Saturday, March 31
Khwaja Ghar Aaye
Written for Outlook City Limits: There may be no shrine in the world like the Inayat Khan dargah: the grave-site in India of a Sufi saint with an entirely international following. Although Hazrat Inayat Khan was interred here in 1927, his following - primarily from Australia, the United States and Europe, but existent on every continent - only began to visit the dargah in the 70s, when travel to India became easier. As a result, his dargah is a beautiful but schizoid place, welcoming to the global faithful but exclusionary to the people right outside doors.
Many people in Delhi know the dargah of Inayat Khan, but within the lively and decrepit neighbourhood of Nizamuddin where it is located, a surprising number do not. They’ve all noticed the angrezis converging on a small wooden portal in a whitewashed wall, but their business inside is their own. Those who are aware of the dargah also know that qawwali is performed there every Friday, but it is for angrezi logon, and they’re not tempted to attend, for they have the dargah of Nizamuddin Auliya for their own kind.
The local disinterest should not discourage qawwali enthusiasts from visiting. Eventually you will find the door beneath the Inayati coat of arms, and behind it a grassy courtyard. A feeling of blessed tranquility pools inside the high walls, besieged by the cram of honking humanity outside.
The qawwali begins after the maghreb, the evening prayer, around 7 pm this time of year. If you arrive early, you will have nothing to do but listen to the murshid sing gentle benedictions over the platter of naans to be distributed outside the dargah door. Otherwise it is a hushed still-life, with only a rare figure passing down a hall.
The qawwali is held in the mazaar, beside the grave. On a regular Friday, no more than fifteen people will seat themselves around the room to hear Mehraj Ahmed Nizami and his sons sing. As qawwals, their family could hardly claim a more distinguished geneaology: it begins with Saamat, a disciple of Amr Khusrau himself. Saamat was a deaf-mute until one day Hazrat Nizamuddin took a bubble of saliva from his own lips and put it to Saamat’s, gifting him with hearing and speech. Saamat pledged himself to Khusrau’s music until the apocalypse, and countless generations later, Mehraj Ahmed Nizami still sings the same words of praise. He has done so at the Inayati dargah for fourty years. A third generation after him is represented by Mizan, who looks born to sit at the head of the chorus, although he is only two and needs help making his hands connect in a clap.
When their voices break the envelope of silence over the dargah it is like a second miracle of sensory awakening. Even if your experience of the music is secular, the ambience, the acoustics and the intimacy of the room make it extraordinarily personal. Harmonies come into relief and the masterfully played dhol reverberates in your gut. Nizami abides by a traditional form, which he sings with relish and obvious joy, and the verses take on new character when he meets your eye.
Afterwards I spoke with a French researcher, a student of Nizami’s for twenty two years. "A qawwal needs a uniquely sophisticated mind," she told me, "The repertoire is huge and the meaning of the poetry is deep. He knows who he is singing for, and so how to insert the verses in a connecting thread – and in that lies the power of qawwali to really open people’s hearts."
Many people in Delhi know the dargah of Inayat Khan, but within the lively and decrepit neighbourhood of Nizamuddin where it is located, a surprising number do not. They’ve all noticed the angrezis converging on a small wooden portal in a whitewashed wall, but their business inside is their own. Those who are aware of the dargah also know that qawwali is performed there every Friday, but it is for angrezi logon, and they’re not tempted to attend, for they have the dargah of Nizamuddin Auliya for their own kind.
The local disinterest should not discourage qawwali enthusiasts from visiting. Eventually you will find the door beneath the Inayati coat of arms, and behind it a grassy courtyard. A feeling of blessed tranquility pools inside the high walls, besieged by the cram of honking humanity outside.
The qawwali begins after the maghreb, the evening prayer, around 7 pm this time of year. If you arrive early, you will have nothing to do but listen to the murshid sing gentle benedictions over the platter of naans to be distributed outside the dargah door. Otherwise it is a hushed still-life, with only a rare figure passing down a hall.
The qawwali is held in the mazaar, beside the grave. On a regular Friday, no more than fifteen people will seat themselves around the room to hear Mehraj Ahmed Nizami and his sons sing. As qawwals, their family could hardly claim a more distinguished geneaology: it begins with Saamat, a disciple of Amr Khusrau himself. Saamat was a deaf-mute until one day Hazrat Nizamuddin took a bubble of saliva from his own lips and put it to Saamat’s, gifting him with hearing and speech. Saamat pledged himself to Khusrau’s music until the apocalypse, and countless generations later, Mehraj Ahmed Nizami still sings the same words of praise. He has done so at the Inayati dargah for fourty years. A third generation after him is represented by Mizan, who looks born to sit at the head of the chorus, although he is only two and needs help making his hands connect in a clap.
When their voices break the envelope of silence over the dargah it is like a second miracle of sensory awakening. Even if your experience of the music is secular, the ambience, the acoustics and the intimacy of the room make it extraordinarily personal. Harmonies come into relief and the masterfully played dhol reverberates in your gut. Nizami abides by a traditional form, which he sings with relish and obvious joy, and the verses take on new character when he meets your eye.
Afterwards I spoke with a French researcher, a student of Nizami’s for twenty two years. "A qawwal needs a uniquely sophisticated mind," she told me, "The repertoire is huge and the meaning of the poetry is deep. He knows who he is singing for, and so how to insert the verses in a connecting thread – and in that lies the power of qawwali to really open people’s hearts."
