Bulleh Shah for Uddhav Thackeray
These could be voices of those wanting peace between Pakistan & India. Mr Thackeray, yours is on wrong side of fence.
The writer is a journalist with Scroll.in in Delhi. He is a Multani from Lucknow, who finds himself trapped in the Republic of South Delhi. He tweets @DilliDurAst
Dear Uddhav Thackeray: most would think it is pointless to write a letter to you, trying to reason, because the Shiv Sena is not known to engage in reasonable dialogue. I am not a Marathi, I live in Delhi and the impression is that your party does not like people such as non-Marathis. This may seem to suggest that you are not patriotic Indians, but you make up for that by being more anti-Pakistan than anyone else in India.
I understand your anger about Pakistan. Terrorism is indeed an issue and Mumbai has seen its gravest implications. But do you realise that even Pakistan has complaints with India, which you and I may not think are valid, but these mutual misunderstandings are not going to be resolved by vandalising the Mumbai Press Club when the Mekaal Hasan Band is addressing a news conference there, announcing a tie-up with three Indian musicians for their next album. When 20 members of your party did that on February 4, thankfully, the police acted in time and took them away.
Their act, presumably sanctioned and definitely not reprimanded by you, showed them and all Pakistanis the worst face of India, as much as you want to see only the worst face of Pakistan. Your problem is that for you, a Pakistani guitarist called Mekaal Hasan and a flautist called Muhammad Ahsan Papu aren’t guitarist and flautist. For you, they have just one identity, the one defined by their passport.
The reasonable argument I am offering to you is to listen online to their 2010 album, Saptak, or at least, its most famous number, Chal Bulleya. In this song, Baba Bulleh Shah wants to go to that place where everyone is blind enough to not recognise caste, race or family name. In our times, Bulleh Shah would have added nationality. India and Pakistan are not such places, but could we try to make them so in our hearts?
The next one, Bandeya, is a warning: only good deeds prevail, here and in the hereafter. Understanding the power of this message is not easy for us, which is why we need music. In the next number, Ranjha, Heer’s pining for the beloved Ranjha is so great that she decides to become Ranjha. Love needs effacement of the self — hatred, on the other hand, is so easy to nurse. Such is the message with which the Mekaal Hasan Band came to your city and you gave them hate. Imagine, if you had reciprocated their message, what could not be possible in this world? In the next number, Jhok Ranjhan, the lover has to travel to the place of the beloved but wants company for the journey. Alas, Heer has to go alone. Jhok Ranjhan is by Shah Hussain, a great 16th-century Sufi mystic. The next one is by a contemporary poet. It’s called Sanwal, in which the poet’s voice wants the lost lover to hear her wailing. In Bhageshwari, the poet wonders how she can win the beloved’s heart, how can she plead so that he responds?
These could be the voices of those who want peace between Pakistan and India and I’m sorry to say, Mr Thackeray, yours is on the wrong side of the fence.
You don’t desire peace because you are weak. You desire peace from a position of strength. Weakness is when you tear up placards in the Mumbai Press Club and shout slogans.
Such weakness gives rise to the kind of suffering and violence we saw during Partition, about which Amrita Pritam’s poem, Aj Aakhaan Waris Shah Nu (Today I invoke Waris Shah) is the last in that album. Pritam implores the 18th-century Punjabi sufi Waris Shah to speak from his grave, to add a new page to his book of love, to arise and see the state of Punjab, corpses strewn on the fields, the Chenab flowing with blood. Thackeray saab, listen to Amrita Pritam’s and Baba Bulleh Shah’s words. You won’t believe how much you will rise in your own estimation.
Published in The Express Tribune, February 14th, 2014.
I understand your anger about Pakistan. Terrorism is indeed an issue and Mumbai has seen its gravest implications. But do you realise that even Pakistan has complaints with India, which you and I may not think are valid, but these mutual misunderstandings are not going to be resolved by vandalising the Mumbai Press Club when the Mekaal Hasan Band is addressing a news conference there, announcing a tie-up with three Indian musicians for their next album. When 20 members of your party did that on February 4, thankfully, the police acted in time and took them away.
Their act, presumably sanctioned and definitely not reprimanded by you, showed them and all Pakistanis the worst face of India, as much as you want to see only the worst face of Pakistan. Your problem is that for you, a Pakistani guitarist called Mekaal Hasan and a flautist called Muhammad Ahsan Papu aren’t guitarist and flautist. For you, they have just one identity, the one defined by their passport.
The reasonable argument I am offering to you is to listen online to their 2010 album, Saptak, or at least, its most famous number, Chal Bulleya. In this song, Baba Bulleh Shah wants to go to that place where everyone is blind enough to not recognise caste, race or family name. In our times, Bulleh Shah would have added nationality. India and Pakistan are not such places, but could we try to make them so in our hearts?
The next one, Bandeya, is a warning: only good deeds prevail, here and in the hereafter. Understanding the power of this message is not easy for us, which is why we need music. In the next number, Ranjha, Heer’s pining for the beloved Ranjha is so great that she decides to become Ranjha. Love needs effacement of the self — hatred, on the other hand, is so easy to nurse. Such is the message with which the Mekaal Hasan Band came to your city and you gave them hate. Imagine, if you had reciprocated their message, what could not be possible in this world? In the next number, Jhok Ranjhan, the lover has to travel to the place of the beloved but wants company for the journey. Alas, Heer has to go alone. Jhok Ranjhan is by Shah Hussain, a great 16th-century Sufi mystic. The next one is by a contemporary poet. It’s called Sanwal, in which the poet’s voice wants the lost lover to hear her wailing. In Bhageshwari, the poet wonders how she can win the beloved’s heart, how can she plead so that he responds?
These could be the voices of those who want peace between Pakistan and India and I’m sorry to say, Mr Thackeray, yours is on the wrong side of the fence.
You don’t desire peace because you are weak. You desire peace from a position of strength. Weakness is when you tear up placards in the Mumbai Press Club and shout slogans.
Such weakness gives rise to the kind of suffering and violence we saw during Partition, about which Amrita Pritam’s poem, Aj Aakhaan Waris Shah Nu (Today I invoke Waris Shah) is the last in that album. Pritam implores the 18th-century Punjabi sufi Waris Shah to speak from his grave, to add a new page to his book of love, to arise and see the state of Punjab, corpses strewn on the fields, the Chenab flowing with blood. Thackeray saab, listen to Amrita Pritam’s and Baba Bulleh Shah’s words. You won’t believe how much you will rise in your own estimation.
Published in The Express Tribune, February 14th, 2014.