The Kingdom of Music: The Dewarists

Now, here's a post label that I never thought would find its way over here: music! I have often remarked (and indeed, it is pretty much the reason behind the name of this blog) that I have never particularly been a connoisseur of music - it is something that I can entirely do without and not particularly feel its absence in my life. Yet, I have been lately thinking that it is quite a blanket statement to declare so: after all, am I really that immune to music? There have been several periods/occasions in my life where music has been a solace and had the ability to take me out of myself and my thoughts and transplant me elsewhere, that kingdom of music. 

Sakar Khan, National Award winning Maganiyar artiste, playing upon the traditional Maganiyar instrument, khamaycha

During the Jaisalmer trip, I had to interview few members of Rajasthani hereditary folk musicians, the Maganiyars in their native village, Hameera, about 15km from Jaisalmer; we reached their home just before lunch and they aptly enough chose to answer my questions through an impromptu concert, first performing the  traditional Rajasthani song of welcome, 'Kesariya Balam' before playing a host of melodies. If it were not for the fact that we had to return to Jodhpur that day itself, we could have remained there the whole day, well into the evening, becoming completely immersed in the soul of their music. These particular Maganiyar musicians had been performing centuries-old musical legacies for many decades and within India and abroad and had been feted for their art: yet, in that moment, we were their exclusive audience and we in turn were captive, oblivious to all that surrounded us. 

                                                Maganiyar artistes performing in the show,
                                                        The Maganiyar Seduction

As we drove away from Hameera, the music still remained within the orbit of my thoughts, playing on loop in my head. What struck me that day was that the musicians and their musical heritage had literally woven the haunting, piercing notes of the desert winds into the fabric of their compositions...and even now, whenever I happen to listen to their music, I feel that I am in a desert of sorts, their music providing the most welcome antidote to any desolation I may potentially experience there.

Nevertheless, while the experience awakened an awareness within me as to what sort of music I gravitate to, it was the newly launched music-travel show, The Dewarists which reminded me that perhaps, the presence of visuals or a strong visual narrative and context nevertheless makes music much more accessible to me, strangely enough. In this particular episode, music-composer, Shantanu Moitra, who has composed for films such as Parineeta, and lyricist, Swanand Kirkire collaborate with Pakistan's first female pop band, Zeb and Haniya  in Bombay (incidentally, digressing unabashedly, the episode features them visiting  Bombay's Chor Bazaar and rummaging through vintage Hindi film posters - I was super envious as it's one place in Bombay which I am dying to visit).

For me, I significantly enjoyed witnessing the process of creating music: meshing of ideas, musicians jamming together, assembling lyrics, musical notes floating in the air, and the eventual streamlining of these disparate creative clusters into music. As a writer, I am accustomed to viewing creation and creativity as being an entirely solitary process and it was fascinating to see this journey of  creative collaboration. Yet, nonetheless, as I mentioned above, I still found it amusing that I found myself more thoroughly accessing and appreciating the music through a visual medium; for example, there is a lovely visual nugget in which Zeb and Swanand are writing lyrics, the visual juxtaposition of the Hindi and Urdu script. The performance and the song itself shot in the atmospheric Royal Opera House is arresting enough, its haunting notes long lingering with me...and yet, having been aware of how it was assembled, so to speak, made the journey even more beautiful.

Then, I happened to chance upon this:

                                                         Zeb and Haniya: Chal Diye

While the song is indescribably lovely, melange of the music and the incredible art, most likely, having taken inspiration from miniature art, was what made the song especially alive for me. Hearing the song, the words wing me elsewhere into a different space - and yet, as I see the song, I become aware of alternative interpretations and worlds it can belong to - and this multiplicity of interpretations is what makes this particular junction of visual and sound so exciting.

I guess, in the end, I am just a visual person, after all;)

Do you recollect a music video that particularly impacted your response to a particular song? It would be great to hear/see examples...!

Nizwa: A Photo Essay

Folks, I feel a little writing burnt out lately, ha so I thought I would indulge in a photo-essay this time round with photos being the mainstay of this post...of course, I wouldn't be able to resist providing a little commentary/captions for the pictures but on the whole, the images will be doing the talking this time round.

A bit about Nizwa, though. Nizwa was a former capital of Oman and is situated in the hinterland, in the proximity of the Hajar mountain-ranges. Apart from being famous for its distinctive circular fort, which happens to be Oman's most visited monument,  it's also regionally renowned for its antique silver jewelry and other items and quality of silver workmanship. The Friday animal auction at the Nizwa souk, or bazaar, which is situated in the heart of the city, is also quite an experience, animals' cries punctuating the air as transactions are quickly and astutely conducted. Afterward, the successful buyers place their purchases in the back of their Toyota pick-up vehicles and one glimpses the goats or cow placidly snacking upon a sprig of fodder as they journey to their new homes. 

I took these images as winter was approaching in Oman and I still cannot help but gush over the sheer clarity and brilliance of the almost-winter light. The light thoroughly drenches the images and there is such a palpable feeling of freshness and vitality in them that one feels as if the moments captured are - still - very much happening...

Here is Nizwa as seen through my lens:

My kingdom: This gentleman radiates a regalesque aura as he surveys the proceedings, firmly gripping his scepter-like walking stick; the animal auction is on full-swing in the background and as for his goat charges: newly purchased or shortly to be sold? They wear as mysteriously inscrutable expressions as that of their owner

Talking shop over a goat: The animal auction starts around 7am on Friday morning and wraps up by noon, the caravan of goats, cows, bulls, and even, the occasional camels having departed for their new homes by then

Green-alert: The souk also sells fresh produce grown nearby; I like the way the green of the hedges' sunlit leaves mirrors that of the bananas in the box. And writing on the wall never fails to intrigue me...

Welcome: Omani doors or babs are particularly known for their wood detailing, which have many Indian design influences; however, I find the metal ones equally interesting with their designs and colors

Modernity and tradition conversing: In a sense, this image very much encapsulates the essence of contemporary Oman what with the juxtaposition of the ancient and  new. The mud walls form part of the old Nizwa souk, which the government has now renovated and refurbished. I thought the little boy dressed in the dish-dasha and typical Omani embroidered cap, kumma, added a further layer to the picture

Sleeping Structures: These decades-old mud structures built in the traditional fashion are located behind the souk; they are largely abandoned though, their former inhabitants preferring to live in concrete bungalows upon the outskirts of Nizwa. The shuttered windows indeed seem asleep, oblivious to the changes swirling around them

Langurous Shadows: The afternoon is spent, the shadows lengthen, and who knows what lies around the corner...

I will look forward to hearing what you thought of the photo-essay...

** Minutes after posting the above, I stumbled upon this post which basically talks about the Delhi Photo Festival. I really identified with much of the writer's well-articulated thoughts vis a vis photography and the terribly blurred lines between what constitutes as art or not. It is definitely an inspiration for a future post about my thoughts on what photography means to me...

The Wall Project: Jaisalmer Fort

Given the amount I post about Rajasthan on this blog, its alternative name could very well be: Rajasthan, Much?! In that context, when I had to travel to Jaisalmer last year for a journalism assignment, I surprisingly enough wasn't too excited about visiting it. Jaisalmer is situated near the India-Pakistan border and popularly known as the Golden City due to its architecture being wrought from indigenous honey-hued sandstone as well as the surrounding sand dunes. During my last visit there in 1999, I had already been witness to the gradual touristification of the city, the place having become one giant tourist spot, lodges, hotels, restaurants, and cafes sprouting here, there, and everywhere; the authentic Jaisalmer had already become submerged beneath the tourist veneer - and I anticipated the situation to have become even more acute eleven years later.

Last year, we arrived just before the monsoon, the tourist season yet to begin: the city was sluggish and sleepy and up inside the fort premises, which happens to be the oldest living fort in the world and for a long while, was what constituted Jaisalmer in itself, it was perhaps possible to get a glimpse of what life was like out there before the tourist encroachment began. Having wandered up there in the evening, men chatted amongst each other while boys played cricket in the quadrangle of space outside one of the many Jain temples inside the fort; inside the temple, the priest stood guard in pitch-darkness, watching a lamp's flame flicker in the little spurts of wind, power-cuts having beset the city again. Walking through the lanes crosswording the fort, I saw grandmothers and grand-daughters sitting cross-legged outside their homes, each generation gossiping amongst their friends. "Who would want to leave this place?" one of the girls, a college student, told me. "This is a world in itself: we are one big family over here and look out for each other." From the fort's ramparts, I surveyed the sea of roofs below, trying to imagine what the land had been like centuries before when Jaisalmer and the fort were synonymous with one another.

The following morning, we visited Lodarva Jain temple, which was situated upon the site of Jaisalmer's former capital, Lodarva; amid the curiously green-covered dunes (a beneficiary of the cyclone, Phet, which had coincidentally visited Oman in June before inexplicably changing course and swerving towards Gujarat and eventually, Rajasthan, where it spilled over into Jaisalmer) and ancient ruins, I heard the dawn wind whistling and keening through the temple, lifting up what was virtually a carpet of sand although the temple caretaker assiduously swept the floors every morning. This is what silence sounds like, I thought to myself, and it was pockets of loveliness such as these that helped me access an alternative Jaisalmer.

I particularly like this image of the wall because for me, it is representative of a Jaisalmer that I discovered beneath its customary glossy postcard prettiness of golden dunes and architecture and camels. In the corner, there is the tourist regalia waiting to be bought: the scarlet and mauve patchwork bedspreads, an omnipresent reminder that Jaisalmer is essentially a touristopolis, all said and done; one can also see the dainty Rajasthani jali [fret-work] detailing that has made Jaisalmer one of the most photographed cities of Rajasthan. Yet, whilst the Hindi script urging the populace to vote for a particular BJP candidate undoubtedly desecrates the fort wall, it is but yet another layer to the many layers that the fort wall has seen over the years and that is what gives the image a voice - the voice of a Jaisalmer, existing for itself, rather than an entity to be photographed and consumed and eventually, said goodbye to.

I have included a few more images from my Jaisalmer trip, tourist shots - and one that I particularly like of a man and woman having a conversation in the street. 

Patwa Haveli facade (and a pigeon!)

Balcony words

Lord Ganesha frescoes were commonly seen painted outside homes' entrance doors

**Edit: I would like to mention that I discovered a wonderful piece, Breathing Walls by Jenny Gustafsson, published in Mashallah News, which I will shortly be contributing to; the title of the piece is based upon a book of the same name, Breathing Walls, by Lebanese photographer, Rhea Karam, whom Jenny interviews - Karam's thoughts about walls in this interview very much encapsulate and reflect the intentions of my very own Wall Project. I am looking forward to reading the book at some point in the future...!

Fatehpur Sikri: City of Ghosts

There are some places which truly enchant you. When I use the word, 'enchant', I am referring to a process by which one becomes completely immersed in the place's atmosphere, beauty, and spirit, making it difficult to part ways from. For me, Fatehpur Sikri has been one of those places.

The first time I happened to discover the Mughal emperor, Akbar's abandoned  capital-city, Fatehpur Sikri was in the film, Pardes (1997), starring Shah Rukh Khan, Mahima Chaudhary, and Apurva Agnihotri. In the film, it is referred as to the 'kila' or the fort and as you can see in the clip below, it functions as a backdrop for a budding romance (save for the rather filmi bit shot in the studio at the end!):

 

After watching the film, Fatehpur Sikri somehow remained with me for a long time although I could not quite pinpoint what it was that so intrigued me about the place.

Upon further researching, I learnt that Akbar built Fatehpur Sikri 39 km from Agra  in 1570  as the new capital for the Mughal empire in honor of the Sufi saint, Salim Chisti; it was the first planned city of the Mughal Empire and entirely built in the Mughal architechural fashion. However, due to water shortages which were unable to sustain the population, it was abandoned a mere 14 years later and now remains a perfectly preserved ghost city, bearing witness to magnificent examples of hybrid Mughal architechure. 

In an earlier post, I mentioned that I spent a few weeks in Delhi for an artists' residency; during my time there, a couple of the resident artists made a plan to visit Taj Mahal one day and I decided to accompany them, more excited about the prospect of finally visiting Fatehpur Sikri, which had dominated my imagination for long, than the Taj Mahal. Indeed, upon reaching and wandering around Taj Mahal, I could not help but think that its beauty was too obvious, too expected, perhaps due to the virtue of  it being so recognisable. However, I must admit that I saw it by noon and Taj Mahal is a hydra-headed beauty, metamorphosing into different creatures at different times of the day. Perhaps, I may feel differently were I to see it during dawn or dusk or as my mother once had the opportunity to do so, by moonlight!

Fatehpur Sikri

We left Agra sometime after lunch and arrived at Fatehpur Sikri a couple of hours before dusk. I personally feel that it was the most beautiful time to visit the place for the dusk lent the place an extraordinary beauty that perhaps other times of the day could not do so; the roseate sandstone gleamed and glowed in the diminishing light and this nebulous junction between day and night suspended the place in another realm together. As I meandered through the arches, courtyards, passages, and rooms that I had long wished to encounter, I thought of ghost towns that I had visited in the United States. I was not sure whether 'ghost town' was an apt epithet for them for they did not appear to be haunt of ghosts even so dead and static did they seem. In Fatehpur Sikri, though, it struck me the place was not as much a fossil as a city simply waiting for all of us to leave to become alive again: a veritable city of ghosts, indeed.**

I also recollect that Jodha Akbar (2008), starring Hrithik Roshan and Aishwarya Rai, was being shot then and it was a curious intermingling of history, imagination, and cinematic anticipation as I peeped into the courtyard complex of Jodha-bai, reputedly Akbar's favorite queen.

Jodha-bai's courtyard complex

I could not visit the white marble filigree-screened tomb of Salim Chishti that day and while it was disappointing, I consoled myself with the thought that it only meant that I would have reason to return to Fatehpur Sikri to tie a sacred thread in the dargah and partake of a city ensnared in time....once again.

The tomb of Salim Chisti

Is there a place that has enchanted you and which you would like to keep continually returning to?

** Interestingly enough, Fatehpur Sikri features in the Hindi film, Lal Patthar (1971) where it plays an elemental role in the plot and has a ghost story attached to it; Lal Patthar, or Red Stones, is in reference to the red sandstone that Fatehpur Sikri is abstracted from