Long Time...Ghulam Ali saab

It's been some time since my last post, and my big ego got bigger when I found that at least one visitor was disappointed enough to remind me to get on with blogging again! Was busy at work, plus was a little down with the normal viral, and of course, there wasn't anything stirring to write about. Or may be, the last bit is not entirely true. I did attend a concert by Ghulam Ali - my second in two years, and I also discovered (courtesy a friend) a place in Bangalore that serves Calcutta style "club kachoris" and "hot" jalebis. You can't expect more from life in the happiness department in one week. :-)

I enjoy ghazals, though I wish I could improve my knowledge of urdu from the current abysmal to at least pathetic (don't know why but that seems an improvement). And I love Ghulam Ali, even though he is irritatingly difficult to hum along with, for the way in which he goes off on his own raags and aalaaps after every second line. But I find his voice mesmerizing, and his stage manners exquisitely cultured, even when he is playing to the audience. And I feel lucky that within a short span of one year, I was fortunate to witness him perform live twice. The first time, honestly I could not "witness" much, given the galactic distance of the stage from my seat and the flat (instead of slope) surface. But this time it was much better. I could observe his expressions, his gentle nudges to his accompanists when he wanted them to showcase their nuances, and his mild displeasure when, even after three hours, new requests kept pouring from the audience. It was good.

There were the usual treats - "Bheed mein ek ajnabi ka saamna achchha laga", "Humko kis ke gham ne maaraa", "Kal Chaudhvin ki raat thi, shab bhar raha charchaa tera" - along with some that I hadn't heard before, like "Hum tere shahar mein aaye hain musafir ki tarah, sirf ek baar mulaqat ka mauqa de de" or "Zindagi se yahi gila hai mujhe, tu bahut der se mila hai mujhe". Then of course, his famous "act", for lack of a better word, with "lehar" - in "Dil mein ik lehar se uthi hai abhi...". Every time, he seems to go on and on with his variations on lehar - I cannot explain it, you have to hear it to love / hate it. And of course, my favorite three - "Chupke Chupke raat din, aansoo bahaana yaad hai", "Yeh dil yeh paagal dil mera, kyun bujh gaya, aawaargi" and "Hungama hain kyun barpaa, thodi si jo pi li hai". What more could I ask for in one evening? :-)

My introduction to ghazals started in 1982, courtsey Doordarshan's year-end special, which featured Ghulam Ali and his "hungama". I was an impressionable 9 year old already in love with the songs of Rafi, Kishore and Mukesh, and this didn't seem all that alien, though the language was a bit tough. The logic of the ghazal itself was impeccable - get a perspective man, whats the big deal about drinking? :-) 23 years later, sitting in the auditorium, I was reminded of that yet again, not in the context of drinking...but in the context of artificial, man-made boundaries. Did it matter to me, or to anyone else enjoying the evening, that the person wowing us for over 3 hours was a Pakistani, a muslim? I realized, not for the first time, that art and artistes have no nationality, no religion. I always used to be cynical about the "power" of these events, or cricket matches, bringing people closer. I find my cynicism on the decline these days. May be I am getting old. Enemity and hatred do have a longer shelf life than artistes.