Searching for Sufi in India

India has seen a surge of Sufi music festivals over the past few years. But is it the real essence of Sufism that they promote, or do they simply draw the requisite crowd by inviting popular contemporary artistes, wonders  Joanna Lobo after attending Jodhpur’s World Sufi Spirit Festival last month

Amid blasts of fake smoke from a fog machine, Kailash Kher took stage to the beats of his band, Kailasa. After the thundering applause that followed his first song, he spoke of how he is often mistaken for a Sufi singer because of his voice.

Ironically, Kher was performing at the fourth edition of the World Sufi Spirit Festival held at Mehrangarh fort in Jodhpur last month. However, the few hundred people in the audience did not seem to mind. The day before Kher’s performance, Wang Li, who plays the Jew’s harp, confessed his love for Hindustani classical music but appeared clueless about Sufi music.

What exactly were Kher and Li doing at a festival that was supposed to get Indian and international Sufi artistes to perform under one roof?

“Well, there are two kinds of Sufi festivals — there are some which just want to sell tickets, while the others truly propagate the message of Sufism,” says Gulshaa Begum, festival director of The International Sufi Festival India, which began last year at Ajmer, Rajasthan.

Finding Sufism in qawwali
In India, Sufi music is synonymous with qawwali, which is the most common form of devotion in Sufism. It is the qawwals — from both India and Pakistan — who throng Sufi festivals more than other Sufi artistes. Then there are the dervishes of Turkey who whirl to the music in their Sufi sama. The term literally means listening and is used to describe spiritual concerts where music and chanting induce ecstasy and mystical trance.

At the Mehrangarh fort, the two-day-long Sufi festival saw opening acts by qawwalis from Bhure Sa Ki Mazzar dargah. As their pitch reached a feverish crescendo, some in the audience stood up and began dancing, eyes closed, as if in a deep trance. “Qawwali is a special medium. Say, for instance, it is sung in two or three languages, and you don’t understand one of them. Yet, the supporting words in the other language helps you translate its meaning,” says Suhail Akhtar Warsi, a Mumbai-based poet and writer who grew up listening to qawwalis in his neighbourhood in Madanpura, near Mumbai Central.

“Here, ‘Sufi sama’ means qawwali,” says Begum. She believes qawwali is popular partly due to its aesthetic appeal. “It is quite something to watch the qawwal seek a deeper connection with the divine using high, clear calls of praise, deep harmonies and rhythmic clapping,” she says.
In her book, Sufi Music of India and Pakistan, author Regula Burckhardt Qureshi explains the importance of qawwali in Sufi music. “Qawwali is mainly about the power of the word. Secondly, words are effectively applied through the power of rhythmic repetition. The third premise concerns the musical rendering in which both the word and its rhythmical repetitions are clothed. The music and sound have the power to stir the soul and to arouse emotions of love to the point of ecstasy,” she writes.

However, Dr Suvarnalata Rao, curator of the annual Sama’a Sufi Music Festival organised by Mumbai’s National Centre for Performing Arts (NCPA) every year-end since 2009, isn’t thrilled about the context in which Sufi music is staged. “In a dargah, the qawwalis are associated with certain rituals and there is meaning behind the praise. When you take out that context and present it on stage as a ‘performance’, it loses its essence,” she says. Sama’a conducts poetry readings, shows films on Sufism and organises talks that focus on the context in which Sufi music is supposed to exist.

Where are the guides?
Another aspect that gives Sufi music its real meaning is its lyrics. “Not everyone can ‘feel’ it [Sufi music]. You need to be dedicated and have a ‘pir’ — someone who can guide you to that feeling of ecstasy,” says filmmaker, painter and music-lover Muzaffar Ali who is the director of the recently concluded Sufi festival, Jahan-e-Khusrau, held in Delhi.

At many Sufi festivals, the artistes play the role of the pirs. However, given the large number of foreign artistes at these fests, how can one be sure that their form is being understood by the audience? At Jodhpur, for instance, artistes from Mayotte, the archipelago located between Madagascar and Mozambique, performed the Deba ritual dressed in white saree-like outfits. They gradually sang themselves into a trance. But, after a while into the performance, the unnaturally quiet, unresponsive audience began fidgeting. The Mtendeni Maulid Ensemble from Zanzibar, who performed after the Mayotte artistes, drew the same reaction. “You cannot acquire an understanding in a day. It is acquired over a period of time,” says Begum.

This is exactly why choosing the right artistes is essential, says Ali. He says he chooses artistes who do not carry any baggage, are disciplined, humble and those who have the right temperament. Ali also makes sure that the international artists are given an hour on stage — just enough to give the audience an exposure to that particular style of Sufi.

In spite of the debates surrounding Sufi festivals, Warsi feels they are more than “exotic affairs” featuring foreign artists. “They are all about feelings. Your language, instruments, voice may be different, but your experience as a human being is common,” he says. Having attended his fair share of festivals, Warsi is happy with their increasing popularity. “We cannot expect to hear Sufi music in its purest form. Perhaps the respect it was originally sung with is missing, too. But it will take a form of its own,” he says.