav and Lalat.
From those early memories, Rajkumar recollects a song Lagan bin jage na koyi (Without wedding no one keeps awake) that celebrates night birds such as the anxious mother with her mewling child and the sage ‘married’ to the Lord, who alone are immune to the wiles of the God of Love.
Their riyaz also included verses from Masters like Sheikh Fareed and Amir Khusrau, which conceal sublime messages under their earthy images. Khusrau’s famous swan song composed after the death of his Master, the Sufi sage of the Chistiya order, Nizamuddin Aulia, talks, for instance, about the beloved sleeping with her face covered (Gori sohe sej pe mukh pe dhal ke kes). But it’s the Master, whose demise has darkened the world, signalling the poet to depart as well (Chal Khusrau ghar aapne ab saanjh bhayi chahu des).
Today, Rajkumar is grooming his talented daughters, Runa and Neha, to handle the intricacies of Hazarat Khusrau’s compositions. Although the milieu has changed dramatically — a flat in a high-rise tower has replaced the susurrating sands of Rajasthan — the rigour of the riyaz remains unchanged. That’s the soul of our classical tradition.
It has always balanced continuity with change, to welcome all sorts of diversities in its fold. For example, Basant Panchami, the ancient Hindu spring festival of colours, is also celebrated by many Muslims in India, especially at the tomb of Hazrat Nizamuddin in Delhi: as perfumed clouds of kesar, abir and gulal rise, the identities of Master and disciple seem to disappear in the riotous exchange of colour.
Even as the 700-year-old festival started by the Chisti Master and his multi-talented disciple continues unbroken, novel forms for the New Age such as the Jahan-e-Khusrau Sufi music festival (which begins at the end of the week in Delhi) have blossomed.
Muzaffar Ali, the painter-film-maker-fashion-designer who started the festival as a tribute to Hazrat Khusrau’s creative spirit, and to contemporise Sufi music for younger audiences, firmly believes that only the artists of the region have the power to restore peace to the partitioned subcontinent.
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Bringing peace to the partitioned land
As a boy growing up in Rajasthan, Rajkumar Rizvi remembers being led to the desert dunes for daily riyaz by his father, Noor Mohammad Khan. In the stillness before dawn, the Ustad would instruct the future ghazal expert into nuances of ragas such as Bhairav and Lalat.
From those early memories, Rajkumar recollects a song Lagan bin jage na koyi (Without wedding no one keeps awake) that celebrates night birds such as the anxious mother with her mewling child and the sage ‘married’ to the Lord, who alone are immune to the wiles of the God of Love.
Their riyaz also included verses from Masters like Sheikh Fareed and Amir Khusrau, which conceal sublime messages under their earthy images. Khusrau’s famous swan song composed after the death of his Master, the Sufi sage of the Chistiya order, Nizamuddin Aulia, talks, for instance, about the beloved sleeping with her face covered (Gori sohe sej pe mukh pe dhal ke kes). But it’s the Master, whose demise has darkened the world, signalling the poet to depart as well (Chal Khusrau ghar aapne ab saanjh bhayi chahu des).
Today, Rajkumar is grooming his talented daughters, Runa and Neha, to handle the intricacies of Hazarat Khusrau’s compositions. Although the milieu has changed dramatically — a flat in a high-rise tower has replaced the susurrating sands of Rajasthan — the rigour of the riyaz remains unchanged. That’s the soul of our classical tradition.
It has always balanced continuity with change, to welcome all sorts of diversities in its fold. For example, Basant Panchami, the ancient Hindu spring festival of colours, is also celebrated by many Muslims in India, especially at the tomb of Hazrat Nizamuddin in Delhi: as perfumed clouds of kesar, abir and gulal rise, the identities of Master and disciple seem to disappear in the riotous exchange of colour.
Even as the 700-year-old festival started by the Chisti Master and his multi-talented disciple continues unbroken, novel forms for the New Age such as the Jahan-e-Khusrau Sufi music festival (which begins at the end of the week in Delhi) have blossomed.
Muzaffar Ali, the painter-film-maker-fashion-designer who started the festival as a tribute to Hazrat Khusrau’s creative spirit, and to contemporise Sufi music for younger audiences, firmly believes that only the artists of the region have the power to restore peace to the partitioned subcontinent.
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