Mir Mukhtiyar Ali’s music is emotional, euphoric, but more significantly, transportive. It takes you to an arid, lonely, faraway land. It seats you on a charpoy, with a tall glass of makhaniya lassi in hand, under the silvery glow of the moon as this Mirasi musician (from Pugal village in Rajasthan) renders love ballads and poignant tales of greed and war. His expansive voice peaks, swivels and cascades bringing alive the drama and dreariness of desert life.
Mukhtiyar, who performed recently in the city as part of the Saptha Rasa festival, drew the audience into the intimate space of his music that had the meditativeness of Sufi, the gay abandon of folk tunes, the contemplativeness of Kabir’s verses and the rapture of qawwali. The connect that he established within minutes of beginning his concert, was not purely because of his singing; he illustrated most musical phrases with a verse, particularly Kabir’s that explained life’s truths in simple expressions. There was a rustic appeal and honesty about the way he urged people to tune into the peace within, and the manner in which he engaged with his co-musicians.
While Jethram on the percussion lent vibrancy to the goings on, Paul Jacob on bass guitar (who also captured the flavour of Rajasthan in his outfit ) and Donnan Murray (acoustic guitar) showed what effective and unobtrusive accompaniment is about. The guitar riffs and Mukhtiyar’s rousing vocals made for a unique concoction and was a forward step in fusion presentations.
As requests for Dama dam mast kalandar , Moko kahan dhundhe re bande , Yeh jo halka halka suroor hai and more echoed through the well-refurbished Rani Seethai Hall, Mukhtiyar said, “So you want to listen to everything today. Why don’t you call me again?”
Full of exuberance
There was Bulleh Shah’s sufi kalam, there were songs of Muhammad Baksh, Shah Hussain and Meera Bai, there was Amir Khusro’s composition and of course, a liberal dose of Kabir’s dohe. Yet the ambience was far from solemn. Mukhtiyar may not be much exposed to urbane flamboyance, but his endearing humour, his deep understanding of tassawuf (mysticism) and presentation skills instilled his non-formulaic music with exuberance.
During a brief chat backstage before the concert, the 41-year-old Mukhtiyar said he belonged to the 26th generation of a family of musicians and knows no other way of communication. As a young boy he toiled on the farm through the day and spent the evenings singing. Mukhtiyar never dreamt that he would be travelling around the globe as a musician. “I only wished that this wonderful and ancient identity of our community shouldn’t fade. Hence I took to music seriously. Terms like genre, style and technicalities have never mattered to me. Nor do religion or caste. Sangeet dil se dil ka milap hai (music is the meeting of hearts).”
Mukhtiyar is now making the effort for youngsters of his community to take to the art. He has formed the Sarojini Trust that helps interested kids pursue education and music. “Some of them are showing immense promise. We have seen enough hardships. I want the next generation to seek better opportunities,” he said. Besides, his resonant voice being heard loud and clear across frontiers, he has also sung in films (including ‘Kadhai’ in Tamil) and recorded albums (with Vasundhara Das and Mathias Duplessy).
At the photographer’s request to strike some informal poses, he quipped, “jab main gaata hoon tabh hi accha lagta hoon” (I look good only while singing) and began to croon the popular desert song, ‘Kesariya balam aaonee, padharonee mare des…’
If you haven’t heard the haunting sounds of the sand dunes, listen to Mir Mukhtiyar Ali.
