I just watched the excellent first episode of "Horace and Pete", a new series by Louis C.K., released on his website yesterday without any warning or publicity.
Louis C.K is a genius. As a fan of his stand-up comedy and his un-categorizable FX series, "Louie", I have come to expect an element of surprise in everything he does. His writing and his comedy is hard to pin down. Like great art, it may entertain you at times, but the primary emotions it evokes are discomfort and a visceral sense of life's tragic absurdity.
"Horace and Pete" is a dysfunctional family saga that feels like a theatrical production. Alan Alda is brilliant as the foul-mouthed, world weary Uncle Pete and overshadows excellent performances by Jessica Lange, Steve Buscemi, Edie Falco and Louis himself. Amazingly, the episode seems to have been filmed a couple of days ago with references to Donald Trump skipping the most recent Iowa Republican debate. The closing credits with the Paul Simon song, written for the series, is a perfect bookend.
Pay $5 and see it. Can't wait for the second episode. Who knows when the unpredictable Louis will drop it on his fans.
The shrine of Hazrat Amir Khusrau in Delhi's Nizamuddin quarters
Random musical discoveries have often been the trigger for these posts. The other day I caught Tahira Syed singing a beautifully composed kalam, "Araj suno be-gun kee Khawaja" on Yusuf Salahuddin's PTV show, Virsa. The quintessential Lahori, Salahuddin is poet Allama Iqbal's grandson. To the city "elite" (or what in modern Pakistan passes for it), his walled city home, "Haveli Baroodkhana" is a familiar venue for private musical and cultural events.
Here is Tahira Syed singing "Araj suno". Ustad Nazar Hussain is the composer.
Araj suno be-gun kee Khawaja
(be-gun: "one who does not have any qualities or skills")
Kar do Khawaja hamray kaaj
(hamray kaaj: literally "our work")
Araj suno be-gun kee Khawaja
Mujh aajiz par nazr-e-karam ho
Tumro naam gareeb nawaj
("gareeb nawaj" is a commoner's pronunciation of "ghareeb nawaz" meaning "one who gives generously to the poor")
Araj suno be-gun kee Khawaja
"Araj Suno" are the words of supplication, of imploring, of begging to be heard. The words themselves simply mean "listen to my pleading", but they have a larger sense of also asking for relief. They are a cry of anguish and a plea for help.
The language of this poetry is a street Hindustani patois, not a high aristocratic Urdu (Urdu-e-mualla). Arabic and Persian alphabets like "z'wad", "zay" and "gh'ain" become Hindi sounds like "ja" and "ga". It is meant to represent the sentiments of the common people.
Tahira Syed unconvincingly attributed the lyrics to the 14th century sufi poet and musician Hazrat Amir Khusrau (1253 - 1325 CE). Lots of traditional sufi kalaam is erroneously credited to the legendary Khusrau.
Qawwali music and its lyrical tradition originates with the Chishtiya Sufi order and its South Asian founder Hazrat Khawaja Mueenuddin Chishti Ajmeri (also know as Ghareeb Nawaz). Mueenuddin Chishti was followed by his disciple, Qutb-uddin Bakhtiar Kaaki (also buried in Delhi), who in turn was succeeded by Hazrat Faridiuddin Masud Ganjshakar (buried in Pak Pattan in Pakistan). After Baba Farid, the order split into the Chishti-Nizami and Chishti-Sabiri factions. Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya was the disciple of Baba Farid and Amir Khusrau was Nizamuddin's disciple.
Amir Khusrau is considered the patron saint of Indian-Pakistani sufi and qawwali music. Credited with inventing the tabla, he is also said to have founded the sufi music troupe known as "Qawwal bachoN ka gharana". Farid Ayaz and Abu Muhammad, known to younger audiences through their performances in Coke Studio Pakistan, are from this gharana. Khusrau was an accomplished musician, poet and scholar but most "Hindavi" poetry attributed to him was written much after his death. He is buried near Nizamuddin Auliya's shrine in Delhi.
The influence of this poetry and music is visible in many different places in the sub-continent's culture. Here's perhaps one of the most familiar recent efforts. This is Tina Sani singing the start of Faiz Ahmed Faiz's "Mori araj suno". She then shifts to sing a completely different Punjabi poem by Faiz titled "Rabba Sachheya". Later Arieb Azhar recites the original poem in its entirety.
"Mori Araj Suno" - Faiz Ahmed Faiz (from "Sham-e-shehr-e-yaaraN") Tina Sani sings: Mori araj suno, dastagir pir
(O my lord, pay heed to my appeal) Mairee kahun kaa say mein apnay jiya ki pir
(to whom do describe the anguish of my soul)
Arieb Azhar recites:
Iss surat seh
(With this grimace)
Arz sunatay
(Pleading)
Dard batatay
(Sharing the pain)
Nayya khaitay
(Rowing the boat)
Minnat kartay
(Asking for his blessings)
Rasta taktay
(Waiting expectantly)
Kitni sadiyaan beet gai hain
(Countless centuries have passed by)
Ab jakar yeh bhaid khulla hai
(Only now has it been revealed)
Jis koh tum ne arz guzari
(The one who you had appealed to)
Jo tha haat pakarnay waala
(The one who held your hand and guided you)
Jis jaag laagi nao tumhaari
(Where your boat had docked)
Jis say dukh ka daaroo manga
(From whom you had asked for a panacea for your pain)
Toray mandir may joh nahin aaya
(The one who did not visit your temple)
Woh tau tum heen thay
(It was you only)
Woh tau tum heen thay
(It was you only) (translation: Syed Obaid Hasan Raza on a YouTube comment)
And finally here's Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan singing "Araj suno mori piya" in Raga Kaunsi Kanhra.
Just the other day I was watching Stephen Colbert and Matthew Broderick sing Julie Andrew's famous "My Fair Lady" song "Loverly" live on Colbert's late night show. I sat there on my couch captivated by the melody and for the first time really paying attention to the lyrics. And the more I listened, the happier I felt, drawn to the simple dreams of Eliza Doolittle's life.
All I want is a room somewhere
Far away from the cold night air
With one enormous chair
Oh, wouldn't it be loverly?
Lots of chocolate for me to eat,
Lots of coal makin' lots of heat.
Warm face, warm hands, warm feet
Oh, wouldn't it be loverly?
Oh, so lovely sittin' abso-bloomin'-lutely still
I would never budge till spring
Crept over me window sill
Someone's head restin' on my knee
Warm and tender as he can be
Who takes good care of me
Oh, wouldn't it be loverly
Loverly, loverly, loverly, loverly...
As I listened to the original song repeatedly over the next couple of days it struck me how closely Eliza's words matched my own idea of a good life: basic comforts, simple pleasures and love. If I could add just one line to the original lyrics, this song would become my life's anthem:
All I want is a room somewhere
Far away from the cold night air
With one enormous chair
Oh, wouldn't it be loverly?
Lots of chocolate for me to eat,
{Lots of books for me to read},
Lots of coal makin' lots of heat.
Someone's head restin' on my knee
Warm and tender as he can be
Who takes good care of me
Oh, wouldn't it be loverly
And here's the beautiful Julie Andrews singing in the original stage version.
(The stills of Julie Andrews in this video are superb)
The role of Eliza Doolittle in the movie was played by Audrey Hepburn but it was still Julie's voice.
Banished to the proverbial desert island and forced to live with one volume for the rest of my life (God forbid!), I would likely take my copy of E.B. White's essays. His exquisitely crafted prose elicits, in me, unadulterated joy and admiration. Whether writing about the streets of New York, the animals on his Maine farm or a summer visit to the lake, he manages to infuse the mundane with extraordinary life and vitality. His lightly-worn avuncular wisdom is timeless.
Yesterday, reading his 1954 essay "A slight sound at evening", written for the hundredth anniversary of Thoreau's Walden, I was again struck by his prophetic voice. It was over sixty years ago that he wrote:
"Thoreau's Walden is pertinent and timely. In our uneasy season, when all men unconsciously seek a retreat from a world that has got almost completely out of hand, his house in Concord woods is a haven. In our culture of gadgetry and the multiplicity of convenience, his cry 'Simplicity, simplicity, simplicity!' has the insistence of a fire alarm. In the brooding atmosphere of war and the gathering radioactive storm, the innocence and serenity of his summer afternoons are enough to burst the remembering heart, and one gazes back upon that pleasing interlude - its confidence, its purity, its deliberateness - with awe and wonder, as one would look upon the face of a child asleep."
