The Organic brew; London, pakistan, photography, travel, poetry & a general acerbic sentiment.

Of the sufis short on time

// November 15th, 2005 // All, Photographs

William Darymple hosted a Sufi themed night ‘sufi soul’ at the Barbican, with a number of ’sufis’ in attendance; including Rahat Fateh Ali Khan (or Rahat Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan as he now likes to call himself). But if the evening ever held your attention it was during the mesmerising performance of Gunga and Mitu Saein, who follow in the famous footsteps of Pappu Saein, part of the same devotional percussionist troupe from Lahore’s Shah Jamal Shrine.

Interestingly- it seems Gunga saein is infact deaf, and only learnt to play the drum because his father taught him the rhythms by beating them on his body [see this interesting article on Lahore]. There was a great synchronicity between the two as the drums beat out complicated beats at a frenetic pace, all the while whirling, in great red blur of speed; it seems incredible to think that one of the performers couldn’t actually hear what the other was playing. While the barbican may not have been the ideal place for them to perform, for they looked slightly lost in the cavernous space around them; I guess my impression is coloured by the fact that the last time I saw them perform, at Shah Jamal in Lahore, they whirled at the eye of a small sweaty cordon of devotees under a heady pall of bhang smoke-a far more befitting atmosphere. One that may have been difficult to recreate in London.

Rahat meanwhile was nothing short of acutely appalling, maybe even a slight embarrassment. As he went on to sing 10 qawwalis in the space of about of an hour; he explained slightly apologetically “time barra short hai”, which apparently then gave him a free hand to trivialize the qawwalis into 5 minute soundclips rendered in a distinctly poppish air. So here we were, listening to choice Nusrat qawwalis, grotesquely disfigured by a pedestrian qawwal who obviously had no intention of actually understanding what it was he sang. And far from the extensive selection of farsi, urdu and Punjabi poetry that Nusrat drew upon to link couplets seamlessly, most of Rahat’s improvisations seemed to be collected from truck poetry.

There comes a time in every mans life when he regrets not carrying around with him a selection of choice, overripe tomatoes- sitting in the Barbican, under the painful cacophony emanating from Rahat, I realized that moment, which comes but once, was upon me but I was powerless to seize it as it passed. A door has closed.
Shame.

I should post some more photographs from the event on the main website; see streetphotos.net for another Gunga & Mithu Saein snap

Related posts:

1. Pappu saein
2. Mera piya ghar aaya – as sung by nusrat
3. Tere Ishq Nachayya
4. ‘He’s my elvis’ – Jeff Buckley on Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan
5. Of mullahs and madmen