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comment comment The
turbulent flight of fantasy Body
and soul
comment
The urs is a celebration
of the death or visaal of a man of deep learning who peeled away at the
layers of the ego and renounced not only worldly comfort but public piety
and, more importantly, he denounced the intellectual arrogance of knowledge
as text. Lal Shahbaz Qalandar inspired the devotional poetry of classical
poets of Sindh and the Punjab like Shah Abdul Latif Bhitai, Shah Hussain and
Baba Bulleh Shah, on which is built wave upon wave of devotional music
dedicated to him, but left behind no diwan or philosophical treatise. What
he wrote is lost to time and the few couplets of his poetry that survive and
the putative Fuqrnama are in Persian and of doubtful authenticity. Lal Shahbaz Qalandar is
not only remembered through the poetry of others but an ever-growing body of
literature attempts to understand the abiding power of this wandering
mendicant. Such literature continues to grow in Sindhi and in other
vernaculars, but has of late become topical in European centres of knowledge
production, becoming particularly popular with a number of French and German
anthropologists. Vernacular scholarship in
Sindhi tends to represent two oppositional intellectual histories: one
eulogising him through apocryphal accounts of the miracles attributed to the
saint, while the other comprising lapsed Marxists and nationalists, engaged
in arid disputations regarding the political economy of rituals like
dastaarbandi, or the ceremonial crowning of the grave of the fakir. Both
kinds of knowledge production may be considered spurious and misleading,
shedding no light on the man’s life or his works. As for European
scholarship, the French seem to be embroiled in issues of authenticity of
text and object, taking apart skeins of history from legend. The Germans,
meanwhile, build on the epiphenomenon, the impressionistic and self
indulgent field diary that can never be thick description since it is based
on nothing but observation. Surprisingly, scholarship moves far from being
Orientalist — written from an imperial position of the superiority of
western culture. But there is debate within
the discipline and critical anthropology argues that, instead of serving its
historical function of being advisor to the administrator and policy maker,
anthropology can move on from its colonial past and a research methodology
based on observing outsider cultures with academic distancing. For instance, there is not
enough work done on the language of legend and lore which may be elliptical
and allegorical but is often reduced by eulogists and anthropologist alike
to infantile stories. The stories may just as well be of a man whose spirits
soared like a red falcon in the sky, who resurrected a beloved cannibalised
by the world, upended the fortress of the king, inspired the local poor to
stop dancing for money but instead to dance in abandonment and
dispossession, to dance on thorns. Instead, the stories are infantalised
accounts of the miracles he performed to the extent that this can only be
called fabulist or ‘folklore’. This has been the fate of
most wisdom traditions now called ‘folklore’ where languages of power
take over to delegitimise other forms of knowledge and ways of being.
Gradually, that language based on experiential knowledge has eroded and
there are but clumsy words and simplistic constructions for Gnostic
traditions. But this phenomenon is
neither ahistorical nor apolitical. Folklore was part of the picturesque
that the British constructed of India as a society of illiterates to whom
they brought education. Orality thus became the stigma of Indian society and
was equated with ignorance, superstition, and reprehensible customary
practices. The task of collecting ‘folklore’, a word coined by the
British, had no vernacular equivalent and ‘folkloring’ as part of
ethnography, the scientific method to provide insights into the native mind,
had no precedent prior to the British colonisation of India. As the empire expanded,
power was not consolidated through brute force alone but by epistemological
intervention where defining, classifying and documenting the native
established the theatre of power. This was done through public school
education and through print capitalism when the book as text and as grammar
could be printed and circulated in large numbers and became part of the
colonial intellectual project. Public education became
the crucible in which to civilise the native and to inculcate values that
the rulers considered modern and productive. Through missionary school
education, a class of local people was created who would draw ever sharper
lines between oral and the literate cultures, establishing the false binary
between oral ‘tradition’ and colonial modernity, a legacy of colonial
times that continues to haunt all debate on culture to this day. In this system of
knowledge production, it is not easy to ascribe authorship to the ideas of
Lal Shahbaz Qalandar since he left behind no text and accepted no Sufic
order now so fashionable amongst those looking for alternate Islam. To the
qalandar, Sufism and its many tariqah was yet another hierarchy of knowledge
built on accumulation of capital. So it is not only the local cleric but the
Sufi sophisticate — inclusive of the Chishtis who profess to venerate
devotional music — who are made uncomfortable by the silent fakir with an
incomprehensible following of half a million people who come to the urs each
year. It points to the failure
of English and other European languages, their grammar, and the authority of
text when a German anthropologist describes dhaamal as the ‘crude and
basic’, somewhat vulgar but not quite erotic “trance dance” mainly of
women who otherwise lead sequestered, domestic lives. This is yet another
sign of the Orientalist gaze on non-European femininity when studying
cultures, the failure of a language that can no longer recognise the radical
undergrid of the arts in expressions of devotion.
comment It has been more
than the customary 40 days of mourning since Mehdi Hasan passed away. In
this time period, tributes have poured in from all over the world,
especially from India, which may be of special significance because we share
the same music and there may be tonnes of an un-stated competition between
the musical creations on both sides of the border. The various music sessions
or references that have been held in various cities of the country have been
largely moved by the shagirds of the ustad, mainly Ghulam Abbas and Asif
Javed who have been more active in this regard and have also performed on
various occasions in such programmes. Unfortunately, one of his
most-cherished shagird, Pervez Mehdi, died some years ago at a relatively
young age. Mehdi Hasan was a popular
singer as were Noor Jehan and Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. A distinction has to be
drawn between the popular singers and those who express themselves in more
specialised forms like kheyal, thumri, wai, harip or in various other forms
too that are not so acceptable at the street level. In the case of Mehdi
Hasan, probably his film songs were appreciated more at the street level
than the ghazals he sang — which are the actual hallmark of his singing
and considered genuine contribution to music. But putting aside this
debate about niche approval and popular acceptance, what should be done now
to keep alight the torch of his memory and music — to serve hopefully as a
beacon of light for the following generations. Since he was also very
popular, there should be greater input from those lay listeners/admirers,
and all of this should not be left to the few specialists and those in the
culture ministries and departments. In our musical culture,
the best method of acknowledging the greatness of the maestros and pay apt
homage is to hold barsis where other musicians through their music pay
tribute and homage to the maestro. Probably as better part of the year
passes, noises will be made on holding the first barsi of Mehdi Hasan and
probably for some time the barsi may also be held. It is difficult to
predict what is going to be the scale of the barsi because one has seen the
barsis of very famous musicians being held in a manner not befitting of the
late artiste. Barsis are held with
enthusiasm in the beginning but then peter out and become ordinary affairs
before being wound up altogether. This tradition too is less observed now as
even the barsis which were held regularly in Lahore are not held anymore —
the example being the barsi of ustads Bhai Lal/Alamgir Khan. This
responsibility was taken up by Rangi Khan and Babar Khan but since the
passing away of Rangi Khan, first it became an intermittent affair and then
ceased altogether. There has to be a
mechanism for the holding of the barsis for it is usually taken upon by the
family to do so. They also have the credibility and legitimacy and many
accept their role as being the prime movers but then there can be shagirds
who have the recourses of holding it on the level and scale that is
befitting of the occasion. The most organised barsi
is still held in Faisalabad which was instituted by Mubarak Ali Khan for his
music partner Fateh Ali Khan who died before him, and then it was improved
upon by Nusrat Fateh Ali and now Rahat Fateh Ali is managing it well. Another manner of
acknowledging the greatness of the Ustad is to make an institution in his or
her name. In Pakistan, there have often been cries of academies being made
for the promotion of the arts. Initially there were no academies or more
formal set up for the instruction and propagation of the arts but then some
attempts were made. If one looks and assesses the performance of the various
initiatives that have been taken in this regard it appears that these
academies, even those set up in the public sector, have performed many
notches below than they were envisaged to do. In the end, these just
have been reduced to offering employment to a few musicians or artistes
while constantly warding off the threats of either complete shut down or a
reduction in financial allocation. These have largely failed to achieve the
objectives for which they were set up, primarily because of the blurring of
vision and limited resources. If these small time and
scattered initiatives could be merged to become bigger entities their
purpose may be met even in stringent times. But that is another issue and it
may be on the table of the administrators or organisers. But 15 years since
the death of Nusrat Fateh Ali and 12 since the death of Noor Jehan neither
has any substantive work being done in this regard nor has there been a
halfway decent publication on the contribution to music of these
internationally known artistes. So Mehdi Hasan too might end up the same
way. After a gush of emotional and complimentary response, there is silence
that can easily fall into a steady mode of forgetfulness. The private sector has now
moved into the fields of education and the media and it is not a pipe dream
to expect them to play a major role in the areas related to the arts. One
wishes that at least there should be a reference or a meeting that befits
Mehdi Hasan’s stature with outstanding people from all walks of life,
including music paying homage to him. Then there may be a number of
publications that fully research and dwell on his actual contribution to
music and some institution may be set up to carry his work forward. This may
be a wish-list and a long one but there is no edict as yet clamping down in
the making of such wish-lists.
“I just want to
see you for a few minutes”. This was a repeated request a painter received
on his cell phone. This time he was conducting a workshop on drawing and
painting. Regardless of the difference in age, gender, background and
exposure, the people in the well-attended class were enjoying the exercise
till that fateful day when their teacher received this call. The man who insisted on
meeting him was his old classmate at the art college. A talented artist,
Muntazir Ranjha (not his real name) got married to a class-fellow of his
soon after his studies but, unfortunately, the marriage did not last more
than seven months. He left for Kuwait to work as a designer and interior
decorator. Unhappy there, he left his job and returned to Pakistan but
remained an obscure figure — a faint memory for his contemporaries and
acquaintances. Shocked to hear from his
old class-fellow after a gap of 25 years, he agreed to meet Ranjha and
invited him to the venue of his workshop. As he waited outside so he should
not miss someone from his past, he saw a rickshaw stopping. There emerged a
tall lean figure of a man, in his fifties, holding a big bottle and some
papers in his other hand. They met in a cordial fashion and Ranjha was
invited in. As they exchanged news, the painter noticed Ranjha was not in
his senses; he stuttered, was emotional, abusive, and sobbed off and on.
Since there was nothing serious to discuss or share, the painter took leave
from Ranjha and went away, thinking that he too would be on his way back. As soon as the painter
left, Ranjha got up and created a scene. He started yelling at people who
had come to learn drawing; bowed, knelt and prostrated in front of the
paintings of old masters displayed in the space. In his frenzy, aggravated
with constant drinking from the bottle, he hit his head against the wall and
wounded himself. The staff struggled to bring him outside and tried to stop
a rickshaw but the driver refused and sped his vehicle in an opposite
direction. Guards at the place were left with no option but to call the
police. By that time, Ranjha had
drunk so much that he fell and cut another wound at the back of his head.
When the police squad came, they excused themselves on the pretext that the
venue did not fall in their jurisdiction. The staff then contacted his wife
as well as the emergency rescue service. Both arrived at almost the same
time and took care of Muntazir Ranjha who couldn’t talk, walk or even
stand. One is not aware of what
happened next, but the whole episode is just a fraction of a large narrative
— of how the art world treats artists, and the parameter, structure and
system of their success and failure. Exceptionally gifted, Ranjha was
encouraged by his teachers in producing experimental pieces but, for various
reasons, his life as an artist ended once he was out of college. Hence, it
was memory or nostalgia that tempted him to recreate the past by revisiting
people from those years. Since the outside reality was in contrast to his
imagined world, he had to rely on drinks in order to maintain his fantasy
intact. However, any real
encounter with the outside world became too painful and he expressed it at
such a level that people around him could also experience that deep grief.
His outburst, his unreasonable behaviour to the extent of inflicting wounds
upon himself, was a form of protest against the system of Art — or Fate as
an accomplice — in keeping such a bright artist out of the hall of fame
and fortune. His response to this world
is shocking but not unpredictable. He is not the only one who has reacted in
this manner towards the ‘establishment’ of art. Many others suffered
likewise, though at different stages of their creative lives. Ahmed Pervaiz
and Ahmed Zoay turned against the art circles and are known for their
unbearable behaviour. Pervaiz, hooked on drugs and not producing the best of
his work, ended his life in a miserable state. Zoay is considered an outcast
due to his unexpected moods, utterances and acts. These figures are not an
unusual part of society. There are always people who defy accepted order,
abhor rules and destroy norms. And probably art is all about this — to
eliminate the old and carve something new. Sometimes, this aspect of
destruction is extended to self-ruination — in the form of killing oneself
(for instance BM and some other artists of earlier generations). Thus unlike
figures such as Egon Schiele, Van Gogh or Jean Michel Basquiat, who were
social outcasts but produced works that not only challenged old standards
but introduced new ways of looking at the world and rendering it, our angry
souls do not have anything constructive to offer, except their grief. Their sorrow is a symbol
of how our art world is limited to certain powers, groups and galleries.
Also, it is a sign of its commercialisation which reduces every artist to
become a manufacturer of goods that can be marketed and sold off. Knowing
that they will not be admitted into, or survive, the art world, they choose
to remain outsiders with their sole companion being bottles of different
makes and effects. This reminds one of a not so successful actor working at
Broadway theatre who always went on stage drunk. When he was reprimanded, he
commented: “What do you mean, I go there all on my own?”
For most of the
year (indeed the past seven years...) Britain has been gripped by the fact
that the Olympics were to be held in London. One of the initiatives
associated with the Olympics has been to promote sports, especially for
young people. This has included not only building new and exciting sports
facilitates and stadia, but also running various campaigns aimed at steering
youngsters in this direction. The schools my generation
attended actively promoted the adage that “A healthy body makes for a
healthy mind”. We did the sports lessons, the PT routines, the sports day
march-pasts and the inter-house tournaments... Some excelled, others just
sailed along unimpressively. I was, alas, in the latter category. But I do now realise that
sport was as important as that old school adage preached.By some quirk of
fate, I married a man who is keenly interested in sports and in his youth
played on the inter-varsity squash team and the national under-19 cricket
circuit, and who has kept up with both sports decades later. My spouse’s facility
with sporting activity has been educational for me, the couch potato: I have
observed several things about people who are involved in sports through this
one (highly selective) case study. Sporting people tend to become highly
motivated about their life goals, and the rigours and competitive nature of
their sport gives them a real will to persevere and succeed. They also often
develop good social skills as they need to relate appropriately to both
opponents and team members. And socially they have an edge as their sport
provides them entry into many different groups and levels of society, for
example cricket in England. Apart from the positive
attitude and ambition that sports encourage, regular activity makes for a
much easier relationship between body and soul. Exercise is now recognised
as a major factor in keeping depression at bay, and one of the main factors
in depression and eating disorders in young women in the west is their
insecurity about their bodies and their poor body image. Sports, especially team
activities, can lift people out of difficult circumstances and reinforce the
idea that goals can be achieved and ambition is good. A number of the new
Olympic facilities in London have been set up in relatively underprivileged
areas where the underlying hope is that sports activity will help to give
the youth there a positive focus as well as an outlet for their
frustrations. The body-mind balance is
also key to Ramzan, our month of fasting. Through fasting one detoxes and
tests the body as well as the mind. We are able to reassess our physical
needs and our body’s relationship to our intellect. We are able to
understand the strength and resilience of both body and soul and redefine
the balance between the two. As the Olympics coincide
with Ramzan, it is a good time to think about the importance of keeping your
body in as good repair as you keep your mind. I definitely am thinking about
this, albeit from the comfort of my sofa, as I and my two couch potato
offsprings watch sporting events on television, which is of course, quite
the wrong way to proceed. But we shall overcome: the
Olympics should inspire us (and others) to go out to play, and thus to
aspire to excellence and victory. Best wishes,
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Going
to the urs of Lal Shahbaz Qalandar in Sehwan and coming home to write about
the most venerated sage of the dispossessed — the ‘common’, rural’
people according to some writers — may be seen as an encounter between
different knowledge systems. At stake are concepts of text, language, and
authorship as authority and who constructs them. 
