Written by: Hala Syed
Posted on: May 23, 2018 | | 中文
Normally, there is a slow build up to qavvaali, where it takes time for the audience to let go of their daily grind, their troubles and their phones, and get lost in the moment. By 10:20 pm, the Faraar Gallery at The Second Floor (T2F) resonated with an aura of fervor, with the qavvaal Subhan Ahmed Nizami at the center of it.
T2F kicked off their annual Ramzan Qavvaali series, with the young and dynamic Subhan Ahmed Nizami. He directs one of the four branches of the “Qavvaal Bachon Ka Gharana,” which is the original family/household of Qavvaali music, founded in Delhi by the students of the Sufi saint Hazrat Amir Khusro, in the 14th century. He assumes a heavy responsibility: the oral transmission of the liturgical texts entrusted to him by his ancestors.
I first came to know about Subhan Nizami last November, at a panel discussion about Amir Khusro and the journey of Urdu. The other panelists were cerebral and scholarly and certainly had a lot of interesting information, but it all felt distant and intellectual. Then, Mr. Nizami shared a story, passed down to him through generations about how his ancestor Mian Sammaath became a student of Amir Khusro and suddenly 700 years didn’t seem like that distant in time. When he recited some ancient verses, most of which were in Persian, history became a living, breathing thing. The audience was able to connect to poetry from the 14th century through this man, who has become the embodiment of his heritage.
By arranging the ‘Ramzan Qavvaali Series,’ T2F has created a space for all sorts of people to become a part of this heritage. It was wonderful to see young and old come together as a community. Generally, music transcends all differences and devotional music even more so. As Subhan Nizami delved into a soaring emotive vocal, with the rest of his group providing an immersive rhythm and ecstatic chorus, it was hard not to feel that we’ve left behind the mundane and are conferring with heaven. Sometimes, religion can be divisive but Sufiism acts as the opposite, reminding us that there is something bigger than us and we long to be a part of that whole. Nizami’s qavvaali rises above its lyrics, with the audience singing along to certain powerful verses. They may not have understood every word in its literal sense, but they felt its meaning in their soul.
As the art of Qavvaali moved from its roots of mysticism and spirituality to become a part of mainstream popular culture, it has often been commercialized and diluted to appeal to mass audiences. Subhan Nizami does the inverse: he stays true to his musical tradition and expects the audience to ascend to it. Even when the clapping or chorus is occasionally out of sync, this feels like a feature of his work rather than a mistake. It reminds us that this is not a perfectly packaged, synthesized and sanitized entertainment being spoon-fed to us, but an honest expression of raw emotion that we have been allowed to experience.
If this first performance is any indication of what is to come, the ‘Ramzan Qavvaali Series’ should not be missed. Even someone like me, who does not have a particular knowledge of or shares any history with qavvaali, could feel the power of community and atmosphere. In a world that’s becoming increasingly chaotic, a group swaying to the unceasing beat of the tabla with a singular intention, feels like a triumph of the soul.
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