As the pain merges with ecstasy
ANUJ KUMAR
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Ghulam Ali desired to offer something different, but Delhiites wanted the same old "Hungama".
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PHOTO: SHAJU JOHN
IN TRANCE Ghulam Ali in concert.
Listening to him is next to bliss, hearing him is a lesson in humility. That was one's idea of the phenomenon called Ghulam Ali as one waited backstage for his Paigam-e-Mohabbat concert at the Siri Fort auditorium to begin this past week. With "Chupke Chupke" already playing in the mind, one took to the nearest chair. "Yahan to Khan sahib baithenge." It was an old lady. "My name is Hardeep Kaur. I'm an amateur singer and have received training from Begum Akhtar. I have performed with Khan sahib many times...I am going to request him today as well." Here was an opportunity to know more about the man, who is largely reticent. Of course, chair was at the back of the mind as well. "When I met him for the first time in Albert Hall, London, he used to be full of life. Ashiqana mizaj tha... ghazal ke liye zaroori hai. These days he is serious. But his romanticism stems from his love for the spiritual. I believe he is a Krishna devotee," the 70-year-old blushed. Her favourite "Hungama Hai Kyon Burpa, Thodi Si Jo Pee Lee Hai."
But what made him tick for so long? "He sings from the soul. Plus, he had the tremendous capacity to practice. When he was young his practice lasted for 17-18 hours at a stretch. How many youngsters can do it now? Also he had the advantage of harmonium as the companion. You can practice with the harmonium alone for long."
Finally, the master arrived and went straight into the green room to warm up. The seat issue turned out to be an organiser's ploy to keep the old lady occupied. Seated among fans of various hues, Ghulam took a swipe at youngsters who want to be famous overnight. "Mashoor hone ki jaldi hai. One lifetime isn't enough to learn music. Every night is a mehfil for me, but every time I am concerned whether I would be able to perform up to my guru's standards. Music is like travelling in a ship over the seas. You always think the water is up to a particular point. But when you arrive at that point there is more." He said his message of love had always been that people should listen to cultured people in a civilised way. "Tehzeeb walon ko sune aur tehzeb se sune." But the crowd at Siri Fort had other plans. It came to listen to the Ghulam Ali of the albums. So when the master opened with a dadra, "Maine lakhon ke bol sahe sitamgar tere liye", he didn't get the desired response.
No clones
He tried something different, which he admittedly hadn't sung on stage for long. It was Ahmad Faraz's "Zulf raaton si hai, rangat hai ujalon jaisi, par tabiyat hai wahi bhoolne walon jaisi." The ghazal brought forth why no Ghulam Ali clone emerged in more than four decades of his popularity.
All right, his baritone was not easy to copy, but the subtle variations for a single couplet - from effortless romanticism to melancholy - made him unique.
He moved on to "Yeh inayat ghazab ki, Yeh bala ki meherbani, Meri khairiyat bhi poochhi, Kisi ghair ki zubaani." It is said that Ghulam grows on you, but Siri Fort was taking unusually long to come to terms with his style. Slips were being sent, making the singer furious. "I know what to sing." He tried again with, "Roz kehta hoon bhool jaoon use, roz yeh baat bhool jata hoon," and things improved. He followed it with his famous take on Indo-Pakistan relationship, "Faasle aise honge aisa kabhi socha na tha, Saamne baitha tha par woh mera na tha." Somebody in the crowd yelled "Awargi," demanding his all-time hit of Mohsin Naqwi, "Yeh dil pagal dil mera, Kyun bujh gaya awargi."
"Bas yahi awargi hai mere bhai," remarked Ghulam. And the soiree turned to expected lines.
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