Thank You Jagjit Singh & Iqbal Bano For Getting Me Through Traffic

I love traffic jams!

Ghazals are what I need to listen to while I’m stuck in traffic.

(Photo: Saumya Pankaj/The Quint)

Who doesn’t hate traffic jams? I won’t be surprised if you’re reading my post as you wait for the signal to turn green. Hai na?

Everyone wants to get home or to their office on time. The slow-moving traffic on Delhi-Gurgaon Highway can really test your patience and your driving skills, but for me, traffic is the best hour of my day. Before you judge me, let me tell you — it’s therapeutic and relaxing.

(Gif Courtesy: giphy.com)

Okay, I can see those eyes twitching. But hey, at least, I know how to maintain my sanity while I watch a lamebrain text and drive, or a knucklehead drive at the speed of 40 kmph on a fast lane.

All I just do is roll up the window to drown out the racket and craziness, and calmly but quickly attach my phone to the car stereo, letting the heady symphonies from the maestros – Jagjit Singh, Mehdi Hasan, Iqbal Bano, Farida Khanum – weave their magic around me.

Aaj jane ki zid na karo is my exact emotions when I’m stuck in a four-lane jam and Farida Khanum soulfully soothes my nerves.

It’s amazing how a multitude and complexity of emotions ranging from hurt to trying to hold on to a love almost lost just few lines of Mehdi Hasan’s Ranjish hi sahi” can evoke.

It’s difficult to move beyond the nasal and shaky wonder of Mehdi Hasan’s voice crooning, “Pahle se marasim na sahi phir bhi kabhi toh rasm-o-rah-e-duniya hi nibhane ke liye aa”. I have never been certain of what part of the creation causes pangs of yearning in the heart– is it the words, the music or the artist?

The genre of ghazals is peppered with sheer genius. Contrary to popular perceptions, it is not only love and longing that have been so tenderly expressed through this medium. It has also been used to voice political dissent.

In 1985, Faiz Ahmed Faiz’s revolutionary nazm ‘Hum Dekhenge’ written against General Muhammad Zia-ul-Haq’s increasingly repressive dictatorship was sung by the much loved singer Iqbal Bano wearing a black sari (banned at that time in Pakistan for being an un-Islamic attire) to an audience in Lahore. It was a powerful act of defiance and a challenge to the mighty tyrant. The intensity of the verses combined with the husky voice of Iqbal Bano still convey the message with the same force as they must have three decades ago.

Closer to home, the whiskey smooth voice of Jagjit Singh should be credited for releasing the art from the hegemony of Urdu elites to the masses. He sang for mainstream cinema and gave us absolute gems such as ‘Jhuki jhuki si nazar’ and ‘Tumko dekha to ye khayaal aaya’. These songs were a simpler rendition of the ghazal form, easier to understand and yet just as evocative.

Unfortunately, with the passing away of Jagjit Singh this art form seems to have lost its anchor in India. Our only source of new renditions or original creations within this style these days is Coke Studio, Pakistan that has produced some absolute treasures in the last few years. Hopefully, music industry here will soon recognise this gap and we get to see a revival of the good ’ol ghazals.

Until then, I feel grateful to the geniuses of the past – poets and artists alike for leaving such melodious bounties in abundance. Grateful for rescuing me from the insanity of the late evening Delhi traffic and in fact turning it into a time of the day that I actually look forward to.

(Shivangi Rai is a development sector consultant with a passion for writing.)

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