Meda ishq vi tun, meda yar vi tun!
I continue to meander through music. This time it was Abida Parveen, the noted Sufi singer who was singing her heart out with gay abandon. What caught my ear was the lyric. Penned by Khawaja Farid (1845-1901),one of the greatest Saraiki poets of Punjab region, who knew Arabic, Persian, Urdu, Sindhi, Panjabi, Braj Bhasha, and Saraiki. It is the dialect I heard every day at home till my parents departed. Saraiki is widely spoken in Dera Ismail Khan of North West Frontier Province of Pakistan & by those forced to flee to India at partition and their descendents. Some extracts:
Sufi music equates God with love in all its manifestations. It begins with the beloved’s resolve. ‘Yar meda pardes gaya, main kalar ves karensa/har singar kun sat ghatan, main surma mul na paisan/tutti, tang chole wali ho, main kapde mul na dhosan/, Gulam Faridan, jadan yar angad aasi/tadan har singar karesan’. I will be dressed in black, throw away all adornments, not darken my eyes, manage with old, uncomfortable attire but shall not wash my clothing till my lover enters my courtyard. Once you give your hear away, it matters little whether the person is dark or fair. Hence ‘Meda ishq vi tun/ meda yar vi tun/Meda deen vi tun, Iman vi tun, ho meda jism vi tun, medi ruh vi tun.’ (you are my love and lover too; my faith and conviction too; my body and my soul too).
The worshipper as the beloved is quite boastful too. ‘Mede yaar jeha na yaar koi/ O meda yar gulab da phul ae/ Attar kathori, lal jawahir/Onde qadam,qadam da mul ae/main han unde bagh da mali/O attay o medi bulbul ae/ (None is like my lover, he’s the rose flower/ a bowl of perfume, the red jewel or Ruby). ‘Deen dharam di mekon lor na kai/Ik darshan yaar da loran/kafar kafar har koi akhay/Tab hargiz munh na mooran/Mari khayin, jhirkian/Teda daman mul na choran’ (I long not for religion but only for a glimpse of my lover. Though everyone calls me an unbeliever yet I wouldn’t turn my face away. Willing to be thrashed and reprimanded, I will not let go of my lover). Once the heart is given away, no wonder all that matters is a total surrender to the other, whether dark or fair: Ghulam Farida, jeh nal dil ar paway/O gori hovay ya kali! For ‘Meda dharam vi toon/Meda bharam vi toon/Meda sharam vi toon/Meda shaan vi toon’ (you are my faith and illusion too, my blush and my magnificence too).
Two lines, which establish the secular credentials of Sufism by merging the lover’s identity into Lord Krishna’s beyond doubt are: ‘Meda sanwal mithra sham saloona/ Man mohan janan vee tu’. (My sanwal or dusky, mithra or darling, Sham another name for Krishna, saloona, the beautiful/ Man mohan, who wins everyone’s hearts too). The reference is in Hindi words. That may explain why the Islamic site, which I accessed simply mentioned its inability to literally translate these verses. Interestingly, in a similar strain, another verse discounts the stigma attached to the dark skin. It mentions people telling Majnu, the lover that his Laila or beloved was dark. Majnu retorted that the problem was not with his Laila but with the viewers’ sight. He drew an analogy to the sheets of Quran, which are white but the writing of holy verses is in black ink.
The Sufi lyric celebrating Krishna in one stanza, describes the lover in the other as kaba or Mecca, kibla or the direction in which prayers are offered, masjid, the mosque, mimbar, the pulpit from where sermon is delivered, mushaf or the white sheets & the holy Quran too. In fact, the Almighty in a lover’s role is identified with everything around, especially with items of adornment. ‘Medi mehndi kajal musag vi toon/Medi surkhi beera paan vi toon’ (my henna, eyeliner, teeth-cleaner/My rouge, betel too). ‘Musag’ is a piece of bark women commonly used to clean their teeth with and it would leave a tinge of red on lips too. The relationship between the two is variously described: as that between a servant and his master (O main nokar tun sarkar hoven) or the gardener tending the bloom-lover in his garden of beauty (Husan tede da bagh hovay/Main mali tun gulzar hoven). Inspired by such heavenly beauty, the beloved is acutely conscious of filth around her. (‘Charay pallu mere chikar bharay/Main kehra mal mal dhovan/Pani melay atay saban thoray/O main talpay rovan/Gulam Farida, je mekon khabar hondi/Ta main mundhon heer na theewan’) There is filth on all the four sides, which one should I scrub and clean. The water too is dirty now and the soap is scarce leaving me upset and in tears. Gulam Farida, had I known, I wouldn’t have become your Heer or beloved.
A biographical note on Abida Parveen claims that her ‘husky but equally delicate voice proclaiming a deeper bond of Universal Love that soars above the boundaries that divide religious and secular denominations. In this sense, her message can be compared to the likes of Kabir and Nanak, both of whom united Hindus and Muslims. How true!
I continue to meander through music. This time it was Abida Parveen, the noted Sufi singer who was singing her heart out with gay abandon. What caught my ear was the lyric. Penned by Khawaja Farid (1845-1901),one of the greatest Saraiki poets of Punjab region, who knew Arabic, Persian, Urdu, Sindhi, Panjabi, Braj Bhasha, and Saraiki. It is the dialect I heard every day at home till my parents departed. Saraiki is widely spoken in Dera Ismail Khan of North West Frontier Province of Pakistan & by those forced to flee to India at partition and their descendents. Some extracts:
Sufi music equates God with love in all its manifestations. It begins with the beloved’s resolve. ‘Yar meda pardes gaya, main kalar ves karensa/har singar kun sat ghatan, main surma mul na paisan/tutti, tang chole wali ho, main kapde mul na dhosan/, Gulam Faridan, jadan yar angad aasi/tadan har singar karesan’. I will be dressed in black, throw away all adornments, not darken my eyes, manage with old, uncomfortable attire but shall not wash my clothing till my lover enters my courtyard. Once you give your hear away, it matters little whether the person is dark or fair. Hence ‘Meda ishq vi tun/ meda yar vi tun/Meda deen vi tun, Iman vi tun, ho meda jism vi tun, medi ruh vi tun.’ (you are my love and lover too; my faith and conviction too; my body and my soul too).
The worshipper as the beloved is quite boastful too. ‘Mede yaar jeha na yaar koi/ O meda yar gulab da phul ae/ Attar kathori, lal jawahir/Onde qadam,qadam da mul ae/main han unde bagh da mali/O attay o medi bulbul ae/ (None is like my lover, he’s the rose flower/ a bowl of perfume, the red jewel or Ruby). ‘Deen dharam di mekon lor na kai/Ik darshan yaar da loran/kafar kafar har koi akhay/Tab hargiz munh na mooran/Mari khayin, jhirkian/Teda daman mul na choran’ (I long not for religion but only for a glimpse of my lover. Though everyone calls me an unbeliever yet I wouldn’t turn my face away. Willing to be thrashed and reprimanded, I will not let go of my lover). Once the heart is given away, no wonder all that matters is a total surrender to the other, whether dark or fair: Ghulam Farida, jeh nal dil ar paway/O gori hovay ya kali! For ‘Meda dharam vi toon/Meda bharam vi toon/Meda sharam vi toon/Meda shaan vi toon’ (you are my faith and illusion too, my blush and my magnificence too).
Two lines, which establish the secular credentials of Sufism by merging the lover’s identity into Lord Krishna’s beyond doubt are: ‘Meda sanwal mithra sham saloona/ Man mohan janan vee tu’. (My sanwal or dusky, mithra or darling, Sham another name for Krishna, saloona, the beautiful/ Man mohan, who wins everyone’s hearts too). The reference is in Hindi words. That may explain why the Islamic site, which I accessed simply mentioned its inability to literally translate these verses. Interestingly, in a similar strain, another verse discounts the stigma attached to the dark skin. It mentions people telling Majnu, the lover that his Laila or beloved was dark. Majnu retorted that the problem was not with his Laila but with the viewers’ sight. He drew an analogy to the sheets of Quran, which are white but the writing of holy verses is in black ink.
The Sufi lyric celebrating Krishna in one stanza, describes the lover in the other as kaba or Mecca, kibla or the direction in which prayers are offered, masjid, the mosque, mimbar, the pulpit from where sermon is delivered, mushaf or the white sheets & the holy Quran too. In fact, the Almighty in a lover’s role is identified with everything around, especially with items of adornment. ‘Medi mehndi kajal musag vi toon/Medi surkhi beera paan vi toon’ (my henna, eyeliner, teeth-cleaner/My rouge, betel too). ‘Musag’ is a piece of bark women commonly used to clean their teeth with and it would leave a tinge of red on lips too. The relationship between the two is variously described: as that between a servant and his master (O main nokar tun sarkar hoven) or the gardener tending the bloom-lover in his garden of beauty (Husan tede da bagh hovay/Main mali tun gulzar hoven). Inspired by such heavenly beauty, the beloved is acutely conscious of filth around her. (‘Charay pallu mere chikar bharay/Main kehra mal mal dhovan/Pani melay atay saban thoray/O main talpay rovan/Gulam Farida, je mekon khabar hondi/Ta main mundhon heer na theewan’) There is filth on all the four sides, which one should I scrub and clean. The water too is dirty now and the soap is scarce leaving me upset and in tears. Gulam Farida, had I known, I wouldn’t have become your Heer or beloved.
A biographical note on Abida Parveen claims that her ‘husky but equally delicate voice proclaiming a deeper bond of Universal Love that soars above the boundaries that divide religious and secular denominations. In this sense, her message can be compared to the likes of Kabir and Nanak, both of whom united Hindus and Muslims. How true!
