The recent blasts in Sri Lanka have left most of us numb with shock. That so much hatred could be perpetrated against any group of people, on a day of peace and holy festivity seems completely unimaginable. To me, the tragedy struck a personal note. I know Colombo well, and the Kingsbury and Cinnamon Grand are hotels I have stayed in and performed at.
Sri Lanka’s love for Indian culture and musical tradition has a long legacy. Even outside the Tamil-influenced Northern part of the country, there is an appreciation for both Carnatic and Hindustani music. This has seen many of us artistes travel frequently to perform and work with the Sri Lankan musical eco-system. As recently as last year, I had the pleasure of performing to a packed stadium alongside Sid Sriram, Andrea Jeremiah, Sathyaprakash, Keba Jeremiah, Abhay Jodhpurkar and Nikita Gandhi. I got a rare opportunity to collaborate with one of Sri Lanka’s music sensations, Sanka Dineth, composing a song in Sinhala, Tamil and Hindi promoting peace and unity.
These are times when I reflect upon how we take the diversity of our own nation for granted. In neighbouring Pakistan, I have had friends tell me how difficult it is to perform music in many places.
The traditional Islamic debate between whether music, especially instrumental, is haraam (forbidden) or halal (permissible) has led many in the country to ban music.
The loss of several native traditions of music, and its exponents is one of the saddest cultural erasures in musical narrative. My close friend and cultural renegade Umair Jaffar, who represents the young and more global Pakistani, talks of his struggle to promote local traditional musicians. Finally he left his native land to settle in Canada, where he actively promotes South Asian art and culture through the various institutions he has been associated with, notably the Aga Khan Museum. The same situation existed (and still does) in Afghanistan, where the Taliban regime placed a total ban on musical instruments through much of the 1990s and the previous decade. There are whole generations of Afghani children who were brought up without music in their lives, and taught to think of it as a sin. For a moment, try to close your eyes and imagine what it would feel like — a world without music.
The work of Rohail Hyatt in bringing the most precious Pakistani musicians together and share their music through Coke Studio Pakistan series continues to find great patronage in our country. Such is their oeuvre.
And yet, how much do we celebrate or appreciate the freedom we enjoy? I can take my piano and place it in the middle of Ahmedabad (as I did with fellow pianist Sharik Hasan in 2015) and promote interfaith unity. No one really questioned me, although we had the usual administrative heartache. Even if I want to speak up against any form of administrative or governmental over-reach, I am allowed to do so in a manner that is far more liberal and lenient than in our neighbouring countries. What “loss of plurality” have we truly experienced when you contrast that with regimes that ban music altogether?
Support our live musical traditions. Support our love for life. Support freedom. We never truly appreciate what we have until it is taken away from us.
The writer is a well-known pianist and music educator
