King of poetry
The relationship of ghazal as a form of poetry and as form of music has not really been explored
By Sarwat Ali
A two-day Ghazal Festival organised by Alhamra last week was more or less representative of the ghazal singing prevalent in the country. Ghazal has been a popular form of music while it has been a major form of poetical expression in South Asia. It has been through various phases in its 100-year-old documented history and the current phase is a style that hangs between the intonation as exercised by Mehdi Hasan and Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan.

In defence of Maula Jat

An American's viewpoint on Punjabi cinema

By Gwendolyn S. Kirk

"Do you have Wehshi Jat on VCD?" The man working behind the counter of the fancy video store in Defence raises his eyebrows and regards me suspiciously for a moment after I make my request. He asks again to make sure he has heard correctly, then I start rattling off my list of films I am searching for-Wehshi Jat, Maula Jat, Aurat Raj, Wehshi Aurat, Badmash Gujjar... He leads me to a rear corner of the store where they have at least a few of the films I've been looking for, but the experience beautifully encapsulates my experience, so far, of people's attitudes towards Punjabi cinema. I've generally gotten one of two responses from people when I have tell them I'm interested in researching Punjabi movies: either the blank stare or the uncontrollable burst of laughter, which often turns into a blank stare once they realise I'm completely sincere. Much like my friend in the video store, they find it incomprehensible that an American girl would even be interested in these films; yet I find them completely fascinating.

One of the biggest hurdles the Pakistani film industry currently faces is the slow death of its cinema-going culture. From talking to people here, there seem to be two major reasons behind it. The first issue is that of terrorism; recent bombings of cinemas have naturally scared away many would-be audience members. The second issue, perhaps even more powerful, is economic. Few people are prepared to spend hundreds, or perhaps even a few thousand, on transportation, tickets, and refreshments for themselves and their family on a regular basis when one such trip to the cinema costs many times more than their monthly cable bill, or the cost of a pirated DVD of the latest Indian blockbuster. Cinema halls are forced to close due to lack of profit, and filmmakers are forced to cater to the audience that remains, mostly young, single, working class males.

Issues of cinematic logistics aside, the other issues that people constantly repeat are issues of aesthetics. In some ways, these prejudices may be more problematic for the film industry than any of the problems listed above. The main complaint about Punjabi films today is that they are far less family friendly; this is perhaps rooted in the economic struggles listed above; if the only audience is young men, it is unsurprising that the films would become sleazier and more sexualized to cater to that particular demographic. In general though, people's prejudices against Punjabi films seem to come more from what almost strikes me as a cultural insecurity. I have had this conversation, more or less, at least a few times: "What don't you like about Punjabi movies?" "They're all fighting, laraai, fasaad." "And what is it you like about American movies?" "They have such great fight scenes!" People like the same things in cinema everywhere, yet here it's an issue of style. The expensive, glossy, Hollywood and Bollywood movies embrace a different aesthetic altogether than Punjabi films, especially those of twenty and thirty years ago, and not just in terms of technology or special effects.

It is a tremendous disservice to formulate a value judgment of an entire film industry on comparisons with other film industries. Cinemas are a lot like languages; they consist of sets of signs waiting to be interpreted by viewers, they vary widely from one another, and they are intimately tied to the culture that produces them. The cinematic language of Punjabi films is incredibly rich and unique. With the increasing urbanisation of Punjab, not to mention the hegemony of Urdu and the culture of the Urdu-speaking world, these films remain a bastion of Punjabi language and culture, and especially rural language and culture. Wehshi Jat itself, the mother of all the Maula Jat movies, is based on the short story "Gandasa" by Ahmed Nadeem Qasmi (although, tellingly, the story is written in Urdu rather than Punjabi).

Local culture also plays an important role in the very cinematography of the Punjabi film industry. Another frequent comment I hear is that these movies are simply cheesy or poorly made. It is true, there are no Matrix-like special effects in Maula Jat; Pakistani directors have had limited access to new filmmaking technologies. Yet from what I have seen this has not been a complete detriment to the local cinema. The use of camera angles, lighting, and editing in some scenes is wildly innovative. It is a different cinematic language, with its own highly poetic cadence and accent; it refuses to conform to the Hollywood filmmaking conventions that have taken over so many other film industries around the globe.

Perhaps one of the most unique and important characteristics of Punjabi films is their treatment of women. In no other South Asian film industry that I know of is there such an abundance of strong-willed, tough-talking, fighting heroines. In almost every Punjabi movie I have seen, and in particular the classic films of the seventies and eighties, the women are able not only to sing and dance but also to take on five villains at once and live to tell the tale. Heroines such as Anjuman would be revolutionary feminist icons in almost any country in the world; they defy the sexist stereotypes of women so common in movies across the globe.

Finally, my biggest objection to the discourses denigrating Punjabi cinema is the insistence that these films aren't realistic. No cinema is realistic; Jean Luc Godard described cinema as "the most beautiful fraud in the world". The primary work of cinema -- any cinema -- has everything to do with people's fantasies, and almost nothing to do with their realities. The people who say that Punjabi films aren't realistic and, therefore, are bad are the same people who will go watch a highly 'realistic' film such as Iron Man 2. When taken on its own terms, Punjabi cinema can be understood as a complete and complex cultural expression that has a great deal to teach us about the people who enjoy it and perhaps even more about those that don't.

The writer is a graduate student of Linguistic Anthropology, University of Texas. She is currently visiting Lahore


 

Rhythms of life

It took ages for the cultural expressions in Gilgit-Baltistan to develop and mature, they are now fading away at a much faster pace -- there is a dire need of proper documentation

By Naeem Safi

Gilgit-Baltistan, being one of the most beautiful places on earth, has a lot more to offer than just the scenic beauty. Contrary to the popular belief, the inhabitants of these valleys in the northern areas are much more cultured and civilised than their counterparts in the urbanised communities of the south. Their respect for diversity, belief in originality, unaltered hospitality, a rich value system, and love for peace can hardly be matched by the mechanised, 'modernised', educated, and enlightened humanoids.

Up in these valleys, one is lucky enough to witness a humble old man -- passing by on the dirt road, with his coarse hands, worn-out clothes, and bent under the weight of a straw bundle -- transforming into this leaping and beaming dancer. As if some ibex jumping from rock to rock, with that special gaze and swift moves painting images in the air, like many of his ancestors would have done before him. The brisk footwork, the stop-motion-like feel of it, the strong eye contact combined with facial expressions, the gradual transition of gestures and moves from suggestive to persuasive, entrap the intoxicated spectator in its web, just the way a hunter would trap his prey or a lover his beloved. Reflections of feelings, emotions, and aspirations, like frozen images in each move or 'frame' of the dance. These can vary between an eagle's dignified romance, a charging soldier, the swaying dervish, a noble commander, a jolly sportsman and many others. In some styles, certain moves and gestures clearly show imitation of the mating dance found in various other species.

The dance styles found here have roots around and beyond the Pamir knot, and have evolved through many generations and religions. But somehow the origins and inspirations have been lost among the changing layers of ideologies and cultural mingling, change in lifestyle preferences, and the gradual decline in reliance on nature in its un-adulterated state.

The dances specified for cultivation, Bao Faow for instance, and other such for harvesting and other seasonal festivities have their roots in old times, and these might have been proper religious rituals of the pre-Islamic times, like the famous Navajo hunting chants. The dances of these valleys are inter-connected with layers of aesthetics, poetry, music, history, mythologies, and drama. However, the dynamics of response vary from tribe to tribe, family-to-family, season-to-season, types of rituals, and festivals. Each style or occasion requires its own music, poetry, age group, and set of costumes. Along with the regional and tribal signature styles, individual performers improvise and adjust their moves according to the music and type of event, moving back and forth between the spiritual and the carnal, the plural and the singular, the subtle and the perceptible. Despite so many variations and improvisations, there is some method, some order in this disorder, that distinguishes its variants from the others.

The narrative may not be as elaborate for the non-locals as other dance forms of the subcontinent, Kathak for instance, but that could be because of the weak vocabulary available to translate such ethnic expressions, especially their interpretive aspects. These puzzles need masters and experts to study them carefully and then translate them.

Dance, in its essence is celebration of life and not lines. It is strange that dances from these valleys yet have to make it to the national level 'cultural' celebrations, the way the rest of the four provinces are represented by an assortment of dance styles of their own. One of the most valuable and priceless assets of this country is its rich cultural diversity. And all the efforts to consciously neglect or undermine these marginalised communities and their unique identities, for some hypothetical idea of unity, have caused a lot of damage and a good part of this priceless heritage has already been lost forever.

Who knows that this art form -- if approached with a genuine desire for inquiry in mind, on onomastic, anthropological, and other such levels -- may reveal certain aspects, which can connect the scattered dots of identity in crisis and fill in the gaps. High-level academic investigations will not only help understand the beauty of it, but may be able to connect the present with the original sources of inspiration.

Such cultural expressions are beyond religious and geographical boundaries. And though, it took ages for these cultural expressions to develop and mature, they are now fading away at a much faster pace, are in dire need of proper documentation. The range of complex gestures must be deciphered, not just for the sake of preservation but also for further promotion. The preservation of the intangible cultural heritage is the least the inhabitants and the authorities of this part of the world must do, especially when mindless 'development' plans in the very region are destroying the rich range of other heritage forms, like the marvellous petroglyphs along the ancient Silk Route -- which are undoubtedly a part of the world's heritage.

Two points many views

In her forthcoming exhibition at Canvas Gallery, Karachi, Durre Waseem is not restricted to one subject in her art, contrary to common practice

By Quddus Mirza

Durre Waseem and Mughees Riaz were students of College of Art and Design at the University of Punjab, yet they both present different approaches in their art. Riaz is currently a part of the faculty at the Punjab University, whereas Durre Waseem, after teaching at her alma mater for seven years, left Pakistan for California, US, where she has continued her academic career. Despite being involved in art education, both artists have continued to paint and have evolved their distinct styles within the framework of realism and naturalism. Their subject matter, the landscape, is apparently identical, yet they have dealt with this in separate schemes; each has focused on an aspect that turns the outside world into his/her personal vision.

In fact the two artists are not landscape painters in the strict sense of the word, since human bodies, still life and urban views are also seen in their works. Riaz concentrates on composing human figures and animals in vast areas of rural land, whereas Waseem comes across as an uninhibited painter who captures whatever fancies her. Thus in her work (to be displayed at Canvas Gallery, Karachi, along with Mughees Riaz) scenes of interiors, outside views, fruits, flowers and even bicycles are rendered in a realistic manner.

This disparity of subject matter can be read as a sign of Waseem's indecisive approach when it comes to selecting a 'subject' for herself. At the same time, it reveals a rare quality among the painters especially in our context. Durre's decision -- or just temperamental tendency -- to draw a variety of objects and themes seems surprising in an art world where artists aim to establish a specific set of imagery or subject that can soon become their mark of identity. In some cases, the urge to have an individual style is genuine and justified but, for a large number of artists, this is a sophisticated and clever response to the demands of galleries and the expectations of collectors, who need a new brand -- as well as brand new product in the art market.

In that sense, the art of Durre Waseem appears strange and 'underdeveloped' at first glance. Especially because the painter -- having graduated in 1988 and taught from1990 to 1997 -- is considered a mature and established artist, with a solo show at Lahore Art Gallery in 1997. After her migration to the US in 2001, she has shown at various galleries with three solo exhibitions in California, including the one at the Riverside Art Museum; she has been recognised as a significant Pakistani painter both here and at her place of residence.

May be the painter's reluctance to 'arrive' at a specific and certain 'subject' (that must not be confused with style, as many artists tend to make) has to do with her current country of living, the US, which despite its neo imperialist designs, is still a multiple and diverse society. Even though, at times, a particular part of population (blacks, Muslims), face hostilities, by and large the social structure is based upon acknowledging the equal rights of diversity. On the other hand, our social, cultural and religious spheres have lately become singular -- only the majority's belief, customs and version of history are accepted and allowed. In such a situation, naturally the artists too strive to create or concoct a singular vision -- which may be called subject, style or trademark.

Whatever the reasons, Durre Waseem is not restricted to one subject in her art. Her canvases depict a variety of concerns and images. The link between a pair of bicycles and ducks in a pond looks odd, but if seen in relation to other works on display, one realises her position and comes to know the motive for making these pieces. Actually, it is a painter's strive to denote the visual phenomenon, purely, on her surfaces. Interplay of light, variations of hues, illusion of distance and interesting composition (what the painter describes as 'geometry') are visible in her paintings. More than that, it is the sheer pleasure of putting paint on canvas that dominates her art and aesthetics. The thick and pasty strokes strike the viewers' eyes, which are accustomed to locating a comfortable view while looking at the paintings. Instead, the work of Waseem is more about the -- hasty -- act of negotiating with the artist's colour palette and the natural phenomenon that is unfolding in front of her. In that dialogue, or duel, the painter is bent upon presenting her inner vision, regardless of whether she is standing in front of a courtyard in Los Angeles County or a studio near Riverside. What we see is the artist at work, who transforms the physical world from her surroundings into a combination of strokes and patches of strong and seductive shades. The layers of colours denote the presence of a sensuous surface that, besides conveying the outside world, adds a visual delight into it.

In fact that role of an artist, of being a vehicle to create and contribute something exciting within our age-old experience of seeing the world, seems to be the reason d'art for Durre Waseem. Like several artists (and writers, in the words of Amos Oz, the Israeli author) who function as a tinted window through which we know reality, she performs the same task. Interestingly, the reality we see through the art of Durre Waseem is not about the landscape of Los Angeles, or her flat in California, but of an art world in our midst, which Waseem manages to show with her ample body of work, freely.

(The exhibition of Mughees Riaz and Durre Waseem is being held from July 12-21, 2010, at the Canvas Gallery, Karachi)

 

King of poetry

The relationship of ghazal as a form of poetry and as form of music has not really been explored

By Sarwat Ali

A two-day Ghazal Festival organised by Alhamra last week was more or less representative of the ghazal singing prevalent in the country. Ghazal has been a popular form of music while it has been a major form of poetical expression in South Asia. It has been through various phases in its 100-year-old documented history and the current phase is a style that hangs between the intonation as exercised by Mehdi Hasan and Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan.

The relationship of ghazal as a form of poetry and as a form of music has not really been explored, as indeed the relationship of other forms of music with its lyrical content.

One wonders whether the evolution of the geet as a form of poetry along with the form of music has been concentric. Usually it is held that geet is much more musical in the sense of being melodic and lyrical which helps it to be composed to or set to music. While the same thing can be said about ghazal, but only partially so -- for ghazal though lyrical in its metrical pattern may not always be melodic -- the concepts of taghazzul and of naghmagi probably do not always coincide, and if they do then it is probably the understanding of the poets against the understanding of the musicians. Since the poets are good with words, they are able to propagate their points of view much more than musicians who just have musical expression as their medium and not words, which may operate at various levels. Other than poetry, they function at the level of critical understanding and rational argument and the ordinary people tend to understand this extra artistic spelling out than the integral expression of music.

One wonders whether the other forms of poetic expression have been sung with the same frequency as the ghazal and the geet. Kaafi and wai are two forms that have been sung extensively in Punjab and Sindh as indeed the dastaans across the cultural landscape of north Indian subcontinent. The various metrical forms like the rubai, musaddas, masnavi, and mukhamus, and after the colonial encounter, nazm have had less musical conversions. Some nazms, even azad nazms have been composed and sung during the course of the 20th century and some have become quite popular. Nazm has never really been the preferred form of poetry set to music. Probably in Central Asia and Persia these forms of poetry were more set to music but in the subcontinent only the ghazal has achieved that level of popularity as a musical form.

Probably this debate needs to be narrowed down because there are many forms of poetic form especially with its regional variations and then there are an equally large number of musical forms corresponding to it. And as far as the ghazal is concerned, one wonders whether there is any other way of singing the ghazal than the one, which has gradually evolved during the course of the 20th century in Pakistan and India. The ghazal because of its couplet format was easily set to music with the first line of the matla forming the asthai and the second line the saani while the first line of the succeeding couples gave way to the improvisation of the antara. Similarly, the lack of a necessary relationship between the various couplets gave the musicians the autonomy to play around with the verses and the phrases. The ghazal since its inception probably in the 19th century has existed in the musical tension unleashed between the compositional aspect and the improvisational aspect of music. Its content in the sense of its poetry has been more properly enunciated through the compositional aspect while the musical aspect is displayed through the ability to improvise.

In the last few years the improvisational aspect has been reduced compared to the compositional aspect and that has affected the quality of musical expression. It has limited its scope and probably provided an open space to the use of heavy orchestration. It is a matter of conjecture as to when the pop groups and the bands will start in earnest to sing the ghazal as that will be a radical departure as some of the forays into the singing of kaafi and geet have shown. The basic difference will be of intonation because the application of the sur is totally different.

In the concert, the singers mostly remained faithful to the traditional style of singing the ghazal as it has evolved over the last hundred years or so. Some of the names that performed were Hamid Ali Khan, Asif Javed, Hussain Bukh Gullo, Imtiaz Ali, Riaz Ali, Saima Jehan, Nida Faiz, Rafaqat Ali Khan and Shujaat Ali Khan.

It was not so long ago that the ustads thought it beneath them to sing the ghazal. It was only meant for female singers especially those accompanying dance. It was probably Ustad Barkat Ali Khan who started to sing the ghazal in earnest and the musical taste has changed so much that Mehdi Hasan's ghazals now are classified as classical music, a place reserved previously only for dhrupad and kheyal.

 

 

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