Diamonds from Heera

In the past year, my awareness of bhangra has expanded from the modern musical scene to the backdrop tunes of yesteryear. And one of the lodestones of the bhangra industry (based in the British cities of Manchester, Birmingham, and London) is the group Heera.  For those who don't know about Heera, you should know that they were one of the earliest bhangra bands to form, around the time of Alaap and Apna Sangeet, who formed in the late 1970s, and made a massive name for themselves in India and abroad.

I got introduced to Heera in early 2011 while listening to a weekend bhangra show on the radio. One of the listeners called in to complain good-naturedly to the DJ that they didn't play any old school bhangra anymore, that he played only the new stuff ("old school" in bhangra terms seems to refer to anything made before the turn of the millenium). After mentioning this to everybody, the DJ put on a song by Heera, Dowain Jaaniya, and suddenly I was surrounded by the sounds of a tune redolent of 80s-style pop music, sung in Panjabi . I had never heard any oldie bhangra tunes, much less heard of any group other than Alaap, and while I sat there in the wake of a blast from the past, I was thinking, what did the DJ say the name of this group was? At the end of the song he mentioned it again, and at the end of the show I was scouring the Internet for who Heera was. I found some of their recordings, some of their MTV-inspired music videos, and opened myself up to the world of old bhangra.

Heera is notable for their myriad musical experiments. The Panjabi tunes they've done have flirted with practically every genre while keeping their distinctive desi sound. Latino piano and conga  influences resound in the classic Maar Charappa and in Naach Patalo, while techno swerves verve around with dholki bravado and keyboard in Sharaabi Teri Akhiyaan Ne. And don't forget the disco-sounds of Dowain Jaaniya. Of course they like to do more traditional bhangra (without the dhol, unlike Apna Sangeet), as in Milna De Naal Aaye Mitro, but despite this they should be counted as innovators, as the diamonds of the era.

Achchi Si Shayari...For Everyone







Kolaveri Di-- Phenomenon in Pan-Indian Identity



Aishwarya Dhanush singing Kolaveri Di

 This past month I was amazed—and vastly proud—to hear that one of the songs from the Tamil film 3 (Moonu) had made it as a vastly popular song in the subcontinent as well as in my local community. Generally, I don’t pay much attention to South Indian cinema, since my knowledge of Tamil and Malayalam is practically limited to how to read and a few words here and there, but this song has apparently taken the attention of desi communities worldwide. According to Khabar Magazine, where I originally heard of the song, if I hadn’t heard of this song yet, I must be in a coma. After reading that line, I remarked that no, I was not in a coma, but lived with a white family who wouldn’t know anything about this song anyway unless Dhanush himself appeared on American television to sing Kolaveri Di. But the song appeared to me in another way when I visited one of my desi friends, who asked if I had heard of Kolaveri Di; when he began to play a clip of the song for me, his sister mentioned, with slight annoyance, that in the past month she had heard this song over a thousand times. I decided, since I’d heard about it twice in that past week, to find out why it was so popular. My inspection began shortly at YouTube. When I viewed the video, I noticed that it had over 33 million views, and that in the span that I was watching it, four more comments had been submitted to the site.

While I was watching it, I wondered what there was in this song that would make it so popular in the desi world. Of course it is new, and filled with combinations of desi and Western influences (the nadaswaram oboe and tavil of the Deccan collaborating with the modern sounds of saxophone and piano), but I knew that there was something else to all of this. It didn’t take long for me to consider that perhaps one of the factors is that is sung in Indian English, that masala-filled dialect of English that makes Westerners’ heads spin.

            This is that one interesting fact about Kolaveri Di then, that it has gathered the attention of the desi communities not by the use of a local desi language (Gujarati, Tamil, Bangla), but by the use of the common bond of English, the language of the British Raj and the lingua franca of the modern world. And mind you, this is not the English that most Westerners are used to, but a singsong version sung in a South Indian accent (hence the “-u” at the consonantal ends of English words), with grammar that most English speakers would frown at trying to understand. But despite this, I find it has appeal, and mostly because of the rawness of the way that the English is used; it is not the English of the refined university student in India brought up drenched in Anglophilia, but the English of the common man, the English of the rickshaw-puller, the bania, and the local paanwallah. This allows it, from my perspective, to be more accessible to the desi populace, so that it can cross the language barriers between Panjabis and Marathis and come out as something that holds appeal to almost everyone who knows a little bit of English. Along with the popular theme of the heartbroken man leaning over his “glass-u scotch-u, eyes full-u tear-u”, I believe that the past integration of English into India has allowed for this song to become one of the most popular songs recently.

Kishore Kumar Ke Kuchch Gaane

Yeh rahe kuchch gaane Kishore Kumar ke jo pichchle kai dinon ke liye mere man mein phas gae hain. Shaayad aapke liye yeh gaane jo hain naye nahin hain, lekin hamaare liye yeh saare gaane kafi naye hain, aur main yeh sab post kar raha hun is liye ki in gaanon ke lyrics to mujhe bahut hi khubsurat lagne lage. Mujhe ummeed hai ki aap log in lyrics phir se parh ke to khubsurti aur zindagi ka ankahe sachchai mil paayenge.

ये ददर् भरा अफ़साना, सुन ले अन्जान ज़माना ज़माना
मैं हूँ एक पागल प्रेमी, मेरा ददर् न कोई जाना - २

कोई भी वादा, याद न आया
कोई क़सम भी, याद न आई
मेरी दुहाई, सुन ले खुदाई
मेरे सनम ने, की बेवफ़ाई
दिल टूट गया, दीवाना
सुन ले अन्जान, ज़माना ज़माना
मैं हूँ एक पागल प्रेमी ...

फूलों से मैं ने दामन बचाया
राहो में अपनी काँटे बिछाये
मैं हूँ दीवाना, दीवानगी ने
इक बेवफ़ा से नेहा लगाये
जो प्यार को न पहचाना
सुन ले अनजान ज़माना, ज़माना ...

यादें पुरानी, आने लगीं क्या
आँखें झुका लीं, क्या दिल में आई
देखो नज़ारा, दिलवर हमारा
कैसी हमारी, महफ़िल मे आई
है साथ कोई, बेगाना
सुन ले अन्जान, ज़माना ज़माना
मैं हूँ एक पागल प्रेमी ...

मन्ज़िलों पे आके लुटते हैं दिलों के कारवाँ
कश्तियां साहिल पे अक्सर, डूबती हैं प्यार की
मन्ज़िलें अपनी जगह हैं रास्ते अपनी जगह - २
जब कदम ही साथ ना दें, तो मुसाफ़िर क्या करे
यूँ तो है हमदर्द भी और हमसफ़र भी है मेरा - २
बढ़के कोई हाथ ना दे, दिल भला फिर क्या करे
मन्ज़िलें अपनी जगह हैं रास्ते अपनी जगह
डूबने वाले को तिनके का सहारा ही बहुत
दिल बहल जाए फ़कत, इतना इशारा ही बहुत
इतने पर भी आसमाँ वाला गिरा दे बिजलियाँ
कोई बतलादे ज़रा ये डूबता फिर क्या करे
मन्ज़िलें अपनी जगह हैं रास्ते अपनी जगह
प्यार करना जुर्म है तो, जुर्म हमसे हो गया
काबिल-ए-माफ़ी हुआ करते नहीं ऐसे गुनाह
संगदिल है ये जहाँ और संगदिल मेरा सनम
क्या करें जोश-ए-ज़ुनूं और हौंसला फिर क्या करे
मन्ज़िलें अपनी जगह हैं रास्ते अपनी जगह

आती रहेंगी बहारें
जाती रहेंगी बहारें
दिल की नज़र से दुनियाँ को देखो
दुनियाँ सदा ही हसीं है

मैं ने तो बस यही माँगी है दुआएं
फूलों की तरह हम सदा मुस्कुराये
गाते रहें हम खुशियों के गीत यूँ ही जाये बीत
ज़िंदगी
हो~ आती रहेंगी बहारें ...

तुम जो मिले हो तो दिल को यक़ीं है
धरती पे स्वर्ग जो है तो यहीं है
गाते रहे हम खुशियों के गीत
यूँ ही जाये बीत
ज़िंदगी
हो~ आती रहेंगी बहारें ...

तुम से हैं जब जीवन में सहारे
जहाँ जाये नज़रें वहीं हैं नज़ारे
लेके आयेगी हर नयी बहार
रंग भरा प्यार
और खुशी
हो~ आती रहेंगी बहारें ...

हम हम हूँ हम हम दे रे ना आ आ आ आ आँ

लोग कहते हैं मैं शराबी हूँ - २
तुमने भी शायद यही सोच लिया हां ...
लोग कहते हैं मैं शराबी हूँ

किसीपे हुस्न का गुरूर जवानी का नशा किसीके दिल पे मोहब्बत की रवानी का नशा किसीको देखे साँसों से उभरता है नशा बिना पिये भी कहीं हद से गुज़रता है नशा नशे मैं कौन नहीं हैं मुझे बताओ ज़रा किसे है होश मेरे सामने तो लाओ ज़रा नशा है सब पे मगर रंग नशे का है जुदा खिली खिली हुई सुबह पे है शबनम का नशा हवा पे खुशबू का बादल पे है रिमझिम का नशा कहीं सुरूर है खुशियों का कहीं ग़म का नशा नशा शराब मैं होता तो नाचती बोतल मैकदे झूमते पैमानों मैं होती हलचल नशा शराब मैं होता तो नाचती बोतल नशे मैं कौन नहीं हैं मुझे बताओ ज़रा - २
लोग कहते हैं मैं शराबी हूँ - २
तुमने भी शायद यही सोच लिया लोग कहते हैं मैं शराबी हूँ थोड़ी आँखों से पिला दे रे सजनी दीवानी - २
तुझे मैं तुझे मैं तुझे नौलक्खा मंगा दूंगा सजनी दिवानी

MAIN BHI DESI HU NAA!

                  One of the most difficult parts of attempting to immerse oneself into another culture is that of being recognized by other members of that culture. Such is my trouble, which has been going on since the very beginning in all of attempts to become desi. My difficulties of completely fitting in with desis has basically been because I do not look like I’m desi at all; when was the last time a young man with blue-grey eyes and brownish hair of European descent and Protestant background was considered desi by anybody? If I tried, I could pass for a Kurd from Iran or an Afghan, maybe even Kashmiri, but not desi, not as it is usually thought of as a general South Asian from India or Pakistan.

 Despite my efforts, it is always a difficult process to get to know other local desis. First, I don't look like a desi, and this causes others to look at me first with the thought that I am nothing more than just an American, who is probably ignorant of desi culture, of major world events, and obviously their language. Not only this, but my attempts to be recognized as a desi are sometimes limited depending on whether that person I see and want to talk to speaks Urdu/Hindi, Panjabi, or Gujarati, or some other language, since there are sizable amounts of desis in my community that speak South Indian languages such as Tamil and Telugu, which I have only limited knowledge and experience of due to lack of material for me to teach myself about them. Even if they do speak Urdu/Hindi, Panjabi or Gujarati, my attempts at cementing a relationship can be difficult, even if we share a common language. This does not mean I have not had success. Many of the desis around the tri-city area have either seen me or talked with me at desi events, and many of them are quite willing to talk again if they see me, and often in their native language. At college, I have many desi contacts, including professors, most of whom are Urdu/Hindi speakers. I have also made impact through attending desi events (such as performing the dandiya raas and coming to desi concerts), and I was even recognized at the Diwali function by the President of the India Association of East Central Michigan, that too addressed in Hindi. Still, I feel pain when I walk into a public place to find desis who don't recognize me and (implicitly) think of me as another white brick in the American wall ( that too, even after hours of listening to Kishore Kumar and singing along with desi-filled joy) or when I talk to a desi in their language and get a reply back in English. In some of these cases, obviously, people are not able to see that I consider myself desi, and would have not opportunity probably to have me demonstrate it. But in others, I feel hurt that I'm not seen as desi, but simply as something of a oddball. Most of them probably have not heard my complaints about fitting in neither West nor East, which is the old desi adage that the washerman's dog not at home in the house nor at the riverside. But I still go about trying to advertise my desi-ness, which I feel is a powerful force in my life. Despite not being brown-skinned and dark-haired, I consider myself desi because I am able to speak desi languages, because I consider the culture embedded in those languages as the culture by which I want to live my life ( a view partly influenced by the decline of mainstream American culure and the general bad morals), and because I surround myself with aspects of desi culture ( desi music, desi literature, some general desi philosophy, desi food, desi media, etc.).

                I wish there were other ways of advertising my desi-ness other than simply by talking to other desis or expressing my desi-ness to my family through our time together. I remember that when I was younger I would always practice tabla motions around other desis in the hope that they would notice (I think only one has noticed so far). I used to not like going out with my parents and sisters earlier on because I was afraid that other desis would look at the ways that they acted and would think of me, by medium of association, as not being desi. Now that I've been so immersed in speaking Urdu/Hindi and Panjabi, my English has an accent, which, though at first was involuntary, has now become part of me, something I practice, and I am proud of my desi accent. I try not to worry about the things that I cannot handle these days, and be moderate about my desire to express that I am desi to the world, but lately I have been wondering about hanging a sign around my neck that says MAIN BHI DESI HU NAA! (“I’m Desi Too!”) Maybe that would get the attention of other desis who don't yet know about me.

Visit to Masjid

Islamic Center of Saginaw

                In the past month since the Islamic Center of Saginaw has been opened to the public, I have been there twice, both times out of curiosity in Islam and at the urges of some of my Muslim friends. The first time I went was a few weeks earlier in October, when an openhouse was being held for the benefit of unbelievers and those interested in Islam, including myself and one of my professor friends. But my second visit gave me a second view of the local Islamic community without having to read the beatific and reader-friendly exhibits, allowing to see how they practice and preach.

                I'd come due to a few of my friends urging me to come after I'd expressed a desire to watch the regular Friday prayers. One of them, a white girl who had converted to Islam a few years ago, particularly wanted me to come, which I did. Though I am a Christian, I am not adverse to Islam, unlike many other Christians that I know, and I was happy to experience the Jum'a prayers so long as I didn't worship along with the other Muslims. So I came to the mosque, dressed in my usual modest way, this time with a keffiyeh slung over my shoulders, and happened to meet the Imam, who was among the many Pakistanis in the congregation. Immediately after I began speaking in Urdu with him, he told me he was very impressed, and that I was welcome to stay to watch the prayers.

                After removing my shoes, I ambled into the prayer area, sitting at the back, where I thought I would not be a disturbance for anyone. I listened to the azaan and the beauty of the muezzin's voice, which floated, I noticed, through the building's entire sound system. Not long after the Imam had begun his sermon on the importance of repentance, I realized, after women were gathering in the back, that I should really be up in the front with the men; I had committed a minor faux pas in violating common Islamic practice. Though nobody really seemed to mind, I got up and moved to the front, sitting on the ground with other Muslim men and listened to the sermon. After the final prayers had begun, I moved into the men's shoe-rack area and watched, while latecomers hurriedly snatched their shoes from their feet and got into formation with their brethren, some of them pausing to give their salaam to me.

                I hadn't thought that I would be too much of a presence, but after the service, when the Imam began to converse with me in Urdu and Panjabi, I found the Pakistani presence in the mosque was more than I thought. Interestingly enough, many others after my visit seemed to assume that I was a Muslim, despite my not joining them in prayer and keeping myself erect and in the men's shoe-rack area while the congregation bowed towards Mecca; even today my local Indian Gujarati grocer friend, a Muslim, always greets me with "As-salaam aleikum." And the muezzin, also a Pakistani, grilled me in Panjabi for a few minutes to see how well I spoke. When I told him my name, he said, "What? Christopher? No Aziz-Hamzah-Hamid?" Meaning that he thought I was a Muslim, that I would have an Islamic name, and was soliciting a name change from me. Only the Imam and a few others knew that I was a Christian, but were very friendly about me being there, especially since I fit in well with the desi crowd, with my Urdu and Panjabi small talk.

                I am looking forward to returning to the masjid soon, to get to know some of the local Pakistanis better, and also possibly to work on a project with one of my professors, who has proposed a study of the immigrants and their roles at the mosque. A bit of sociology to add in perspective to the religion. Until then, I will be studying Islam further to make sure I can better understand my similarities and differences.