Folk music is like a breeze that touches as it blows swiftly. It is like a soft, well worn cap on a chilly morning. It is like the wave that leaves sandy shores moved and moist without a visible trace. Folk music is the music of common man, exclusive in its inclusiveness.
Kutle Khan, Champe Khan, Dayam Khan, Gafur Khan and Roshan Khan proved it again, last evening in South Africa. The Kutle Khan Project performed Indian folk music starting from the classic Kesaria baalam padharo mare des in Rajasthani and including Damadam mast qalandar in Punjabi in Johannesburg. The performance was a part of the ongoing annual Shared History Festival (brought here in collaboration with the High Commission of India), which explores and celebrates the artistic bond and cultural histories of India and South Africa.
On stage, khartal, bhapang, morchang, sarangi, tabla, dholak and harmonium, each instrument stood out in their uniqueness. And yet, maintained a vibrant blend. Kutle Khan and Champe Khan enthralled the audience with their range, enthusiasm and infectious contentment in building bridges with the audience.
Folk music, it is, I said to myself. Unpretentious, open-hearted and direct dil se. Much like Hindi.
It was our first morning in our new home in Johannesburg. We were waiting for the school bus. Excited and a wee bit anxious about the new beginning. We smiled at joggers, said polite hellos’ to walkers and introduced ourselves to whoever slowed down and smiled wider than the rest. Then came a lady who stopped by in response to our standard hello procedure. When we finished, she said, “Do you know Hindi?” Hindi built a bridge. We chatted in Hindi.
It’s been over a year now. We have met lots of interesting people and made some friends. Among the South African Indian community the language of communication is English. But when it’s a joke they share or some juicy gossip, they invariably switch to their Hindi, Naitali (the Hindi dialect developed and nurtured since Indians arrived in the Natal province 155 years ago). The Indian expat community starts conversations in English but not one continues purely in the language. It begins with some sprinkling of Hindi here and there and then invariably the ratio increases. English is the language of communication with all our other friends of varied nationalities. Palak Paneer and Methi Aaloo are as much theirs as mine. Many of them try to use a few of words of Hindi and have a wide grin when they do. Much like my daughter who immediately starts counting from 1 to 10 in Zulu when she is in audible distance from someone she thinks may be Zulu.
In my mind the debate is never Hindi vs another language. Language reflects culture. No language is greater than the other. No language lesser. They are all unique like instruments.
66 years ago the constituent Assembly of India adopted Hindi written in Devanagari script as the official language of the Republic of India. The day is celebrated as Hindi Diwas across the globe. “Is it Hindi’s birthday?” asks by daughter. “I think it’s actually the only day when a lot of Indians try to speak in Hindi,” my son says.
Hindi is my mother tongue. I am proud to be able to understand it, speak it and write it. There is a conscious effort at home that our children do too. It would be a pity to loose a language alive at home while learning Mandarin, Spanish, Zulu and English at school. It is good to know that Hindi is recognized as the fourth largest language in the world but that’s not why I do what I do. I continue to speak in it because it is mine. It is in my DNA. Just as folk music is. I can appreciate Bulleh Shah and Kabir, and get goose bumps when I understand the depths of what they have said because Hindi is the bridge between all of them.
Let’s build stronger bridges.
