Ghazals Love songs

Missing you

The night was overcast and cloudy. The breeze had died down in the evening itself, and the night was cool but the calm was deceptive. I had an uneasy foreboding, a sense of something that could happen soon. The windchime had stopped sounding, too. We were woken up by a low pitched rumbling sound. More than half asleep, I didn’t recognize it at first. Then I heard the orchestra unfold itself: a loud clashing of the celestial cymbals, followed by an ominous drum roll as the reverberations echoed from the surrounding mountains and filled the valley. An intermittent sharp whiplash and a flash of brilliant lightning would light up the skies and one could see everything bathed in an eerie blue/purple hue. The divine percussionists’ performance continued unabated for a couple of hours, scaring the nightlights out of me and despite being in a home made of laterite blocks, the fury of nature on full display was awe inspiring, tinged with unmistakable fear. After the prolonged rhythmic introduction, it started raining. And when it rained, it P O U R E D. Huge drops of rain quickly turned into a steady downpour and sheets of water descended from the heavens to quench the thirst of the parched, baked, earth. The mercury plummeted precipitously as a frenzied sellout on the stock market. From a warm night, we quickly transited to a distinctly nippy night. I drifted off to catch up with twenty five of my forty winks. I woke up to a calm and still sunrise. Decades of getting up at the same time means that I am always up way before sunrise, even on Sundays and holidays. After the sorely needed pick me up cup, we walked 5km in the clean, refreshed surroundings. The song started playing in my head, apt after the deluge in the wee hours.

A lovely ghazal by Farhat Shahzad rendered by the maestro as only he can. The purity of his singing is apparent in this composition based on Miyan ki Malhar. I must have heard at least 6 versions of this ghazal sung in live concerts and while they are alike, they are distinctly different.

एक बस तू ही नहीं मुझ से ख़फ़ा हो बैठा

मैं ने जो संग तराशा था ख़ुदा हो बैठा

उठ के मंज़िल ही अगर आए तो शायद कुछ हो

शौक़-ए-मंज़िल तो मेरा आबला-पा हो बैठा

मस्लहत छीन ली है क़ुव्वत-ए-गुफ़्तार मगर

कुछ न कहना ही मेरा मेरी ख़ता हो बैठा

शुक्रिया ऐ मिरे क़ातिल ऐ मसीहा मेरे

ज़हर जो तू ने दिया था वो दवा हो बैठा

जान-ए-शहज़ाद को मिन-जुमला-ए-आ’दा पा कर

हूक वो उट्ठी कि जी तन से जुदा हो बैठा

Khansaheb if in the right mood, improvises by introducing other ash’aar into his renditions, always ensuring they are relevant and concordant with the soul of the original. That’s the liberty and licence he earned by virtue of the widespread, nearly unanimous deep respect he commands from all quarters. Check out this version from another concert.

An eternal favourite of mine from the big man, it was particularly appropriate for today, in the lull after the storm. Stay healthy and happy, folks, enjoy the Sunday while I pay homage to the father of the Mangeshkar siblings, Master Deenanath as he was popularly called by his many faithful fans, today on his 80th remembrance day.

By abchandorkar

Consultant Interventional Cardiologist, Pune, India

4 replies on “Missing you”

Beautiful write – up…

The sentences like….loud clashing of the celestial cymbals..
The divine percussionists’ performance…..
After the prolonged rhythmic introduction…. Too good..

Painted a perfect picture for the readers who were not present on site with you at that time at that place…..
All this along with a beautiful song🙏🏻🙏🏻

Liked by 1 person

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