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).
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!
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!