I looked at my surroundings and, for the life of me, I just couldn’t figure them out.
The last thing I could remember was sitting in my room, and now I am standing outside an amphitheater in a queue, which, I might add, is very orderly despite being full of what I think are people from the subcontinent. Does this mean I am dead? This fills me with dread. I try to flee the line I am standing in but I can’t move. The line is moving forward and my legs are carrying me towards the entrance and there is nothing I can do about it. Soon, the entrance is looming in front of me. Closing my eyes and mentally bracing myself, I step into the hall.
I open my eyes and see that the stage is set for a qawwali mehfil. Various musical instruments are laid out on the floor and the backup singers are getting ready. I want to stand and take this all in, but my legs are already carrying me towards a seat. As soon as I sit down, I look around and notice that almost everyone is looking at the stage in complete silence. Suddenly, there is commotion on the stage as a qawwal enters from one side. When the man’s appearance becomes clear, I can’t believe my eyes – it’s Aziz Mian.
This confirms it - I am dead, and I am in heaven.
Aziz Mian sits down. The rest of the party arranges itself and then, in a raspy voice, that I had always dreamt of hearing in the flesh, rings out:
“Friends, forgive me
I am in intoxication
The evening of swirls is very beautiful, please drink
Drink two, four, cups of wine from my hands
When a lover makes you a drink with his own hands
Wine is not forbidden then, drink please”
And he launches into his magnum opus, and I watch transfixed as he whips into a frenzy, waving his hands manically, his voice reverberating. Suddenly, a voice rings out, “O sharabi, chor dey peena”(‘‘O’ drunkard, stop drinking’’) and Aziz Mian, along with the rest of the hall, throws a glance around to spot the person who committed this blasphemy. I crane my neck and I can’t believe it: it is the Sabri Brothers. This is turning out into a pretty amazing place! Suddenly, another stage pops up for the Sabri Brothers and they start belting out “O sharabi, chor dey peena”(‘‘O’ drunkard, stop drinking’’), openly taunting Aziz Mian.
Meanwhile, Aziz Mian watches them while chewing on a betel leaf, waiting for them to finish. Soon the Sabri brothers finish their performance and the hall watches on with an abated breath. Aziz Mian spits out the leaf and starts singing, “Hai kambakht, tu nein pee hi nahi” (‘‘Unfortunate soul, you have never drunk!’’). The hall erupts, while the Brothers look on sullenly.
While Aziz Mian is approaching the end of his song, another stage pops up. Sitting upon it, is Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. I am positively hyperventilating.
I think to myself, “I won’t mind spending an eternity here”. And while this inner monologue goes on, Aziz Mian stops singing and is looking at NFAK questioningly. The brothers join Aziz Mian, and look at Ustad Nusrat Fateh Ali speculatively. The Ustad takes all the looks in, and starts singing “Yeh Jo Halka Halka”. Unsurprisingly, the hall starts cheering madly.
NFAK was called the king of qawwals and this performance by him clearly shows why he received that title. I don’t know what is more mind numbing: that I am seeing my idols in the flesh or that I am dead. Seeing my idols wins, hands down.
Suddenly, Ghulam Sabri sits up and rushes towards the entrance and disappears. Muffled shouting and crying can be heard. A few moments later he re-enters the hall, dragging someone in with him and it takes everyone a moment to realize that it’s Amjad Sabri. A silence falls throughout the hall.
Aziz Mian, NFAK, and Maqbool Sabri converge on Ghulam Sabri and Amjad Sabri. A very animated discussion takes place that goes on for a while. While the discussion goes on, all but one on the stage disappears and soon the qawwals make their way back to their thrones. They sit next to each other and, for a moment, they look around before taking in a deep breath. Then, as if on cue, they start singing in perfect harmony:
“Aaj rung hai e maan rung hai ri
(This day there’s a jubilant colour, Mother! Jubilant colour!)
Chalo ri
(Come on, oh!)
Are e ri mere mahboob ke ghar
(At my sweetheart’s home, there is jubilant colour!
I can’t stop the tears from streaming down my face, as my idols keep on singing. Soon they reach the crescendo and, I, along with rest of the hall, join in with frenzied clapping. The music takes possession of me and I lose myself in it… I start to dance around like a madman, and soon others join me. We keep on dancing and the hall is filled with a bright light. Soon, it becomes hard to look around but we keep dancing to the music. I close my eyes, but I keep on dancing.
Suddenly, the music stops and I open my eyes. It takes me a moment to realize that I am back in my room and “Rung” is playing on my stereo.