tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81704559425312792192024-01-09T15:03:23.273-08:00Shayar MarketDukhiramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663963804953145795noreply@blogger.comBlogger46125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8170455942531279219.post-74483624459144598882021-05-07T14:44:00.000-07:002021-05-07T14:44:07.077-07:00Narsinh Mehta: Vaishnav Jan To<p>Narsinh Mehta was a 15th century Gujarati poet, a devotee of Lord Krishna. His bhajan 'Vaishnavajan To Tene Kahiye' was Mahatma Gandhi's favourite and has been sung by many including <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kIvCtJEispY" target="_blank">Lata Mangeshkar</a>. Translation below from <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vaishnava_Jana_To" target="_blank">Wikipedia</a>.</p><p>વૈષ્ણવ જન તો તેને કહિયે જે<br />પીડ પરાઈ જાણે રે<br />પર દુ:ખે ઉપકાર કરે તો યે<br />મન અભિમાન ન આણે રે. ॥ધૃ॥<br /><br />वैष्णव जन तो तेने कहिये<br />जे पीड परायी जाणे रे ।<br />पर दुःखे उपकार करे तो ये<br />मन अभिमान न आणे रे ॥<br /><br />vaiṣṇava jana to tene kahiye<br />je pīḍa parāyī jāṇe re,<br />para duḥkhe upakāra kare to ye<br />mana abhimāna na āṇe re<br /><br />Call those people Vaishnav who<br />Feel the pain of others,<br />Help those who are in misery,<br />But never let self-conceit enter their mind.<br /><br />સકળ લોકમાં સહુને વંદે,<br />નિંદા ન કરે કેની રે<br />વાચ કાછ મન નિશ્ચલ રાખે<br />ધન ધન જનની તેની રે. ॥૧॥<br /><br />सकळ लोकमां सहुने वंदे,<br />निंदा न करे केनी रे ।<br />वाच काछ मन निश्चल राखे,<br />धन धन जननी तेनी रे ॥<br /><br />sakaḷa loka māṁ sahune vande,<br />nindā na kare kenī re,<br />vāca kācha mana nischala raakhe,<br />dhana dhana jananī tenī re<br /><br />They respect the entire world,<br />Do not disparage anyone,<br />Keep their words, actions and thoughts pure,<br />The mother of such a soul is blessed.<br /><br />સમદૃષ્ટિ ને તૃષ્ણા ત્યાગી<br />પરસ્ત્રી જેને માત રે<br />જિહ્વા થકી અસત્ય ન બોલે<br />પરધન નવ ઝાલે હાથ રે. ॥૨॥<br /><br />समदृष्टि ने तृष्णा त्यागी,<br />परस्त्री जेने मात रे ।<br />जिह्वा थकी असत्य न बोले,<br />परधन नव झाले हाथ रे ॥<br /><br />sama-dṛṣṭi ne tṛṣṇā tyāgī,<br />para-strī jene māta re,<br />jihvā thakī asatya na bole,<br />para-dhana nava jhāle hātha re<br /><br />They see all equally, renounce craving,<br />Respect other women as their own mother,<br />Their tongue never utters false words,<br />Their hands never touch the wealth of others.<br /><br />મોહ માયા વ્યાપે નહિ જેને,<br />દૃઢ વૈરાગ્ય જેના મનમાં રે<br />રામ નામ શુ તાળી રે લાગી<br />સકળ તીરથ તેના તનમાં રે. ॥૩॥<br /><br />मोह माया व्यापे नहि जेने,<br />दृढ़ वैराग्य जेना मनमां रे ।<br />रामनाम शुं ताळी रे लागी,<br />सकळ तीरथ तेना तनमां रे ॥<br /><br />moha māyā vyāpe nahi jene,<br />dhruda-vairāgya jenā manamāṁ re,<br />rāma-nāma shu tāḷī lāgī,<br />sakaḷa tīratha tenā tanamāṁ re<br /><br />They do not succumb to worldly attachments,<br />They are firmly detached from the mundane,<br />They are enticed by the name of Raam,<br />All places of pilgrimage are embodied in them.<br /><br />વણ લોભી ને કપટ રહિત છે,<br />કામ ક્રોધ નિવાર્યાં રે<br />ભણે નરસૈયો તેનું દર્શન કરતાં<br />કુળ એકોતેર તાર્યાં રે. ॥૪॥<br /><br />वणलोभी ने कपटरहित छे,<br />काम क्रोध निवार्या रे ।<br />भणे नरसैयॊ तेनुं दरसन करतां,<br />कुळ एकोतेर तार्या रे ॥<br /><br />vaṇa-lobhī ne kapaṭa-rahita che,<br />kāma krodha nivāryā re,<br />bhaṇe narasaiyo tenuṁ darasana karatāṁ,<br />kuḷa ekotera tāryā re<br /><br />They have forsaken greed and deceit,<br />They stay afar from desire and anger,<br />Narsi says: I'd be grateful to meet such a soul,<br />Whose virtue liberates their entire lineage.</p><p>Gandhiji was popular all over undivided India including present day Baluchistan. The bhajan is sung below in qawwali form by Baloch qawwals.</p><p><br />
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</p><p><br /></p>Dukhiramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663963804953145795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8170455942531279219.post-82739678417355530032019-05-12T21:51:00.000-07:002019-05-13T20:53:16.985-07:00Rumi: Beya Beya Ke Tui Jaan-e-Sama'<br />
Bar Sama' rast har qas' chiir nest<br />
Tu uma har murg ke injir nest<br />
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Naught can all partake of the Gathering,<br />
Birds have no taste for the fruits of the olive tree.<br />
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Beya beya ke tui jaan-e-jaan-e-jaan-e-Sama'<br />
Beya ke sarw-o-rawaani ba-bostaan ke Sama'<br />
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Come, Come, thou art the heart and soul and heart of the Gathering<br />
Come, for the cypress withers without thee, in the garden of Gathering<br />
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Beya ke choon to naboodast o hum nakhwahad bood<br />
Beya ke choon to nadeedast deedgaan-e-Sama'<br />
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Come, for there never has been another like thou (and never ought be),<br />
Come, for the likes of thou has never been seen by the seers of Gathering<br />
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Sama' ha shukr to goyad ba shad zabaan-e-faseeh<br />
Yaki to nuqta bigoyam man az zaban-e-Sama'<br />
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The Gathering will thank thee for coming, in a hundred different tongues<br />
This is one small thing I say, 'bout the language of the Gathering<br />
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Khuda azaan e shuma o shuma azaan e Khuda<br />
Sama' az aan shuma o shuma az aan Sama<br />
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God call us towards thee, and thou calls towards God<br />
The Gathering's an invitation to thee, and thou calls us into the Gathering<br />
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Biya Ke Soorat e Ishqast Shams e Tabrezi<br />
Hama Ba Raqs Darayi mu-darmiyan-e-Sama'<br />
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Come O Shams of Tabrez, Thou face of Love<br />
The assembled multitude burst into dance in the Gathering<br />
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(Kinar-i zarreh chon pur shud ze partau khursheed<br />
Hameh beh raqs bar ayand bi fugan-e-Sama'.<br />
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When the sun rays saturate every corner of each grain of being<br />
All of them rise in the uninhibited dance of the Gathering.)<br />
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Dukhiramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663963804953145795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8170455942531279219.post-30716027540027829352018-09-29T12:49:00.000-07:002018-09-29T12:49:25.633-07:00Moazzam Jah 'Shahji': Shab-e-hijr Woh Dam-ba-Dam Yaad Aaye<br />
Moazzam Jah, Walashan Shahzada Nawab Mir Sir Shuja’at ‘Ali Khan Siddiqi Bahadur, KCIE (1907 – 1987), was the son of the last Nizam of Hyderabad, Mir Osman Ali Khan, Asaf Jah VII, and his first wife Dulhan Pasha Begum. He married Princess Niloufer, one of the last princesses of the Ottoman empire, and represents the extinction of a line that held sway in the Deccan of India for 200 years.<br />
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This son of the last Nizam was a poet who wrote under the pen name Shahji, or sometimes Shahji Hyderabadi. Here, Farid Ayaz and Company render one of his compositions.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLrzMQAWrSz7HJHVCPlloKMjwXO0FooyYpvotG3Q4N1EgQXkx2VF5u-_qDME_YKkLKzhuI_UjLmtD2Tso0DLehQr2Uc4htYaiqYLxUDt_6_-OEFYBU2kjLMqLNQtHbE29FKiNTF3Tflhs/s1600/Moazzam+Jah+Shahji.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="324" data-original-width="290" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLrzMQAWrSz7HJHVCPlloKMjwXO0FooyYpvotG3Q4N1EgQXkx2VF5u-_qDME_YKkLKzhuI_UjLmtD2Tso0DLehQr2Uc4htYaiqYLxUDt_6_-OEFYBU2kjLMqLNQtHbE29FKiNTF3Tflhs/s200/Moazzam+Jah+Shahji.jpg" title="Moazzam Jah Shahji" width="178" /></a></div>
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रब अन-दर बुतकदा शीनम, बे पैश ए बुत कुनम सजदा<br />
अगर याबम ख़रीदारे, फ़रोशाम दीन-ओ-ईमान मा<br />
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I shall travel to the house of idolatry, circle it and prostrate myself<br />
O find me a buyer so I can sell my belief and my faith.<br />
(attributed to the Chistiyya saint Hazrat Bu Ali Qalandar, 1209-1324.)<br />
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दिल की दुनिया को जो बर्बाद किया करता है<br />
उसी के दर्द को दिल याद किया करता है<br />
जब कभी ज़ुल्म को इजाद (evolve) किया करता है<br />
सबसे पहले वो मुझे याद किया करता है<br />
कुछ अज़ब लुत्फ़ से बेदाद किया करता है<br />
बाल-ओ-पर (feathers) नोच के आज़ाद किया करता है<br />
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शब-ए-हिज्र वो दम-बा-दम याद आये<br />
बहुत याद आकर भी कम याद आये<br />
अदू (Rivals) उनको बेहर-ए-करम याद आये<br />
सितम आज़माने को हम याद आये<br />
ये कैसा भी गुज़रा है आलम के पहरों<br />
न तुम याद आये न हम याद आये<br />
हमहीं वो मुजस्सम-ए-वफ़ा (personification of faithfulness) हैं के जिनको<br />
तेरे सितम भी ब-तर्ज़-ए (transcribed as) करम याद आये<br />
'शहजि' आज तनहा चमन में गए थे<br />
बहुत उनके नख्श-ए-कदम याद आये |<br />
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<br />Dukhiramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663963804953145795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8170455942531279219.post-44574961061677462292018-05-09T19:41:00.001-07:002018-05-29T17:54:46.415-07:00Jigar : Allah Agar Taufiq Na DeAli Sikandar 'Jigar Muradabadi' (1890-1960) has a special place in the history of Urdu poetry. He wrought a Sufiyana qalam with both the flamboyance of a Ghalib and the emotional depth of a Mir.<br />
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Allāh agar taufīq na de insān ke bas kā kaam nahīñ<br />
faizān-e-mohabbat aam sahī irfān-e-mohabbat aam nahīñ<br />
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If Divine help be withheld from one, mere mortal's work it's never so<br />
Conquests of love are common it's true; Knowledge of Love, never so.<br />
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Yā Rabb ye maqām-e-ishq hai kyā go dīda-o-dil nākām nahīñ<br />
taskīn hai aur taskīn nahīñ ārām hai aur ārām nahīñ<br />
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Lord, what station this of Love? where the perceptive of heart never fail<br />
Peace there is, yet there is none, comfort ever there, and yet never so.<br />
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Kyuuñ mast-e-sharāb-e-aish-o-tarab taklīf-e-tavajjoh farmā.eñ<br />
āvāz-e-shikast-e-dil hī to hai āvāz-e-shikast-e-jām nahīñ<br />
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Why spoil the heady enchantment of drink, forcing hard attention on -<br />
Voices of hearts strangled are, may the Voice of Wine be never so.<br />
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Aanā hai jo bazm-e-jānāñ meñ pindār-e-ḳhudī ko toḌ ke aa<br />
ai hosh-o-ḳhirad ke dīvāne yahañ hosh-o-ḳhirad kā kaam nahīñ<br />
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When come'st thou to Beloved's hall, bring not with thee the Pride of Self<br />
O Thou madden'd by Reason and Sense, here Reason or Sense? never so.<br />
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Zāhid ne kuchh is andāz se pī saaqī kī nigāheñ paḌne lagīñ<br />
maikash yahī ab tak samjhe thhe shāista daur-e-jām nahīñ<br />
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The Pious one tried to drink in style, Cup-bearer's looks in askance were drawn<br />
The drunkards had hitherto thought, gentle'd goblet's pass, could be never so.<br />
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Ishq aur gavārā ḳhud kar le be-shart shikast-e-fāsh apnī<br />
kuchh dil ki bhi un ke sāzish hai tanhā ye nazar kā kaam nahīñ<br />
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Love made disappear rapidly, condition-less, all my obvious lacks<br />
Heart must've conspired with Her, for work of lonely gaze 'twas never so.<br />
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Dukhiramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663963804953145795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8170455942531279219.post-36109046836114911742017-10-28T15:34:00.000-07:002017-10-28T15:39:19.586-07:00Jami: Mun Khaak-e-Kaaf-e-PaayeKharabaat (Persian: خرابات ) is a term in Persian poetry, created as a combination of the two opposite fragments kharaab (ruinous) and aabad (prosperous.)<br />
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The word originally meant tavern, or house of ill repute, but was eventually appropriated by mystics to refer to a place that they frequented, by way of suspending all hypocritical pretense to piety. This was a place that you could frequent that would dismantle your superficial, show-off beliefs, and, in doing so, restore you to the true, deep faith. The proverbial tavern of the seers and mystics, with wise men masquerading as drunks, is in Persian poetry called Kharabaat.<br />
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The Malāmatiyya (ملامتية) or Malaamatis were a Muslim mystic group active in the 9th century in Greater Khorasan. The root of their name is the Arabic word malāmah (ملامة), or 'blame'. The Malaamatiyya believed in the value of self-blame; that piety should be a private matter; and that being held in good esteem due to public demonstrations of piety, would lead to worldly attachment and defeat the purpose. A Malaamati concealed his knowledge, but made sure his faults were be known, reminding everyone of his imperfections. The Malaamati despises personal piety, not because he is focused on the perceptions or reactions of people, but because he must constantly, involuntarily witness his own pious hypocrisy. Malaamati thus refers to a method of teaching within Sufism, based on surrendering self-glorification, and taking blame.<br />
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Nur ad-Dīn Abd ar-Rahmān Jāmī (Persian: نورالدین عبدالرحمن جامی), known simply as Jami (1414 – 1492), was a medieval Persian poet, prolific scholar, and writer of mystical Sufi literature. A prominent poet-theologian of the school of Ibn Arabi and a Khwājagānī Sũfī, Jami is remembered today for his eloquent brevity, and for his analysis of the metaphysics of mercy.<br />
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Here is Subhan Ahmed Nizami Qawwal performing the qalaam of Jami.<br />
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Mun khaak-e-kaaf-e-paaye Rindan-e-Kharabaatam<br />
Qurbaan-e-lab-e-laal-e-janaan-e-Kharabaatam<br />
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I am as dust 'neath the feet of the Drunkards of Kharabaat<br />
Sacrificed, for the red lips of the Beloveds of Kharabaat<br />
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Dil reshi-o-be-kheshi shud ain-e-namaaz-e-mun<br />
Dar qibla-e-abroo-e-khubaan-e-Kharabaatam<br />
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My prayer now consists of tormenting my heart, and erasing my Self<br />
My prostrations toward the arched brows, of the Beauties of Kharabaat<br />
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Mun aaina-e-yaarum, ganjeena-e-asraarum<br />
Hairat zada-e-ishqam, mun shaan-e-Kharabaatam<br />
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I am as a mirror for my Beloved, I am a treasure-chest full of Secrets<br />
Smitten by the wonder of Love, I am now the pride of Kharabaat<br />
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Een khirqa-e-hasti ra dar mae-kada-e-Vahdat<br />
Sad baar girau kardam uryaan-e-Kharabaatam<br />
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This robe of Self, in the Drunkards' tavern of Unity<br />
A hundred times I cast away, I am now naked in Kharabaat<br />
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Een tauba-o-taqwa shud az Jami-e-be-deene<br />
Dar koo-e-Malamaati, hairaan-e-Kharabaatam<br />
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All this piety and this supplication, from the heretic Jami<br />
Living in a den of Malaamatis, I am wonderstruck in Kharabaat.<br />
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Dukhiramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663963804953145795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8170455942531279219.post-60788390332096429032017-06-03T17:56:00.000-07:002018-05-09T19:41:35.994-07:00Kesarbai Kerkar: Jaa't Kahan Ho?<br />
Kesarbai Kerkar (केसरबाई केरकर, 1892 -1977) was a classical vocalist, the most prominent disciple of Alladiya Khan (1855–1946), the founder of the Jaipur-Atrauli gharana. She was one of the most noted Indian classical 'khayal' singers of the 20th century. This thumri of her's in Raga Bhairavi, Taal Deepchandi, is part of the golden disk aboard the Voyager I & II spacecraft that carries a record of humanity's achievements and aspirations into interstellar space.<br />
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जा'त कहाँ हो अकेली गोरी, जाने न पैय्यों<br />
केसर रंग के माठ भये होय, होरी खेलत कान्हा रे<br />
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Jaat kahan ho, akeli gori, jaane na paiyyon<br />
Where do you go alone, girl, do your feet not know?<br />
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Kesar rang ke maath bhaye hoy, Hori khelat Kanha re<br />
The fields are colored saffron, Krishna plays Holi (there I go.)<br />
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The sense is that of a companion or elder asking the young lady where she ventures by herself. She answers: Krishna (Kanha) is calling, playing Holi (Hori) in the fields, they are (i.e. my world is) become the color of renunciation.<br />
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Quo Vadis? We could ask that of any Voyager.<br />
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<br />Dukhiramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663963804953145795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8170455942531279219.post-1472034632221851702017-05-06T03:28:00.002-07:002017-05-06T10:57:52.490-07:00Rasoolan Bai: Jaawe Man Najar Nahin AayeRasoolan Bai (1902 – 1974) was a classical <i>tawaif </i>of the Benaras gharana. She specialized in the romantic Purabi Ang - Eastern Arm - of the Thumri and Tappa musical genres.<br />
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The <i>Tappa</i> is a form of Indian semi-classical vocal music. Its specialties are its rolling pace and its knotty construction. The tunes are melodious; intended to mimic the emotions of a forlorn - perhaps God-obsessed - lover.<br />
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Tappas originated in folk songs of camel riders of Punjab. The style was refined and introduced to the imperial court of the Mughal Emperor Mohammad Shah 'Rangeela' in the 1720s; and thence to the court of Asaf-ud-Daulah, Nawab of Awadh. It then spread to Benaras and Bengal. In Bengal, Ramnidhi Gupta's compositions form a genre called Nidhu Babu's Tappas. Tappa <i>gayaki</i> took new shape in Bengal, and, over the decades, became <i>puratani</i>, a popular semi-classical form of Bengali vocal music.<br />
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Rasoolan Bai was born in Mirzapur, Uttar Pradesh, in a poor family, of a musical mother - Adalat. At the age of five, her prodigy was recognized and she was sent to learn music from Ustad Shammu Khan, and later from the <i>sarangiyas </i>Ashiq Khan and Ustad Najju Khan. She became an expert in tappa singing and went on to dominate the Hindustani classical music genre for next five decades, basing herself in Varanasi and becoming the doyenne of Benaras gharana. In 1948, she stopped performing <i>mujra</i>, moved out of her <i>kotha, </i>married a sari dealer, and moved into a bylane.<br />
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Below, Rasoolan Bai sings a tappa in Raga Gaud Sarang. The lyrics are very simple:<br />
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Jaawe man, najar nahin aaye -<br />
(Dhhondhata phirat nisi-din, sun Miyo.)<br />
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My mind goes (to Him), my eyes do not see (Him)<br />
I look (for Him) night-and-day; listen, Master.<br />
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This material was morphed by <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/S._D._Burman" target="_blank">Sachin-karta</a> into his <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wPOuJQid8pc" target="_blank">Ghum Bhulechhi Nijhhum</a>, and from there into <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1nvahIDfbos" target="_blank">Hum Bekhudi Mein Tumko Pukare Chale Gaye</a>, where it is sung in a cousin-raga, the Chhayanat. The ragas Kedar, Gaud Sarang, and Chhayanat have very similar melodic movements.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ZLS6sFkbUeU" width="560"></iframe>
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Rasoolan Bai was awarded the Sangeet Natak Akademi Award in Hindustani music Vocal in 1957 by the Sangeet Natak Akademi, India's National Academy of Music, Dance and Theatre. Despite an illustrious musical career, she died in penury, running a small tea shop out of a hovel next to the radio station from where she had often broadcast in her heyday.<br />
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Dukhiramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663963804953145795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8170455942531279219.post-5219954834068664602017-05-02T16:07:00.001-07:002017-05-02T17:28:15.266-07:00Moujuddin Khan: Bajawa Re Baar Baar BajeThe defeat of the Sepoy Mutiny of 1857 led to the collapse of centers of cultural patronage in Awadh, Agra and Delhi. The famous courtesans of the age moved around in search of benefactors to Benares or Kolkata. Victoria Hemmings - the famous Maika Jaan - and her daughter (by one dry-ice engineer named William Yeoward) Angelina better known as Gauhar Jaan - are two famous singers who followed this trajectory.<br />
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Between the 1870s and 1930s, Benares came into its own as a center for classical or semi-classical music. This was the age of Rasoolan Bai, Siddeshwari, Moti Bai; the thumri in Eastern-style or Purbi-ang reached its zenith. <i>Veshya-Stotra </i>written by Babu Bacchu Singh in the 1890s lists over 100 <i>tawaifs</i> or courtesans, each of whom would conduct a <i>mehfil </i>every few days.<br />
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Compared to the <i>teentaal </i>based regular beats of the courts of Oudh, Benares preferred the irregular 1-2-3/1-2-3-4 <i>deepchandi. </i>The lyrics and melodic span were simple, the goal was a contemplative depth of emotion. Boating parties carrying the singers and their patrons would ply the Ganges all night. A music lover was to <a href="https://books.google.com/books?isbn=8120806735" target="_blank">lament</a> in 1979:<br />
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<i>Ah - at 2 in the night - Siddeshwari in one boat, Kashi Bai in another, Rasoolan in a third. Each singing different ragas - one a chaiti in Jogiya. Sometimes all three boats would come together, sometimes they would all float separately. People would forget where they were going. Where are those days now?</i><br />
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Below, Reba Muhury (who sang <i>Mohey Lagi Lagan</i> in Satyajit Ray's Benares-based <i>Jai Baba Felunath</i>) revives a thumri from that era. The composition is attributed by Smt. Muhury to Moujuddin Khan Saheb, the guru of the Elder Moti Bai. The simple - even rustic - lyrics describe the wedding procession of Rama and Sita in Awadh. It is sung with an artlessness that is the art, and contrasts with the sensual histrionics of the other styles of singing.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/XjIUcyP0LiE" width="560"></iframe><br />
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Bajawa re baar baar baje<br />
Awadh mein<br />
Ram Lakshman Bharat Shatrughn<br />
Pragat char bhaiyya<br />
Ram Lakshman Bharat Shatrughn<br />
Behak saaj saaje.<br />
Raja Dasarath ati sukhat bhayo<br />
Kanchan roupya det lutaiyyan.<br />
Puranari sab harash bhar<br />
Abir gulal det udaiyyan.<br />
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The strings and pipes they play and play<br />
O - in Awadh<br />
Ram Lakshman Bharat Shatrughn<br />
Proceed the brothers four<br />
Ram Lakshman Bharat Shatrughn<br />
Beguilingly decked all o'er.<br />
King Dasarath, so happy is<br />
Of gold and silver he the strewer.<br />
Women-folk of town in joy<br />
Let colors fly in the air.<br />
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Dukhiramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663963804953145795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8170455942531279219.post-57561500922034050842016-10-12T22:36:00.000-07:002016-10-12T22:42:44.953-07:00Bhawaiya : Diney DineyThe territory of the Bhawaiya folk song is North Bengal, Coochbehar, and Assam - also covering much of the Rangpuri-dialect-speaking areas of northern Bangladesh. Some say Bhawaiya is derived from "bhava" - emotion. Others think the term originated from the word "bhabaiya" - that which inspires contemplation. Certainly the themes of this genre are contemplation, love, and loss. The lyrics below are traditional - dated sometime between the 17th and 19th centuries, now resurrected in a MTV sherwani. (Disregard the mishmash of overlaid new-age Punjabi lyrics, which bear no relation to the original.)<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/gDOFDwgXrew" width="560"></iframe>
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দিনে দিনে খসিয়া পড়িবে<br />
রঙ্গিলা দালানের মাটি গোসাঁইজি ... কোন রঙে?<br />
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<i>Diney diney khoshiya poribe</i><br />
<i>Rongila dalaner mati Gosain-ji ... Kon rongey?</i><br />
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Day by day will crumble<br />
Mud-walls of this pretty-colored house, O priest ... In what color?<br />
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বাঁধিছেন ঘর মিছা<br />
মিছা দ্বন্দ্ব মাঝে গোসাঁইজি ... কোন রঙে?<br />
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<i>Bandhichhen ghar michha</i><br />
<i>Michha dwandwa majhe Gosain-ji ...Kon rongey?</i><br />
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Your house-framing is futile<br />
Futile in midst of doubt, O priest ... In what color?<br />
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বাল্য না কাল গেলো হাসিতে খেলিতে<br />
যৈবন কাল গেলো রঙ্গে<br />
আর বৃদ্ধ না কাল গেলো ভাবিতে চিন্তিতে<br />
গুরু ভজিবো কোন কালে, গোঁসাইজী ... কোন রঙে?<br />
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<i>Balyo na kaal gelo hashite khelite</i><br />
<i>Jaiban kaal gelo rangey</i><br />
<i>Aar briddho na kaal gelo bhabite chintite</i><br />
<i>Guru bhojibo kon kaale Gosain-ji ... Kon rongey?</i><br />
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Childhood went in laughter and play<br />
Youth in dance and song<br />
Old age in thinking and worry<br />
When to chant of Guru, O priest ... In what color?<br />
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হাড়েরও ঘরখানি, চামেরও ছাউনি<br />
বন্ধে বন্ধে তার জোড়া<br />
আর তাহারই তলে ময়ুর আর ময়ুরী<br />
শূন্যে উড়ায় তারা গোসাঁইজি ... কোন রঙে?<br />
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A room of bones, thatched by skin<br />
Joint by joint tied<br />
And beneath, peacock and peahen<br />
They fly in space, O priest ... In what color?<br />
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(মতান্তরে )<br />
হাড়েরও ঘরখানি, চামেরও ছাউনি<br />
বন্ধে বন্ধে তার জোড়া<br />
সেই ঝড়েরও প্রহরী ময়ুর আর ময়ুরী<br />
কবে দেয় যে গো উড়া গোসাঁইজি ... কোন রঙে?<br />
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<i>Harero gharkhani, chamero chhawni</i><br />
<i>Bandhe bandhe tar jora</i><br />
<i>Shei jharero prohori mayur ar mayuri</i><br />
<i>Kobe deay je go ura Gosain-ji ... Kon rongey?</i><br />
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(Alternatively)<br />
A room of bones, thatched by skin<br />
Joint by joint tied<br />
That tempest's guards, peacock and peahen<br />
Who knows when they fly away, O Priest ... In what color?<br />
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Dukhiramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663963804953145795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8170455942531279219.post-31999334850812927302016-07-09T17:08:00.000-07:002016-07-10T21:06:31.238-07:00Amjad Sabri: Yehi Mera Zauq-e-Sujood HaiA few weeks ago, two motorcyclists opened fire on Amjad Sabri's car in Karachi. Sabri was shot twice in the head and once on the ear and died shortly after. The killing was claimed by a splinter group of the Pakistani Taliban who accused Sabri of blasphemy.<br />
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Here is a piece of traditional qawwali from Amjad Sabri. The circumspect poster of the video (apparently the music label who produced it) has bleeped some of the problematic lines, wherein Hindu deities and Western philosophy are said to be found within a saint's shrine along with Muhammad or Allah. At one point, a camouflaging grunt of "Allaaaaah" is added to the soundtrack.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/b_Sqf-G_BJI" width="420"></iframe>
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Yehi mera zauq-e-sujood hai, yehi mere ishq ka raaz hai<br />
Teri yaad mein mera jhoomna, mera Hajj hai meri Namaaz hai<br />
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This is my perception of the essence of prayer: acknowedgement of my love for Thee<br />
My whirling dance ,with Thee in mind, this is my pilgrimage (Hajj) and my prayer (Namaaz.)<br />
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Tere dar pe sajda ada kiya, tujhe apna kaaba bana liya<br />
Yeh gunah hai to hua kare, mujhe is gunah pe naaz hai<br />
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I lay my prayers at Thine door, I made Thee my most sacred enclosure (Kaaba)<br />
If these be sins, so be it, I cherish such sins of mine.<br />
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Yehan pehle raaj hain Aulia, yehan paaon rakha rawaan naheen<br />
Yahan sar ke bal chalo aashiqon, ye dayar ye banda nawaz hai<br />
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The First Lord here is the shrine's saint (Aulia), none stepping here are sent back<br />
Prostrate here your heads, O Lovers, this be the realm of Friends of Worship.<br />
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Yahan Falsafi bhi hai Ram hai, yeh ajeeb kaisa maqam hai<br />
Jahan khud se jhuk na sake zabeen wahan sajda karna haraam hai<br />
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Here be philosophy (natural philosphy, i.e. science), here be Ram (avatar of Vishnu) too, what a strange station this is<br />
Where Beauty (Pride?) cannot bow down before itself, that place is forbidden for prayers.<br />
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Mujhe Anwar-ul ka hai aasra, ke wahi to mere rafeeq hain<br />
Main ghareeb hoon to kya hua mera silsila to daraaz hai<br />
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I take shelter in the Luminous One (Ali, the first Shia Imam), for he is my ally himself<br />
So what if I am poor, my link to him is still unbroken.<br />
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Another rendering of this qalaam, by Shafqat Hussain and Shujaat Hussain qawwals, is <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CA9NaMBD0Zg" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
<br />Dukhiramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663963804953145795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8170455942531279219.post-1712425369344449272016-06-18T17:30:00.000-07:002016-06-19T12:54:20.070-07:00Nizami: Mara Ba Ghamza KushtNizami Ganjavi (Persian: نظامی گنجوی, Nezāmi Ganjavi), 1141-1209, is considered the greatest romantic epic poet of Persian literature. He forged a colloquial, realistic style of writing, and his heritage is shared today across Afghanistan, Azerbaijan, Iran, Kurdistan and Tajikistan. Nizami was born in Ganja (an outpost of the Seljuq empire, in present-day Azerbaijan, named from the Turkic '<i>Gan chai</i>,' refering to the eponymous '<i>Wide river</i>',) and is believed to have spent his whole life in the South Caucasus.<br />
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By the end of the 10th century, Persian literature had become widespread from the Mediterranean to the Punjab. The Seljuqs took Ganja from the Shaddadids in 1075, and adopted Persian for their courts. By the middle of the 12th century, the Seljuqs' control of the region had weakened; their provincial governors, usually local Persian nobles, further encouraged Persianization. Political power was diffused; Farsi remained the primary language of court and commerce. This was especially true in Ganja: Nizami was patronized by different rulers, and dedicated his epics to various rival dynasties including the Seljuqs, Eldiguzids, Shirvanshahs, the ruler of Ahar and Ahmadilis. Although he rubbed shoulders with rulers and princes, Nizami avoided the court life and is generally believed to have lived in seclusion with his 'most beloved wife', a Qipchaq slave girl of the Eurasian steppe named Afaq ('<i>Horizon</i>'.) It is after Afaq that Shirin ('<i>Sugar</i>') of Nizami's epic <i>Khusrau and Shirin</i> is modeled.</div>
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Often referred to by the honorifics Hakim ('<i>Sage</i>') or Rind ('<i>Knowledgable</i>'), Nizami is both a learned poet and master of a lyrical, sensuous, secular style. Poets of the time were expected to be well versed, Nizami was exceptionally so. His poems show not only that he was fully acquainted with Arabic and Persian literatures, as well as with popular traditions, but also that he was familiar with diverse fields such as mathematics, astronomy, astrology, alchemy, medicine, botany, Quranic exegesis, Islamic theory and law, Iranian myths and legends, history, ethics, philosophy, esoterica, painting, and music. His strong character, social sensibility, and knowledge of oral and written historical records, as well as his rich Persian cultural heritage - all serve to unite pre-Islamic and Islamic Iran into the creation of a new standard of literary achievement; one that not only creates a bridge between pre-Islamic and Islamic Iran, but also straddles Iran and the whole ancient world.</div>
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I went to the Tavern last night, but I was not admitted<br />
I was bellowing at the door, yet nobody was listening to me<br />
Either none of the wine-sellers were awake<br />
Or I was a nobody, and no one opens the door for a nobody<br />
When more or less half of the night had passed<br />
A knowing man raised his head from a booth and showed his face<br />
I asked of him: "Open the door"; he told me: "Go, talk not like a fool<br />
At this hour, nobody opens the door for anybody<br />
This is not a mosque where doors are open any moment<br />
Where you can come late and push ahead to the first row<br />
This is the Tavern of Magians and Rinds dwell here<br />
There are Beauties, candles, wine, sugar, reed flutes and songs<br />
Whatever wonders that exist, are present here<br />
Muslims, Armenians, Zoroastrian, Nestorians, and Jews<br />
If you are seeking company of all that is found here<br />
You must become a dust upon the feet of everyone."<br />
O Nizami! if you knock on this door day and night<br />
You won't find but smoke from a burning fire.
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Goethe described Nizami thus:<br />
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<i>A gentle, highly gifted spirit, who, when Firdausi had completed the collected heroic traditions, chose for the material of his poems the sweetest encounters of the deepest love. Majnun and Layli, Khosrow and Shirin, lovers he presented; meant for one another by premonition, destiny, nature, habit, inclination, passion staunchly devoted to each other; but divided by mad ideas, stubbornness, chance, necessity, and force, then miraculously reunited, yet in the end again in one way or another torn apart and separated from each other.</i></div>
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Amir Khusrau's lament after reading Nizami:</div>
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<i>Ruler of the kingdom of phrases; scholar and poet, his goblet raises</i></div>
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<i>In it pure wine, intoxicatingly sweet; in goblet beside me settles only peat.</i><br />
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Below, K.L. Saigal renders a composition attributible to Nizami, though there is some debate on whether certain of the couplets were added later, such as by Mirza Hasan Qateel Dehlvi (Qateel "Lahori" to the Persians.)<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/O-uEuvmS2Lo" width="560"></iframe>
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<i>Mara ba ghamza kusht, o qaza ra bahana sakht</i><br />
Beloved killed me with slanted glance, "fate" was what she blamed.<br />
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<i>Khud suye ma na deed, o haya ra bahana sakht</i><br />
Deigned not Beloved meet mine gaze, "modesty" was what she claimed.<br />
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<i>Daste ba dosh-e ghair, nihade bar-e karam</i><br />
Put her arms around rival's shoulder, entwined him without pretense -<br />
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<i>Mara chun deed laghzish-e pa ra bahana sakht</i><br />
Seeing me she sprang apart, said "feet slipped", ashamed.
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<i>Raftam ba masjidi ke bebinam jamaal-e-dost</i><br />
Hurried I to mosque, hoping to see Beloved's beauty thence -<br />
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<i>Dasti ba rukh kashid, o dua ra bahana sakht</i><br />
Raised she hands to hide her face, and "prayer time", exclaimed.<br />
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<i>Zahid na dasht taab-e-jamaal-e pari rukhan </i><br />
The pious there dared not meet, raging beauty of fairy-like face -<br />
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<i>Kunji girift o yad-e khuda ra bahana sakht </i><br />
Retreated they to rosaries, "thinking of the Lord", they claimed.<br />
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There are other decent renderings of this qalam - <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MxVfvYvWGVA" target="_blank">Iqbal Bano's</a>, and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Jl-CSdA67j8" target="_blank">Farid Ayaz's</a>.<br />
<br />Dukhiramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663963804953145795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8170455942531279219.post-29543224660769026602016-05-22T23:23:00.002-07:002016-05-22T23:24:51.156-07:00Baluchi Traditional: Laila O LailaRostam Mirlashari grew up in the Sistan-Baluchistan area of Iran. In 1991, the political situation and fear for his life in Baluchistan convinced him to leave Iran and move to Sweden. Here's a Baluchi traditional song performed by his fusion Baluchi-Swedish band.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/EAwJynFW64U?list=RD41mVB-WAh_c" width="560"></iframe>
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<i>Mijaazi ent Laila</i><br />
<i>Bya tar baraant sail a</i><br />
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O high-and-mighty Laila<br />
The sights let me show ya<br />
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<i>Tou shoto der kut</i><br />
<i>Zaheeran man a koor kut</i><br />
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You been long delayed<br />
Tears my eyes decayed<br />
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<i>Laila shan ko Laila</i><br />
<i>Laila u washe ent Laila</i><br />
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I'd die for you Laila<br />
Laila, O sweet Laila<br />
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<i>Gerwaartai saap ent</i><br />
<i>Dil mani aap ent</i><br />
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Your hair parting's so fine<br />
It melted this heart of mine<br />
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<i>Tai sar-e qaida</i><br />
<i>Kutag mana shaida</i><br />
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Saw your forehead bijou<br />
Fell madly in love with you<br />
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<i>Laila O Laila</i><br />
<i>Bya tar baraant sail a</i><br />
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Laila, O Laila<br />
The sights let me show ya<br />
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<i>Laila u washe ent Laila</i><br />
<i>Mijaazi ent Laila</i><br />
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Laila, O sweet Laila<br />
O high-and-mighty Laila.<br />
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<br />Dukhiramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663963804953145795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8170455942531279219.post-32494070652170201662015-10-16T23:13:00.001-07:002022-11-17T16:39:56.440-08:00Mir: Dekh To Dil Ke Jaan Se Uthta HaiMir Muhammad Taqi Mir (Urdu: مِیر تقی مِیرؔ, 1723-1810), whose<i> takhallus</i> is, simply, Mir - was the leading Urdu poet of the 18th century, a pioneer who gave shape to the Urdu language. One of the principal poets of the Delhi School of the Urdu ghazal, Mir migrated to the court of Awadh in 1782 and lived there till his death. Mir-ji is one of the foremost names in Urdu poetry, oft remembered as Khudā-e sukhan (God of words.)<br />
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Here, the Shahenshah of Ghazals renders Mir:<br />
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Dekh to dil ke jaan se uthta hai<br />
yeh dhuan sa kahaan se uthta hai<br />
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Look, if it comes from my heart, or life?<br />
Say, from where does this smoke rise?<br />
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Gor kis dil-jale ki hai yeh falak<br />
shola eik subh-o-yahan se uthta hai<br />
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Tomb for some cinder-heart must be the sky<br />
A burning thing every morn thence, too, does rise.<br />
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Yun uthhe aah us gali se hum<br />
jaisey koi jahaan se uthta hai<br />
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Thus I got up, alas, to leave behind that lane<br />
Like to part this world some soul might rise.<br />
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Baithne kon de hai phir usko<br />
jo tere aastaan se uthta hai<br />
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Who can make him again a proper place to sit<br />
He who from a seat at thy house did last rise?<br />
<br />
Ishq ek Mir bhaari patthar hai<br />
kab ye tujh na-tawaan se uthta hai<br />
<br />
Love, O Mir, is such a heavy stone<br />
When could a fool like you even make it rise?<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />Dukhiramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663963804953145795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8170455942531279219.post-10127943065889930002015-08-19T21:17:00.000-07:002016-10-21T21:54:09.009-07:00Faiz: Aaj Bazaar MeinFaiz was being transferred between jails in a tonga (a horse carriage, the common man's transport of the time), and it so happened that the tonga passed a market-square where he'd been fêted not too long ago. Nayyara Noor sings the nazm that he penned upon reaching his cell at the end of the ride. It ought to be an anthem of women in the Islamic world. For that matter, why only women? And why only the Islamic world?<br />
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<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/VIgKF8TvDBk" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
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आज बाज़ार में पा-ब-जौलाँ चलो<br />
<br />
Let's walk the market-square enshackled today<br />
<br />
चश्म-ए-नम जान-ए-शोरीदा काफ़ी नहीं<br />
तोहमत-ए-इश्क-ए-पोशीदा काफ़ी नहीं<br />
<br />
Tears and heartbreak never enough<br />
Blamed tending hidden love never enough<br />
<br />
दस्त-अफ्शां चलो, मस्त-ओ-रक़्सां चलो<br />
खाक-बर-सर चलो, खूं-ब-दामां चलो<br />
राह तकता है सब शहर-ए-जानां चलो<br />
<br />
Go innocence in hand, go dancing in trance<br />
Go dust on head, go blood on garb<br />
All watch that road - Go, to the town of Beloved<br />
<br />
हाकिम-ए-शहर भी, मजम-ए-आम भी<br />
तीर-ए-इल्ज़ाम भी, संग-ए-दुश्नाम भी<br />
सुबह-ए-नाशाद भी, रोज़-ए-नाकाम भी<br />
<br />
Lord of town too, Crowd of commoner too<br />
Arrow of accusation too, Stone of infamy too<br />
Morning of grief too, Day of failure too<br />
<br />
इनका दमसाज़ अपने सिवा कौन है<br />
शहर-ए-जानां मे अब बा-सफा कौन है<br />
दस्त-ए-क़ातिल के शायां रहा कौन है<br />
<br />
But thee their friend who else?<br />
Untainted in town of Beloved who else?<br />
Named for assassin's hand who else?<br />
<br />
रख्त-ए-दिल बांध लो दिलफिगारों चलो<br />
फिर हमीं क़त्ल हो आयें यारों चलो<br />
आज बाज़ार में पा-ब-जौला चलो<br />
<br />
Bind up torn heart, come to the path of love<br />
Join we those to next to die, come my friends<br />
Let's walk the market-square enshackled today.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x17dfkj_aaj-bazar-mein-faiz-ahmed-faiz_music" target="_blank">Here</a> is Faiz himself, reciting the verses.<br />
<br />Dukhiramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663963804953145795noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8170455942531279219.post-29174227139285519472015-08-14T17:05:00.000-07:002015-08-15T11:20:41.390-07:00Bulleh Shah: Mahiya Tere Vekhan Nu<br />
The Mughal emperor Akbar gave a name to the <i>doab</i> between the Beas and the Ravi - he combined the names of the two rivers to call it the Bari. The tehsil of Dipalpur, a stronghold of the Bhatti Rajput clan, lies in the Bari. It was here that the first Mongol invasion of India was deflected by Balban in 1285 (at the cost of the life of his son.)<br />
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The most noticeable feature inside old Dipalpur town is the monastery of Lal Jas Raj Dipal, venerated by locals. According to legend, Lal Jas Raj was the son of Raja Dipa Chand, the founder of Dipalpur. The boy had a lock of hair on the back of his head, while the rest of his head was shaved, a common practice for the Hindu devout. One day, while he was teasing his step-mother, she got annoyed and told him to go bury himself. The curse took hold, Dipal's body started entering the earth. When his step-mother saw what was happening, she quickly ran to his rescue but by then he had almost completely disappeared, with only his choti (lock of hair) above ground. Eventually the choti turned to stone, and the spot where Dipal had sunk became a shrine, testament to the destructive effect of cruel words on those we love.<br />
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This area at the Punjab-Rajasthan border has been the holy ground of many peoples' saints. Hazrat Bahawal Haq (Bahawal Sher Qalandar) came from Baghdad and settled outside Dipalpur. Guru Nanak lived here for a while. When Akbar visited along with his son Saleem (the future emperor Jahangir) in 1578, it was to pay homage to Hazrat Farid Ganj Shakar.<br />
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Below, Amir Ali Khan, Saleem Ali Khan, Ejaz Ali Khan and party render traditional qawwali inside the old town of Dipalpur - an act of defiance by the Shia, for the Shahi Masjid of Dipalpur flies the banner of Maulana Fazul ur Rehman, the well-known Islamist politician from Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, head of the Jamiat Ulema-e-Islam. The Maulana and his men follow the Deobandi school of thought and look down upon song as un-Islamic.<br />
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The qalam is that of Bulleh Shah, the raga is Des.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/3D5IAZuH1TU" width="560"></iframe>
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There is no longer a canonical channel of these lyrics, which have spread across the <i>doab</i> like the braids of the Beas, here is an approximate translation of another version (performed by the Wadali brothers <a href="http://www.dailymotion.com/video/x1931t1_mahiya-tere-vekhan-nu-lakhwinder-wadali-ustad-puran-chand-wadali_music" target="_blank">here</a>.)<br />
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<i>Charkha mera rang rangeela, ban gai teri yaad vaseela.</i><br />
<br />
My charkha (spinning wheel) of many colors, has become a way of meeting Thy memories.<br />
<br />
<i>E mahiya tere vekhan nu, chuk charkha gali de vich panwa.</i><br />
<br />
Beloved, to catch a glimpse of Thee, I place my charkha in the lane outside.<br />
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<i>Ve loka paane main kat di, tang teriya yaad de panwa. </i><br />
<br />
People think I spin cotton, but I truly weave the thread of Thy memory.<br />
<br />
<i>Charkhe di oo kar de ole, yaad teri da tumba bole. </i><br />
<br />
I tire, set charka aside in shade, the music of Thy memory still rings in my heart.<br />
<br />
<i>Ve nimma nimma geet ched ke, tang kath di hullare panwa. </i><br />
<br />
Humming slowly, slowly, I spin gently and dwell on the joy of meeting Thee.<br />
<br />
<i>Vasan ni de rahe saure peke, mainu tere pain pulekhe.</i><br />
<br />
Kin let not me rest in ease, but I feel Thou art come close.<br />
<br />
<i>Ve hoon mainu das mahiya, tere baaju kidhar main jayiyaan. </i><br />
<br />
Beloved, I ask this: If I don't go to Thee then where do I go?<br />
<br />
<i>Ho Eid aayi, mera yaar na aaya, tera ve khair hove ove tamd.</i><br />
<br />
The festive day (Eid) has come, but my Beloved hasn't returned.<br />
<br />
<i>Haar singar change nai lagde, ho kisi cheez pe nazar na jamdi. </i><br />
<br />
Jewelry and colors seem dull, nothing around catches my eye.<br />
<br />
<i>Sukha waalian needra mangne, yaar mile to main eid manva. </i><br />
<br />
I only pray for sleep, let my Love come then I'll celebrate Eid.<br />
<br />
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<br /></div>
Dukhiramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663963804953145795noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8170455942531279219.post-90877075710810652015-05-04T16:36:00.001-07:002015-05-07T21:32:19.608-07:00Maruvani: Kesaria Balam Padharo Mharo DesMix-and-match is becoming ludicrous. Farid Ayaz just passed off "Padharo mharo des" as a Sufi spiritual. Erm, a little background, then you, gentle reader, be the judge.<br />
<br />
The tribes of Rajasthan have long exported mercenaries. These foreign legions of the desert have buttressed the ranks of kings of alluvia, and their women have been stranded in the Thar waiting for men who may never return. In the eyes of these women, the saffron/ochre of desert-turban (kesar/kasumal respectively) mix metaphorically with the mane (kesar) of the Gir lion to label the lost lover "kesaria". May he return safe to my arms. Saffron/maned lover, return to my lands - kesaria balam, padharo mharo des.<br />
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Kabir also asks us to come to his land - chalo hamaro des. But where is Kabir’s country? It is a different, more elusive country, one that you inhabit when you understand how to live in the knowledge that you will too die:<br />
<br />
Mati Kahe Kumhar se, Tu Kya Raunde Moye,<br />
Ek Din Aisa Ayega, Main Raundungi Toye <br />
<br />
Clay calls out to Potter, What of thee mauling me<br />
The day'll come soon by, Mauling thee I will be.<br />
<br />
Here are Farid Ayaz and Abu Mohammed:<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/heHxA8G_yOw" width="420"></iframe>
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Narwar is a historic town in Madhya Pradesh in central India, roughly between Gwalior and Jhansi, east of a steep scarp of the Vindhya range where the Sind River turns sharply to the south. Classically Nalapura, the town is said to have been the capital of Raja Nala, a character in Hindu mythology who princess Damayanti of Vidarbha Kingdom chooses for husband, who loses everything to gambling, and wins it all back - a popular story told in the Mahabharata.<br />
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Dhola, son of the king of Narwar and successor to the kingdom of Nala, is wed to Maruvani, daughter of Pingal, chief of Jhangal (Bikaner), as a child: the bride is 1 1/2, the groom 3. After the formalities, Dhola returns to Narwar with this family, and soon forgets what all those lights and flutes and sweetmeats had been all about.<br />
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As a young man, Dhola is married off again, to another princess, this one named Malvani. When they hear of the second marriage, the parents of his first bride, Maruvani, send messages to Narwar asking that the lawful first daughter-in-law be fetched to her husband, but thanks to Dhola's forgetfulness and Malvani's scheming, that is never allowed to happen. There is probably an element of an alliance having lost strategic value.<br />
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So Maruvani takes matters in her own hand. She composes music in Raag Maaru - the desert raga of the Thar, and sets couplets to the music. She trains a minstrel in the couplets and sends him off to Narwar.<br />
<br />
The night when the bard reaches the outskirts of Narwar palace is a stormy one with lightning and thunder obscuring his approach. The singer creeps up to palace walls and starts in Raag Malhar; when the preamble reaches Dhola's ears at the palace window, over air laden with static, he stands electrified, listening. Raag Malhar gives way to drizzles, the downpour subsides, the thirsty earth soaks up water and in the pungent aftermath the singer shifts to the couplets in Raag Maaru:<br />
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ढोला नरवर सेरियाँ, धण पूंगल गळीयांह !<br />
Dhola of Narwar heed, the Treasure in lanes of Pingal !<br />
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At the mention of Pingal Dhola starts, he remembers his first bride of long ago. The singer sings out the rest of the composition, Maruvani's musical letter to her husband, that she waits for him still. <br />
<br />
आखडिया डंबर भई,नयण गमाया रोय |<br />
क्यूँ साजण परदेस में, रह्या बिंडाणा होय ||<br />
<br />
My eyes red like fruit, my sight gone from tears<br />
Why did my love leave, and why does he forbear?<br />
<br />
केसरिया बालम आओ नि पधारो म्हारे देस<br />
Saffron/maned lover, come this way, arrive in my land<br />
<br />
मारू थारे देस में निपूजे तीन रतन-<br />
एक ढोलो, दूजी मारवन , तीजो कसूमल रंग<br />
<br />
In the desert of Thar hide jewels three<br />
First Dhola (chivalry), Second Maruvani (fidelity), Third the color Ochre (of blood and sacrifice)<br />
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Chagrined, Dhola sets off for Bikaner on his fastest black camel. Pingal's court bursts out in celebration when he eventually reaches. After a few days in Maruvani's palace, the couple set off to return to Narwar. Several adventures ensue. Maruvani is bitten by a snake but resuscitated by Hara-Parvati. Umra-Sumra the highwayman lays a trap for the couple in the form of a traveling musicians' mehfil, but Umra-Sumra's wife, who is from the court of Pingal, tips the would-be-victims off and Maruvani escapes with Dhola. And so on.<br />
<br />
केसरिया बालम आओ नि पधारो म्हारे देस<br />
नि केसरिया बालम आओ सा पधारो म्हारे देस<br />
<br />
Saffron/maned lover, arrive to my land<br />
Come back, come to my lands<br />
<br />
पधारो म्हारे देस, आओ म्हारे देस नि<br />
केसरिया बालम आओ सा पधारो म्हारे देस<br />
<br />
Return to my land, come to my land, do<br />
Saffron lover, arrive in my land.<br />
<br />
मारू थारे देस में निपूजे तीन रतन<br />
एक ढोलो, दूजी मारवन , तीजो कसूमल रंग<br />
<br />
In the desert of Thar hide jewels three<br />
First Dhola (chivalry), Second Maruvani (fidelity), Third the color Ochre (of blood and sacrifice)<br />
<br />
पधारो म्हारे देस, पधारो म्हारे देस नि,<br />
केसरिया बालम, आओ नि पधारो म्हारे देस ||<br />
<br />
Return to my land, come to my land, do<br />
Saffron lover, come back to my land.<br />
<div>
<br />
Dhola-Maru is one of the most popular love stories of Rajasthan. Probably dating from the 8th century, it is still remembered by couples in love, and women of Thar will still address a beloved as Dhola.<br />
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Dukhiramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663963804953145795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8170455942531279219.post-63874357692427993762015-05-03T15:13:00.000-07:002015-05-03T21:38:55.802-07:00Badar Ali Ansari: Nit Khair MangiHere's a Punabi qawwali composed by Badar Ali Saheb Ansari. Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan had <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DEJOC25hJOM" target="_blank">recorded</a> Badar Ali's qalam many years ago, here's a fresh take from Mukhtiyar Ali Mirasi - a folk singer from Bikaner.<br />
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Mukhtiyar Ali was born in a small village named Pugal near the Indo-Pak border (where the music-video below is shot), and belongs to the semi-nomadic community of Mirasis, who have been the traditional carriers of the oral tradition of the Sufiana qalam in India. The Mirasi are a Hindu, Muslim or Sikh caste found in Northern India; they are the genealogists for a number of communities in Northern India. Within the name Mirasi are a number of groups, each with its own history and its own myth. Some Mirasi groups are thought to be Muslim converts from the Hindu Dom caste, while others claim to have belonged to the Hindu Charan/bard community, said to have converted to Islam at the hands of Amir Khusrau. The word Mirasi is derived from the Arabic word miras, which means inheritance, or heritage. As hereditary genealogists, the Mirasi maintain pedigrees of their patrons and are often involved in the negotiation of marriages; they sometime style themselves as Nassab khawan, or the keepers of family trees. They are also known Pakhawaji from the pakhawaj - pakshavadya or two-sided Indian drum - that they play.<br />
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Mukhtiar Ali blends the Rajasthani folk idiom with Hindustani classical tunes, to sing the qalam of Badar Ali:<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Y1fLLKbmAzc" width="420"></iframe>
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Nit Khair Mangi Sohniya Main Teri, Dua Na Koi Aor Mangdi<br />
Tere Pairanch Akhir Hove Meri, Dua Na Koi Aor Mangdi<br />
<br />
Everyday, Beloved, I pray Thee be well, for naught else I ask.<br />
May I be at Thy feet in my end, for naught else I ask.<br />
<br />
Tere Pyar Ditta Jado Da Sahara Ve, Mainu Bhul Gai Mai Jag Sara Ve<br />
Khushi Eho Mainu Sajna Batheri, Dua Na Koi Aor Mangdi<br />
<br />
Ever since Thy love's support, the world around me I could forget.<br />
This joy is all I need, my love, for naught else I ask.<br />
<br />
Tu Mileya Te Mil Gayi Khudai Ve, Hath Jode Akha Payi Na Judai Ve<br />
Mar Jawangi Je Ankh Metho Pheri, Dua Na Koi Aor Mangdi<br />
<br />
With Thee, I experience Oneness; folded hands, I pray we never part.<br />
I will be no more if Thy eyes turn from me, for naught else I ask.<br />
<br />
Eho Rab Tainu Mangiya Duawa Ve, Alla Kare Teri Aayi Mar Jawa Ve<br />
Hathi Badar Banawi Saadi Dheri, Dua Na Koi Aor Mangdi<br />
<br />
So I ask this of God; Allah take me instead when Thy time comes<br />
May Badar but be of service to Thee, for naught else I ask.<br />
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Dukhiramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663963804953145795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8170455942531279219.post-44673042467786952352015-04-18T18:05:00.000-07:002015-04-18T18:05:14.003-07:00Baulanga: Hey Kaala'Baulanga' means the Baul Corpus in Bengali; these traditional songs, lyrics braiding one to the other, do not admit to easy demarcation of authorship.<br />
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The singer Parvati Baul tells us that the composer is an unknown Muslim fakir from Bangladesh, who describes the last few moments of Radha’s life, just before she walks into the dark waters of Yamuna river, mistaking it to be the Dark One, her beloved Krishna.<br />
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The lyrics are translated in subtitles.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/q3lD8ZNeVHs" width="560"></iframe>
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Dukhiramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663963804953145795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8170455942531279219.post-15276813811661992512015-04-16T17:09:00.000-07:002017-04-24T23:25:09.024-07:00Jigar: Dil Burd Az Man Deeroz ShaameJigar Muradabadi had a clear sense of the eeriness of power-exchange, recalling the cold cruelty of the words Khusrau put in the mouth of Beloved:<br />
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Guftam ke houri yaa pari, guftaa ke man shaah-e butaan<br />
Guftam ke Khusrao naatavaan, guftaa parastaar-e-man ast<br />
<br />
Said I: 'Art Thou houri or fairy?' said S/He: 'The King of Idols.'<br />
Said I: 'Khusrau is helpless.' the reply: 'Worship Me.'<br />
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Here's a piece of Jigar's qalam in Farsi - Dil-burd az man deeroz shaame:<br />
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Dil burd az man deeroz shaame,<br />
Fitna taraze mahshar khirame.<br />
<br />
Bewitched my bosom, evening past<br />
Sweet intriguer, Doomsday's stalk.<br />
<br />
Roo-e-mubeen'ash subh-e-tajjala<br />
Lauh-e-zabeen'ash mah-e-tamame<br />
<br />
Face of Clarity, Morn of Crowns<br />
Tablet of forehead, the Moon around<br />
<br />
Mushki-khat-e-oo sumbul-ba-gulshan<br />
Laali-labe-oo baada-ba-jaame<br />
<br />
Fragrance Her letters, frailty of vine<br />
Red are Her lips, gateway to wine<br />
<br />
Aa’n teghe abru wa’n teere mishga’n,<br />
Aamada har yak bar qatl aame.<br />
<br />
Swords arched brows, lashes arrows,<br />
With all else needed, to kill or harrow.<br />
<br />
Gahe ba masti taus raqsaa’n,<br />
Gahe ba shokhi aahu khirame.<br />
<br />
Often ecstatic, peacock dancing,<br />
Often playful, as deer prancing.<br />
<br />
Az jisme larza’n, larza’n do aalam,<br />
Waz zulfe barham, barham nizame.<br />
<br />
Shivers body, shiver both worlds,<br />
Locks fall loose, apart comes Order.<br />
<br />
Aariz che aariz gesu che gesu,<br />
Subhe che subhe shaame che shaame.<br />
<br />
Cheek to cheek, lock to lock<br />
Dawn to dawn, night to night.<br />
<br />
Guftam che joi gufta dilo jaa’n,<br />
Guftam che khwahi gufta ghulame.<br />
<br />
Asked I of Love “Seek'st Thou what?",<br />
Replied Destroyer: "Slaves, else naught."<br />
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<br /></div>
<div>
Below, Abdullah Manzoor, Makhmoor Niazi Qawwal & Party present the qalam of Jigar (in a snippet within a longer rendition of Mere Bane Ki Baat Na Poochho.)<br />
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<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/qbVvlyXp66U" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe>
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Yeh ishq nahin aasaan bus itna samajh leejiye,<br />
Ik aag ka daria hai aur doob ke jaana hai<br />
<br />
This Love is no easy affair; you might as well understand<br />
It as a river of Fire, one that you must swim immersed, to cross.<br />
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Dukhiramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663963804953145795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8170455942531279219.post-5764080189305762642015-01-31T15:13:00.000-08:002015-01-31T15:14:35.188-08:00Khusrau: Ay Chehra-e-Zeba-e-Tu<br />
A fellow down on his luck, having heard of the munificence of Hazrat Nizamuddin, came in from an outlying village to the khanaqah in Delhi to seek alms. The saint had nothing to give him, so he gave away his slippers.<br />
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The mendicant was disappointed, and eventually left. On the way back, he took night's shelter in a caravanserai where, as chance would have it, Amir Khusrau had halted on his way back from a lucrative foray, trading jewels with Bengal. Khusrau recognized his master's footwear, and, after the briefest of enquiries ("I smell the fragrance of my lord"), ransomed the item for all he had made from his trading expedition. "You got them back cheap, then" - was Nizamuddin Auliya's laconic comment when he had his slippers returned.<br />
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Below, Farid Ayaz and party render another Khusrau qawwali.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/M77GprU5twU" width="560"></iframe>
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Ay chehra-e-zeba-e-tu rashk-e-butan-e-Azari;<br />
Har chand wasfat mikunam dar husn-az-aan zebatari.<br />
<br />
Surat gare naqqash chi rau surat-e-ya-ram qibi<br />
Ya surat-e-kaskhki chuni ya tabr yoon surat gari<br />
<br />
Tu az pari ja mukhtari az barg-e-gul na sukhtari<br />
Shamsi nadanam ya qamar, ya zohrai, ya mushtari<br />
<br />
Aafaq ra gar deedah am mehr-e butan warzeedah am;<br />
Bisyar khuban deedah am lekin tu cheez-e deegari.<br />
<br />
Man tu shudam, tu man shudi, man tan shudam, tu jan shudi;<br />
Taakas nagoyad baad azeen man deegaram tu deegari.<br />
<br />
Khusrau ghareeb ast-o gada uftadah dar shehr-e shuma;<br />
Baashad ki az behr-e khuda, su-e ghareeban bangari.<br />
<br />
<br />
O Thou whose beautiful face is envy of the idols of Azar (Abraham's father and image engraver of antiquity);<br />
Thou remainst every moment superior to any praise of mine.<br />
<br />
The mask maker who makes visages, if he saw Thine visage<br />
The dryness of his past choices would make him start all over<br />
<br />
Thou Queen of Fairies, bouquets of flowers pale beside Thee<br />
Neither Sun nor Moon can match Thee, Resplendent Thou, Jupiter Thou<br />
<br />
All over the world have I traveled; many a maiden’s love have I tasted;<br />
Many a beauteous star have I seen; but Thou art unique.<br />
<br />
I am become Thou, Thou me; I am become the body, Thou the soul;<br />
So that none hereafter may say “I am I and Thou are Thou. (i.e. someone else)”<br />
<br />
Khusrau a beggar, a stranger has come wandering to your town;<br />
For sake of God's Ocean, pity the poor, turn him not from the door.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Dukhiramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663963804953145795noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8170455942531279219.post-4012756425285951262014-12-15T12:25:00.002-08:002014-12-15T14:08:32.894-08:00Khusrau: Jan Zetan Burdi<br />
Amir Khusrau's father, Amir Saifuddin Mahmud, had been, before coming to India, a chief of clan Lachin in Turkestan during the rule of Chinggis Khan. After immigrating to India, he became a high official at the court of Sultan Shamsuddin Iltutmish. Khusrau's mother came from an Indian Rajput family; she was the daughter of the war minister of Balban.<br />
<br />
When he was eight years old, Saifuddin took Khusrau to meet Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya. As they were entering through the doors of the khanqah in what is today Delhi's Nizamuddin area, the boy cheekily said that it was up to him, and not his father, to choose his own teacher.<br />
<br />
Saifuddin squatted down to the boy's level, looked him in they eyes, and smiled. The father left the son outside the door and went in alone to talk to the saint. In the meantime, Khusrau composed a quatrain (in Persian) to test Nizamuddin Auliya.<br />
<br />
Tora aan shahey ke bur aiwaan-e-qasrat, qabutar gar nashinad baaz gardad.<br />
Gharib-e-mustamandey bur dar amad, beyayad androon yaa baaz gardad?<br />
<br />
Thou art so great a king, if on roof of thy palace a pigeon were to sit, a falcon it would become.<br />
A poor and humble soul has come to thy door, should he enter or should he be gone?<br />
<br />
(The 8-year-old-level pun here is that baaz might refer to a hawk as well as to a part, or the act of parting.) He got back the following quatrain in reply:<br />
<br />
Beyayad androon mard-e-haqiqat, ke baa maa yak nafas hamraz gardad.<br />
Agar ablay buwad aan mard-e-naadaan, azaan raahey ke aamad baaz gardad.<br />
<br />
Come in, truthful soul, that we may become close and trusted friends.<br />
Yet if thou art ignorant, or no wisdom have, go thou back the way thee came.<br />
<br />
(The reply preserved the 8-year-old's rhyme scheme, and at the same time was simple, not trying to upstage his cleverness.) At this Khusrau entered the khanqah and became a mureed of Nizamuddin Auliya — faithfully serving his master throughout his life.<br />
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<br /></div>
<br />
Below, Ghous Muhammad Nasir Qawwal and Party render the qalaam of Amir Khusrau:<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/E239h8ni_BA" width="560"></iframe>
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<br />
Jan zetan burdi -- wa darjani hunooz;<br />
Dard-ha daadi -- wa darmani hunooz.<br />
Ashkara seen-e-am bashugafti;<br />
Ham-chunan dar seen-e pinhani hunooz.<br />
Maza girya chu namak bagudakhtyn;<br />
Tubakhunda shukr afshani hunooz.<br />
<br />
You stole my soul -- yet stayed in it<br />
Caused me pain -- but are still the remedy<br />
So openly split my breast<br />
But are still hidden in my heart<br />
Destroyed the kingdom of my mind<br />
But still rule there.<br />
<br />
Har do alam qeemate khud guftayi<br />
Narkh bala kun ke arzani hunooz<br />
Peeri-o-shahid parasti nakhush ast,<br />
Khusrauwa' taki pareshani hunooz.<br />
<br />
You said your price was equal to the Two Worlds<br />
Ask for a higher rate, the bid is still low.<br />
"Old age and infatuation go not together"<br />
O Khusrau, may you trouble this reasoning.<br />
<br />
Interestingly, the Khusrau's line on "ask for a higher rate" was quoted by Maulana Azad in his Al-Hilal exhortation to the Muslims of the subcontinent to look for more (beyond political power.)<br />
<br />
<i>Narkh bala. Kun ke arzani hunooz. Ask for more, what you set yourself for is still too low.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>For heavens sake get rid of the fear of Hindu majority. This was a Satanic suspicion created in the minds of Muslims. Power is not only a numbers game, it depends on something else also. The important factor is the real strength of a nation which is the result of its moral values and character, its unity, and, to use the Islamic terminology, the will of God and good deeds. All these suspicions were created in our minds because no joint and lofty ideal was placed before the country. If from the very beginning all the people had set their sights on one goal,one ideal,there would have been no reason to look into different directions, and all those forces, which today are shedding each others' blood, would have been united in its quest. Gentlemen, lend me your ears, because I am raising an important point. Your aimless wandering, selfishness, self seeking, dissensions, indifference to self-sacrifice and self denial, all this is result of the fact that your eyes have nothing beautiful to look at. The breath-taking beauty that we have discovered is unknown to you.</i><br />
<br />
About a year after Khusrau had met Nizamuddin, Saifuddin passed away, leaving the 9-year old boy in care of his maternal grandfather. Khusrau was to express his sadness with the following couplet:<br />
<br />
My river flowed on, the door was left half open,<br />
The sword passed over my head, grief overtook my heart.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Dukhiramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663963804953145795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8170455942531279219.post-40010048943221786372014-11-20T12:43:00.001-08:002018-05-09T19:45:09.681-07:00Sachal Sarmast: Ranjha Shah Hazare Da<br />
Sachal Sarmast (1739 – 1829, Sindhi: سچلُ سرمستُ), born Abdul Wahab Farooqi, was a Sufi poet from Sindh. Sachal Sarmast literally means 'truthful ecstatic', or, more ornately, "The Ecstatic Saint of Truth". Sachal Sarmast composed poetry in many local dialects, chiefly Saraiki and Sindhi.<br />
<br />
Saraiki (Shahmukhi: سرائیکی) is the dialect of Southern Punjab and Northern Sindh. It is spoken by 20 million people across the Southern Punjab, southern Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, border regions of North Sindh, Eastern Balochistan, some 20,000 migrants and their descendants in India, Hindus in Afghanistan and so on. One view is that Saraiki originates from the word sarai (inn) - i.e. just as Urdu is the patois of the Mongol <i>ordu</i> camp, Saraiki is the language of the tavern. It is more likely that the word originates from Sauvira, a kingdom in ancient India - the language of this kingdom is Sauvīrakī. The historical bag of names for the various sub-dialects of Saraiki reflect overlapping or conflicting ethnic, local, regional designations. Hindki or Hindko – "of India" – refer to various dialects in the farther north, due to the fact they were applied by people arriving from Afghanistan or Persia. Jaṭki -"of the Jaṭs" - is the sub-dialect of Saraiki spoken where the Jats live in the Punjab; and so on.<br />
<br />
Sachal Sarmast composed songs in Saraiki on contemporary themes, one of which was the folk epic Heer Ranjha. The plot summary (adapted from Wikipedia) is:<br />
<br />
Heer is an extremely beautiful woman, born into a wealthy Jat family of the Sayyal clan in Jhang, Punjab. Ranjha (whose first name is Dheedo; Ranjha is the surname), also a Jat of the Ranjha clan, is the youngest of four brothers and lives in the village 'Takht Hazara' by the river Chandrabhaga (Moon-crescent, referring to its oxbows) or Chenab. Being his father's favorite son, unlike his brothers who have to toil in the lands, Ranjha leads a life of ease playing the flute (Wanjhli or Bansuri). After a quarrel with his brothers over land, his brothers' wives refuse to give him food, and Ranjha leaves home.<br />
<br />
Eventually Ranjha arrives in Heer's village and falls in love with her. Heer offers Ranjha a job as a caretaker of her father's cattle. Visiting becomes mesmerized by Ranjha's flute and falls in love with him. They meet each other secretly for many years until they are caught by Heer's jealous uncle, Kaido, and her parents Chuchak and Malki. Subsequently Heer is forced by her family and the local priest to marry another man, Sadashiv Khera.<br />
<br />
Ranjha is heartbroken. He wanders the countryside alone, until he eventually meets a jogi or hermit. After meeting Baba Gorakhnath, the founder of the Kanphata (pierced ear) sect of jogis at Tilla Jogian, the Hill of Hermits (50 miles north of the historic town of Bhera, Sargodha, Punjab), Ranjha becomes a jogi himself, piercing his ears and renouncing the material world.<br />
<br />
Reciting the name of the Lord Alakh Niranjan, Ranjha wanders all over Punjab; eventually finding the village where Heer now lives.<br />
<br />
The two return to Heer's village, where Heer's parents agree to their marriage. However, on the wedding day, Kaido poisons her food so that the wedding will not take place. Hearing this news, Ranjha rushes to aid Heer, but is too late, as she has already eaten the poison and died. Brokenhearted once again, Ranjha partakes the rest of poisoned laddu that Heer has eaten, and dies by her side.<br />
<br />
Heer and Ranjha are buried in Heer's hometown, Jhang. Lovers pay visits to their mausoleum. The year on the mausoleum inscription is 1471 AD.<br />
<br />
Many Sufi poets have shaped the Heer Ranjha canon. It is argued by Pir Waris Shah in the beginning of his version, that the story of Heer and Ranjha has a deeper connotation - the relentless quest of humans for God. The sociological significance is also that it is a Jat epic, and represents an obdurate Jat/Ahir narrative clinging to their rural/steppe values of cattle, flute, love - in the face of repeated conquest from urbanized Arab and Indo-Persian centers; and also the need of Sufi poets to co-opt that narrative for increased resonance.<br />
<br />
Abida Parveen sings Sachal Sarmast:
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<iframe allow="autoplay; encrypted-media" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/dvt-m9UQ9Is" width="560"></iframe>
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<br />
भला हो<br />
Be well<br />
<br />
राँझा तख़्त हज़ारे कूँ<br />
जहंदा इश्क़ दे आँख दे छुपियां<br />
<br />
Ranjha of village Takht Hazara<br />
Where Love hid from the eyes<br />
<br />
कर मंजूर गज़ई तूने<br />
जा ताज तख़्त कूँ रखियाँ<br />
<br />
If you want your wishes fulfilled<br />
Go place a crown on Takht village<br />
<br />
कारण हीर दे बन के जोगी<br />
अत बीण बजावण सिख्हियां<br />
<br />
Because of Heer he became a hermit<br />
Learnt to play the flute<br />
<br />
मस्ताना इश्क़ दे शाही कूँ<br />
मोय आशिक़ मंग दे बिकियाँ<br />
<br />
Ecstatic in Love, that King<br />
O sell me to that Lover<br />
<br />
जहंदा इश्क़ लगानी में वारियाँ<br />
सो राँझा - शाह हज़ारी दा<br />
मालिक हज़ारी दा <br />
तख़्त हज़ारी दा<br />
साईं भला राँझा - शाह हज़ारी दा<br />
<br />
O you who join the queue of lovers<br />
O to follow Ranjha - that King of Hazara<br />
That Lord of Hazara<br />
Of the village Takht Hazara<br />
The good saint of Hazara - the King of Hazara<br />
<br />
<br />
अनना अहमद बिल्ला मी मी<br />
तुस्सा चाक दा हुसन में खोईआं<br />
सो राँझा - शाह हज़ारी दा<br />
मालिक हज़ारी दा <br />
तख़्त हज़ारी दा<br />
साईं भला राँझा - शाह हज़ारी दा<br />
<br />
You who see the One and Ahmad (Muhammad) as in you<br />
Lose yourself in the beauty of the cattle herder<br />
O to follow Ranjha - that King of Hazara<br />
That Lord of Hazara<br />
Of the village Takht Hazara<br />
The good saint of Hazara - the King of Hazara<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
कर सिंगार सोहणी दे अंगियां<br />
तुस्सा स्याहियां मुश्किल मलों<br />
सो राँझा - शाह हज़ारी दा<br />
मालिक हज़ारी दा <br />
तख़्त हज़ारी दा<br />
साईं भला राँझा - शाह हज़ारी दा<br />
<br />
I decorated and made beautiful my body<br />
You only ever poured ink and trouble on me<br />
O to follow Ranjha - that King of Hazara<br />
That Lord of Hazara<br />
Of the village Takht Hazara<br />
The good saint of Hazara - the King of Hazara<br />
<br />
<br />
मैं थी वार क़ुर्बान ताहीं तो<br />
सर सचल दा सब होने तो<br />
तख़्त हज़ारी दा (etc.)<br />
<br />
I want to go sacrifice myself there<br />
Make my head (Sar) truthful (Sachal) there<br />
At the village of Takht Hazara (etc.)<br />
<br />
<a href="http://pakgeotagging.blogspot.com/2014/05/tomb-of-heer-ranjha-in-jhang-takht.html" target="_blank">Here</a> is a geotagging tour diary to Takht Hazara and the graves of Heer Ranjha. It is also interesting to recount the traditional invocation that happens at the beginning of a rendering of the epic:<br />
<br />
Awwal-akhir naam Allah da lena, duja dos Muhammad Miran<br />
Tija naun mat pita da lena, unha da chunga dudh sariran<br />
Chautha naun an pani da lena, jis khave man banhe dhiran<br />
Panjman naun Dharti Mata da lena, jis par kadam takiman<br />
Chhewan naun Khwaja Pir da lena, jhul pilave thande niran<br />
Satwan naun Guru Gorakhnath de lena, patal puje bhojan<br />
Athwan naun lalanwale da lena, bande bande de tabaq zanjiran<br />
<br />
First and last, I take the name of Allah; second, of Muhammad, the prophet<br />
Third, I take the name of mother and father, on whose milk my body thrived<br />
Fourth, I take the name of bread and water, by eating which my mind is calmed<br />
Fifth, I take the name of Mother Earth, on whom I place my feet.<br />
Sixth, I take the name of Khwaja (my teacher or Lord in the Sufi tradition), who gives me cold water to drink<br />
Seventh, I take the name of Guru Gorakh Nath (a reflection both on the seer who initiated Ranjha, and the Naga or Snake cults of Dravidian India) who is worshiped with a platter of milk and rice<br />
Eighth, I take the name of Lalanwala (i.e. Lord Jhulelal of the Sindhis, of Damadam Mast Qalandar fame) who breaks the bonds and the chains of captives.<br />
<br />Dukhiramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663963804953145795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8170455942531279219.post-59184748418518357462014-11-19T19:14:00.002-08:002014-11-20T18:45:48.615-08:00Ghalib: Bekhudi Besabab Naheen Ghalib makes for an unlikely Sufi. Interrogated after the Mutiny, he informs his British interlocutor he is only half-Mussulman (Drink, yes; eat pig, no.) He is very much a man of this world, the here and now. On Paradise, he writes to a friend:<br />
<br />
In Paradise it is true that I shall drink at dawn the pure wine mentioned in the Qu'ran, but where in Paradise are the long walks with intoxicated friends in the night, or the drunken crowds shouting merrily? Where shall I find there the intoxication of monsoon clouds? Where there is no autumn, how can spring exist? If the beautiful houris are always there, where will be the sadness of separation and the joy of union? Where shall we find there a girl who flees away when we would kiss her?"<br />
<br />
Yet he believes "the search for God within liberates the seeker from the narrowly orthodox, encouraging the devotee to look beyond the letter of the law, to its essence."<br />
<br />
The object of my worship lies beyond perception's reach;<br />
For men who see, the Ka'aba is a compass, nothing more.<br />
<br />
Below, Abida Parveen renders Ghalib.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/ctaz3DR4_I8" width="420"></iframe>
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<br />
बेखुदी बेसबब नहीं ग़ालिब।<br />
कुछ तो है जिसकी पर्दागारी है।<br />
<br />
This out-of-yourself-ness, not without its purpose is, O Ghalib<br />
There's surely something here -- that lies behind veils.<br />
<br />
दिल ओ मिज़्श्गाँ का जो मुकदमा था।<br />
आज फ़िर उसकी रू बकारी है।<br />
<br />
Heart and eyelash (tears) have long been litigants (against Beloved)<br />
Today for both, another summons to appear.<br />
<br />
फ़िर उसी बेवफा पे मरते हैं।<br />
फ़िर वही जिंदगी हमारी है।<br />
<br />
Dying for that Betrayer again,<br />
It's my same old life, all over again.<br />
<br />
फ़िर दिया पारा-ऐ-जिग़र ने सवाल।<br />
एक फरियाद आहोजारी है।<br />
<br />
Issues mercury (i.e. thermometer) of liver a question<br />
The response - a sigh of the same complaint.<br />
<br />
(Jigar - the liver - was thought to be seat of emotion and friendship in Islamic medicine.)<br />
<br />
फ़िर हुए हैं गवाह इश्क तलब।<br />
अश्क बारी का हूक्म जारी है।<br />
<br />
Again in witness is summoned: Love<br />
An order is passed to bring forth: tears.<br />
<br />
फ़िर कुछ इस दिल तो बेक़रारी है |<br />
सीना ज़ोया-ए-ज़ख्म-ए-कारी है |<br />
<br />
There's restlessness in this heart again,<br />
This bosom seeks wounds afresh.<br />
<br />
The extended metaphor of litigation comes easily to Ghalib, who shuttled around the courts of authorities (even all the way to Kolkata) imploring them for a bigger pension. Note how Abida starts in a ghazal and moves into qawwali around minute 6. Somewhere in there is a guitar playing a chord from Air Supply: Making Love, Out of nothing at all. Out of nothing at all.<br />
<br />Dukhiramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663963804953145795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8170455942531279219.post-30950902889478565982014-10-28T16:40:00.001-07:002014-10-28T16:40:18.786-07:00Jigar: Aya Na Ras Nala-e-Dil'Jigar' was the takhallus of the noted Urdu poet Ali Sikandar (1890–1960); technically, jigar means liver (the organ), though the implied meaning is 'something so unique that one cannot live without it'; hence a close friend is a 'jigri dost.' 'Jigar' was born Moradabad, Uttar Pradesh; he lost his father at an early age and did not have an easy childhood. At a madrassa he was taught Arabic and Persian. His poetry teacher was Rasa Rampuri, and in turn he taught the likes of Majrooh Sultanpuri. He never received any formal higher education, yet it was said of him no university could have taught him - he was only the second in the history of Aligarh Muslim University to be awarded an honorary D. Litt. (the first one was Iqbal.) His fame has grown in the years since his death, and in the Urdu world he is already being mentioned in the same breath as Iqbal and Ghalib.<br />
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Below, Iqbal Bano renders Jigar:<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/bjzLAWCBFWY" width="420"></iframe>
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हर सू दिखाई देते हैं वो जलवागर मुझे<br />
क्या-क्या फरेब देती है मेरी नज़र मुझे<br />
<br />
Har su dikhai dete hain wo jalwagar mujhe,<br />
kya-kya fareb deti hai meri nazar mujhe.<br />
<br />
Revealed in every street that charm-weaver<br />
What deceptions my own eyes do make.<br />
<br />
आया ना रास नाला-ए-दिल का असर मुझे<br />
अब तुम मिले तो कुछ नहीं अपनी ख़बर मुझे<br />
<br />
Aaya na ras nala-e-dil ka asar mujhe,<br />
ab tum mile to kuch nahi apni khabar mujhe.<br />
<br />
No solace get I from my heart's cries<br />
Since we met, know not I my own news.<br />
<br />
डाला है बेखुदी ने अजब राह पर मुझे<br />
आँखें हैं और कुछ नहीं आता नज़र मुझे<br />
<br />
Dala hai bekhudi ne ajab rah par mujhe,<br />
aankhen hain aur kuch nahi aata nazar mujhe.<br />
<br />
Strange paths has bewilderment led me to,<br />
I have my eyes, yet fail to see a thing.<br />
<br />
करना है आज हज़रत-ए-नासेह का सामना<br />
मिल जाए दो घड़ी को तुम्हारी नज़र मुझे<br />
<br />
Karna hai aj hazrat-e-naseh se samana,<br />
mil jaye do ghadi ko tumhari nazar mujhe.<br />
<br />
Have to face Exalted's chastisement today,<br />
In that may Thy gaze meet mine for a while.<br />
<br />
यकसाँ है हुस्न-ओ-इश्क़ की सरमस्तियों का रंग<br />
उनकी ख़बर उन्हें है न मेरी खबर मुझे<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Yaksan hai husn-o-ishq ke sarmastiyon ka rang,<br />
un ke khabar unhen hai na apni khabar mujhe.<br />
<br />
Unsteady are the colors of love's rapture,<br />
Neither they aware of their selves, nor I of mine.<br />
<br />
मैं दूर हूँ तो रू-ए-सुख़न मुझ से किसलिए<br />
तुम पास हो तो क्यों नहीं आते नज़र मुझे<br />
<br />
Main dur hun to ruh-e-sukhan mujh se kis liye,<br />
tum pas ho to kyon nahi aate nazar mujhe.<br />
<br />
If we be apart what use then the faces of words?<br />
If we be close why then do not I see you?<br />
<br />
दिल ले के मेरा देते हो दाग़-ए-जिगर मुझे<br />
ये बात भूलने की नहीं उम्र भर मुझे<br />
<br />
Dil leke mera dete ho daagh-e-jigar mujhe,<br />
ye baat bhulane ke nahi umr bhar mujhe.<br />
<br />
You take my heart, leave behind an ache in Jigar<br />
This can't be forgotten tho' all my life be spent.<br />
<br />
More of Jigar's ghazals can be found <a href="http://www.kavitakosh.org/kk/index.php?title=%E0%A4%9C%E0%A4%BF%E0%A4%97%E0%A4%B0_%E0%A4%AE%E0%A5%81%E0%A4%B0%E0%A4%BE%E0%A4%A6%E0%A4%BE%E0%A4%AC%E0%A4%BE%E0%A4%A6%E0%A5%80" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
<br />
मैं दूर हूँ तो रू-ए-सुख़न मुझ से किसलिए<br />
तुम पास हो तो क्यों नहीं आते नज़र मुझे |<br />
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Dukhiramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663963804953145795noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8170455942531279219.post-29600155021273925452014-09-19T21:46:00.000-07:002019-05-15T11:25:24.930-07:00Jami: Naseema, Janib e Bat'ha Guzar KunJami, the greatest of Persian/Tajik Sufi poets, was born in Jam (Ghor, Afghanistan) c. 1414. He describes how he came to take his pen-name:<br />
<br />
My birthplace is Jam, my pen<br />
Has drunk from Shaykh-ul-Islam Jam<br />
Hence in the books of poetry<br />
My name is Jami for reasons two.<br />
<br />
Interestingly, Jami remained a staunch Sunni in his Sufism and the center of his passion became not the personage of Beloved but rather the spirituality of prophet Muhammad.<br />
<br />
Manzoor Niazi Qawwal performs Jami:<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/L4Vl6etEOlc" width="560"></iframe>
<br />
Naseema, Janib e Bat'ha Guzar Kun<br />
Zey Ahwalam Muhammad Ra Khabar Kun<br />
<br />
O Breeze! whenever you go to Bat'ha (i.e. Medina)<br />
Give news of me to Muhammad there<br />
<br />
Tu'ee Sultan e Alam Ya Muhammad<br />
Ze Ru e Lutf Su e Mann Nazar Kun<br />
<br />
You are the King of all world O Muhammad<br />
Look at me with your sweet beautiful gaze<br />
<br />
Bey Bareen Jan e Mushtaqan Dar'a Ja<br />
Fida e Roza e Khair-ul-Bashar Kun<br />
<br />
Approach me. I, your follower, helpless perish<br />
At your mausoleum, O Best of Men<br />
<br />
Musharraf Garchey Shud Jami Zey Lutfash<br />
Khudara Ee Karam Bar-e-Jigar Kun.<br />
<br />
Jami has been blessed by You<br />
But for God's sake bless him again.<br />
<br />
Another version by Molvi Haider Hassan Akhtar Qawwal, with more of a contemprary naat-texture is below (notwithstanding exuberant mashing-in of Khusrau past minute 8):<br />
<br />
<iframe allow="autoplay; encrypted-media" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Snr4K5j5rN0" width="560"></iframe>
<br />
<br />
Having worked and taught in Samarkand, Jami passed his last days in Herat. His epitaph reads:<br />
<br />
When your face is turned from me<br />
like the moon hidden on a dark night,<br />
I shed stars of tears; yet my night stays dark<br />
even with all those shining stars.<br />
<br />
<br />Dukhiramhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15663963804953145795noreply@blogger.com2