THIS ABOVE ALL
Yearning for lost
youth
Khushwant Singh
LOSS of youth is a
popular theme in Urdu poetry. The picture of an old man crippled
with age walking with his head bent low as if looking for
something that he has lost is thematic:
"Jawaani
jaati rahi, aur hamein pataa bhi na chala, isi ko dhoond raha
hoon kamar jhukaye huey"
(I lost my youth
and I didn't even realise it. It is this that I am looking for
with my waist bent low).
Another poet
compared the world to a sarai where people come to stay for a
while and go their way. So, while youth comes and departs never
to return, old age comes and stays till the end of one's days.
CUP OF BLISS: Youth is synonymous with fun and frolic and has been a favourite theme for poets down the ages
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Mirza Ghalib was
the most eloquent on the subject. Recalling nightlong drunken
orgies of his younger days that have now became memories, he
says:
"Voh
baad-e-shabaana ki sar mastiyaan kahaan?
Utthiye ke ab
lazzat-e-khwaab-e-seher gayi"
(Where have those
nightlong orgies of drinking gone? Get up now, far gone are the
sweet dreams of dawn).
And
"Maara
zamaaney ne Asadullah Khan tumhein,
Voh valvaley
kahaan, voh jawaani kidhar gayi?"
Singing
sardar
He is a sardar,
but not the stereotyped one. He certainly looks like one with
his turban, beard and sturdy built. Though 58 and sporting a
greying beard, he looks a good 10 years younger. First his name:
Dya (instead of Daya) Singh. He speaks both Punjabi and English
fluently without the slightest trace of a local accent. He is
highly educated - a Chartered Accountant with a degree from
England - and is in consultancy business in Australia. But he is
best known as a raagi (a singer of Gurbani). Unlike other raagis
who sing in ragas of Hindustani music with harmoniums and tablas,
he has evolved a unique style of singing, which is a kind of
blend of eastern and western music with guitar and banjo. He is
accompanied by his troupe that comprises white Australians. I
have tapes of his singing the Sikhs' five daily prayers (nit
neym) and the morning hymn Asa di Vaar. Everyone who
has heard him concedes that though at first it is strange to the
ear used to hearing Gurbani in the conventional form where the
music often blurs the message, with Dya Singh it is the other
way round — the divine messages came through clearer than in
kirtans that one usually hears.
Dya Singh was in
Delhi recently for a few days. He dropped in to see me and I got
some details of his life and career.
He is the son of
Giani Harchand Singh, who was a regimental granthi-cum-preacher,
attached to a Sikh regiment in the British Indian Army. He gave
up his job to become a granthi (teacher) and raagi in a gurdwara
in Malaysia. Dya Singh was born in Raub on Baisakhi day (April
13) in 1950 and is a Malaysian citizen (the family originally
came from Rai Kot Basiyan near Ludhiana and are Dhaliwal Jats).
He first went to a Muslim primary school. Thus he was taught how
to perform the namaaz before he learnt Sikh prayers (It
reminded me of Guru Nanak's first disciple, the Muslim rebab
player Bhai Mardana, whose descendents remained the chief
kirtanyas of Harmandar Sahib in Amritsar till 1947). Dya Singh
joined an English- medium school in Kuala Lumpur. At the age of
12 he began singing ghazals and Gurbani in Indian programmes on
Radio Malaysia. Mohammed Rafi, Jagjit Singh, Bhai Avatar Singh
and Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan inspired him. But he has a distinct
style of singing. He earned enough to enable him to go to
England for higher studies. He fell in love with a local girl
and married her. The couple has three daughters.
Dya Singh
completed his course in chartered accountancy and decided to
settle in Australia. The family now lives in Adelaide where he
continues his profession with public performances of his style
of kirtan in different parts of the world. Though he has not had
as much exposure as he deserves in the land of his ancestors, he
is a unique phenomenon.
Moonstruck
It will be a jolly
good idea
To have an Indian
on the moon.
We the pavement
dwellers will look up, up
And expand our
skinny shrinking chests
With justified
glory and pride.
With bated breath
shall we wait
For the 'manna'
and 'honey-dew'
To fall from
heaven;
While our
'national dustmen' (pardon, Dickens)
Play their dirty
games
In the 'national
dustyard'
To capture or
retain the throne,
By hook, crook, or
by bribe;
While we'll wait
and wait till eternity
For, patience is
the bade of our bribe.
(Contributed by
P.S. Nindra, New Delhi)
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