Tuesday, December 31, 2019

Small gestures

It's the last day of the year -- of the decade. I had dinner with a close friend of my parents, and the conversation turned to, a bit unexpectedly, a common (though, for me, long dormant) interest: Hindustani classical music. From the age of 8, till about 20, I had received regular vocal training in the Agra gharana (style of classical music). In Bombay, my guruji was the late Batukbhai Diwanji -- an erudite musicologist, music critic, and chronicler of Bombay's music scene; a tremendously fascinating character, a talented singer in his own right, and a very patient teacher. Recently, I had received a short article about Batukbhai and a mid-20th century Bombay musical event I had never heard of. He passed away in 2014, it seems, at the venerable age of 96. I had lost touch with him after moving to the US in the late1990s.

Hindustani classical music -- as beautiful as it is, and as much as I still enjoy listening to it -- never quite pierced my soul as the musical heritage of the Church, with life changing, and life shaping consequences. That's another story.

Lots of memories indeed -- all the baithaks in folks' homes, and concerts -- at Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan in Chowpatty, and the huge "Aprachalit Raag" concert sponsored by The Times Group for their Sesquicentennial (1990), and of course JanFest, the annual 3-day festival put on by IMG (the student led Indian Music Group at St. Xavier's). What stands out in sharp relief is just how much the culture of Hindustani music -- and musicians -- was evidence of the cross-pollination of the main religious traditions of India. So, for instance, one would have a Muslim artist singing a bandish (composition) quite often expressing sakhi bhav (the love of the soul for God) manifested in the playful amorous dalliances of the Hindu deity Krishna with his gopis (cow-herding girls).



Ustad Faiyaz Khan, perhaps one of the greatest Hindustani vocalists of the 20th century, singing "Mathura na ja" in Raag Purvi. "Don't go to Mathura, o Kanha [Krishna]."

When we lived in Ahmedabad, in the 1980s, I received taleem (training) from Ustad Hamid Hussein Khan. I recall one evening, where after our riyaz (practice), Khansaheb stayed on for some tea and snacks. My father had just come back home from work. And somehow, Khansaheb waxed eloquent on the battle of Karbala, which is at the heart of the Shii' Muslim story and identity. I was about 10 years old. I wish I had paid more attention. What I do remember is that every time he referred to the Prophet -- for whom he used the Persian title peghumbar -- he piously touched his earlobes.

One bandish I had learned from Khansaheb starts "Bina hari kaun meri khabar layt," a fairly common bandish in raag Bhairav.  बिना हरी कौन मेरी खबर लेत "Other than God, who will look after me?" Almost as an aside Khansaheb stated, oh, it's actually "Allah bin kaun" using the Arabic (i.e., in India, Muslim) name for God, as opposed to the Hindi hari. "When we teach Hindus, we use these words, however."

A tiny gesture -- but one of many -- respecting different dietary customs, for instance, or greeting each other during major festivals;  rejoicing in each other's joys and mourning each other's griefs -- that remind us of the fact that in India we have a long and old tradition of living alongside each other.

I just spent a wonderful Christmas in the Holy Land, and had the amazing opportunity to concelebrate Midnight Mass in Bethlehem. A few days prior, I finally visited Yad Vashem, and felt again, viscerally, the horror of hatred that the Jewish people have endured. Yet, perhaps more than on other visits, the conflict between two peoples was really starkly visible, especially at the security check point crossing back into Jerusalem from the West Bank, as every Palestinian aboard the bus got off to be questioned individually. In India, the country is being convulsed by the cynically divisive politics of the ruling party, as manifested in the ongoing agitations against the Citizenship Amendment Act.

We need many more tiny gestures, that acknowledge the humanity of our neighbors. That respect their customs. That say, "you exist, and this is good." Yes we need a lot more too. But each of us can make small gestures of peace. Blessed are the peacemakers, a wandering Jew (the Savior!) once said.

This is the first time in my life I find myself at the end of a year with both my parents gone. They inculcated the love of music in me (which drew me, ultimately, to Christ ...). They were both committed to an India that cherished her traditions of diverse peoples living in peace and harmony. It is my hope that what they have taught me, which has served me so well so far, will continue to do so in the New Year and the rest of my earthly life.

Happy New Year!

Sunday, April 07, 2019

Ex Voto


After the Spanish Mass, a young couple approached me at the back of the church and asked if I would accompany them to the statue of Our Lady of Guadalupe. They held a tiny infant — “She’s three weeks old. We had made a promise (voto) to Our Lady that if she was born safely, we’d go to church and go to her image on our knees.” The grandparents and godmother of the mother were also present. The child was tiny — clearly she was premature, and this had been a difficult pregnancy.

So I prayed with them, and said I’d wait for them by the statue of Our Lady. Then all five of them started their crawl up the aisle on their knees, one holding the child, another a vase of flowers, and a third, a statue of the Divino Niño, the infant Jesus. Silently. When they reached their destination, I led them in praying an Our Father, Hail Mary and Glory Be, had them light a votive candle, and gave them a blessing. They laid the flowers at the foot of the statue, and stayed on in quiet prayer.

“¡Ahora, no olviden del bautismo!” Don’t forget about the baptism, I gently reminded them. “¡Claro que sí, Padre!” The grandparents and godmother are parishioners, The young couple lives in a different state, and were visiting — she is one of 10 siblings, scattered around the Southeast.

It was a very moving experience. It’s my first experience of this kind of votive offering being requested. I’ve done numerous “juramentos” (oaths, or promises made usually by young men, who swear off alcohol for a determined period, and want the Padre to lead them in a prayer in front of the statue of Our Lady, a very common practice in Mexico, and among Mexicans in the US.) But I hadn’t yet seen this.

To the rationalist, modern, secular mind, this is all so medieval. We’re oh-so enlightened, and beyond all this mumbo-jumbo. (But even the oh-so-secular person cannot help but conceive of the “universe” as a sentient actor with intentions and designs ... always for our good!) To the “Bible-believing” Protestant, this smacks of superstition and paganism ...

... and indeed, the idea of a “votive offering” (from the Latin “voto” - “promise”) is a universal phenomenon in the human religious landscape. I recall a visit to the shrine of the local Hindu deity Khandoba in Jejuri near Pune in south-central India, decades ago (accompanied by a Jesuit friend). Pilgrims ascend the hill on their knees, or with their legs tied to heavy metal chains or blocks of metal — a promise they had made to obtain the favor of the deity. At the tombs of any pir (Sufi saint) in India — whether Hazrat Nizamuddin in Delhi, Haji Ali in the middle of a bay in Mumbai, or Salim Chishti in Agra (I’ve not been to the most popular destination, Khwaja Moinuddin Chishti’s tomb in Ajmer), pilgrims tie color strings to the grill near the tomb, making a “mannat” (promise), of some kind of hardship or penance, in order to receive a favor.

Authentic Catholic culture takes the nature desires of the human heart — including the desires that are manifest everywhere in folk religion — and purifies and transforms them in Christ, who revealed to us the face of the Father who loves His children. Indeed, the Bible too, knows this kind of offering — think of the Nazirite vow of Numbers 6, which early Christians, including St. Paul himself took  (Acts 18, and 21). And certainly Christian culture and tradition, both East and West, is no stranger to similar practices ... even down to our day — whether it be those who ascend the Scala Sancta on their knees in Rome, or a Mexican family in the mountains of North Georgia who fulfill their “voto” to the Virgin after a difficult childbirth.


(Ex Voto offerings — a painting from the early 20th century giving thanks for protection in war, and a wall of medals of thanksgiving, from the Shrine of Our Lady of Montenero in Tuscany. Jan. 2014.)