Damadam mast qalandar in New York

There was a time, not too long ago, when Pakistani visitors or residents in the US wore Pakistan on their sleeves, so to speak. They would love to be asked where they are from and, in reply, gave an enthusiastic discourse on Pakistan — its history and geography, the Mohenjodaros and the mountains.  They felt good talking about their country. Not anymore.

Now they would rather no one ask them where they are from. They are guarded and self-conscious of their identity especially after the May 1 incident when Faisal Shahzad, a self-confessed “soldier of Islam”, attempted to blow up Times Square in the heart of New York City.

The reticence of Pakistanis can be gauged from this incident: A friend of mine, a doctor, who has been in the US for over 20 years, was sitting at a bar in a restaurant. The bartender, during the usual chitchat bartenders have with their customers, asked the doctor where he was from. “Do you really want to know?” the doctor responded, half-jokingly.  “Pakistan?” the bartender guessed.

The reluctance of the doctor to readily disclose his origin and the ease with which the bartender guessed the answer is a sad commentary on the reputation Pakistan has built for itself in the last decade or so.

Therefore, it was a rare sight, last week, to see hundreds of Pakistanis living in New York City and surrounding areas gather in Union Square Park singing, swaying, waving their flags, happily showing off their identity.  An organisation called Pakistani Peace Builders, encouraged and assisted by Pakistan’s ambassador to the UN, Abdullah Hussain Haroon, had set up a show of Sufi music. The idea was to tell New Yorkers, and through them the rest of America, that people like Faisal Shahzad do not define Pakistan and that a vast majority of Pakistanis believe in tolerance, respect and a commitment to universal human rights.

It was an open-air event held in Union Square, a busy and happening place in New York City. More than 2,000 people turned up to watch the three hour long show. The crowd included, other than Pakistanis, several ethnicities including Indians and “local” Americans.

The music troupe included performers from all provinces of Pakistan. However, the main attraction was Abida Parveen, the reigning queen of Sufi music in Pakistan. The Daily Telegraph rightly described her as “one of the greatest singers of the world — even if you can’t understand her”.  Everyone seemed to be enjoying the show, clapping and swaying to the beat. However, when Abida came on stage as the last performer and began with what has become her signature Sufi song, "Damadam mast qalandar", the crowd was electrified.  The two drummers (on dhols), in accompaniment, sent additional voltage into the crowd. One couldn’t see a single person standing still. Even an American woman, not too far from me, whom I had noticed earlier sitting still in a folding chair she had brought with her because of an apparent leg problem, stood up and started dancing. A distinguished looking tall, middle-aged Sikh, in a scarlet red turban, who sat inscrutably throughout the show, broke into bhangra. Music does cast a spell over people.  Iqbal was right when he said: Rahay na Aibak-o-Ghauri kay ma’rkay baaqi/Hamaisha taza-o-sheerin hai naghma-I-Khusro. (No one remembers the battles of Aibak and Ghauri/But music of Khusro lives sweet and fresh forever.)

Published in The Express Tribune, July 25^th, 2010.