Charkha, an attempt at an Album Review

The Album ‘Charkha’ by Rahat Fateh Ali Khan. Get it, play it over and over again. Then slash your wrists and die*, because you’ve heard it all. Enough said.

But I will say more. After listening to the album, one has two options. Either he remains dead silent and lets the light bouncing off the tears streaming down his face speak the encrypted story of a thousand words, a million expressions and countless summer nights of wonderful dreaming; or if he has started writing something about it, he just never stops.

Before attempting my hand at classifying the art into any kind of genre, there are a few other things that I must touch upon. First, I have never heard anything that felt so familiar, so one with me. Maybe it’s the Indian soil reeking from every note, every ‘harkat’ completing every antara. It has the capability to touch people. Second, the lyrics – I am yet to found out who the creator(s) is (are). But the day I find out, and fate permitting, our paths cross, I will touch their feet. I don’t understand a word. But I can relate to them at some other level that simply cannot be explained in words.

This reminds me of an anecdote. About a year ago in Delhi, my mother and I visited the Nizammudin Chisti dargah – someone had advised mother to feed hundred needy ones a meal. Not that I believe in any such rituals as an opportunity to redeem your lost karma points, but I went ahead with it just because the idea was noble and for the sheer thrill of seeing a new place belonging to another time-zone and another culture. I went, I saw, I was moved. But then there was Mirza Ghalib’s dargah right there. I went, I saw, I touched his feet. Creating such poetry isn’t a skill, it’s a gift. Whatever respect given to such great men is just not enough.

I’ve heard a lot of sufi and Hindustani Classical music, owing to my parents. Although this album doesn’t belong to either, it pays homage to both. That is the beauty of it. The music is haunting, the compositions heart-wrenching. And from this horrible state of pain and terror emanates a gulf of pure pleasure, and joy of existence. I’ve also heard a lot of Rahat Fateh Ali Khan. He is gifted beyond doubt. People compare him with his equally superb uncle Nusrat, but I believe he has invented another class for himself with this album.

Finally, it delights me happy that there are people that just wouldn’t let these beautiful things about our culture die, despite giant alien influences. I want to do my part. Someone teach me how to sing, and then how to compose. Enough said now. I shall go back to meditating in my own state of trance.

*The apt description of the album borrowed from another review. I don’t feel the slightest bit of shame.