In image: Siddhart Kamath (left) and Khalid Ahamed (right), Bangalore, October 2024
I started writing this piece, around 1 am last Saturday. I'd just come back from listening to Parvaaz. I no longer drink or smoke, and yet as I stood and listened to the band for 2+ hours in a room full of people, I felt something close to high. No rigidity of thought, no self consciousness as I swayed and moved my head, banging, nodding as the powerful backbone beats demanded or suggested (on gentler songs). So did the host of people around me. The lights changed from blue to purple to white, a medley sometimes, sometimes a rapid shift, accompanied by smoke, and created an ephemeral scene again and again. Through it, Khalid stood out clearly, front and centre, the dark cavern of his mouth somehow producing that same consistent, clear, honest voice. Gift from God, the thought crossed my mind as I listened with rapt attention and something like hunger, absorbing not just the music but the synchrony that existed so perfectly and intangibly between the four band members.
For those of you not in the know, Parvaaz is a Bangalore based band that consists of Khalid (vocal and guitar), Sachin (drums), Bharath (lead guitar) and Fidel (bass). For this concert, Siddhart Kamath joined them on keyboard.
But who are these people and why do they matter?
Parvaaz has a loyal fanbase of 27,000+ people that has grown over the years, slowly discovering their music and sticking around. Their sonic identity is defined by mixing rock with folk elements, lyrics in Hindi, Kashmiri and Urdu, bolstered by Sachin's impeccable drumming and Khalid’s (and ex-bandmate Kashif Iqbal’s) poetic songwriting and piercing vocals.
When I listened to Roz Roz from their 2014 album Baran, or Katyi Rov from the 2019 album Kun, two things were clear experiences for me–
Music, or actually even a sincere utterance in the form of a cry, moan, hum can communicate emotions as powerfully as (and perhaps more than) words
Some things are best uttered in the language we feel closest to and the emotion behind the words will be understood even by those who don’t understand the words
Roz roz boz mein zar madhno
Daede chaeniey raewam ha raat madhno
Czei ha czei chuk bulgaar madhno
Chaeni patte rowum lokchaar madhno
----
(Oh beloved, stop and listen to the torment that pursues
The affliction is you, the pain continues
It’s you who heals, it’s you who wreaks
The childhood lost in the burning pyre)
Fakir paan chui wanaan
Yi soz-e-bang zan wadaan
Yi chyon, yi myon
Shareek, yi sown
Shafeeq jaan chi maraan
Azeem daed gai rawaan
Kyah gov, kyah gov
katyi rov mahshook
Yi khaaqzad shadmaan-e-payam
Fakir, peer raevmith be-hisaab
Nishaan raevmith be-shumaar
Yi rog chunui zalima
Zamaan chui sorui gawah
Yi chyon, yi myon
Farid, yi sown
Rooh cham daadyen tarjaman
Yaad chaeni saeri bayaan
Raeve chashman kam kam sitar
khaaqzad rooh-o-tan, jaan
----
(This ragged soul is crying out,
the cries evoke a prayer call
A companion-- yours, mine, ours-- is lost.
Cherished souls getting lost;
the pains grow monumental.
What happened here?
Where did love get lost?
The message of love is lost now.
Saints and shamans lost, and how!
Traces lost in the mire
thanks to this torment and fire!
This endless test flows over and over
burning hapless minds, bodies and souls;
Unmask yourself, tormentor;
Time is witness to your role.
An identity--yours, mine, ours-- is lost.
The soul now translates the pain
Recalling tales but only in vain
Starry eyes now filled with gloom
Minds, bodies and souls... doomed?)
The theme of loss comes through strongly in both these songs and a longing for some sort of healing and communion, a communion that seems impossible for some reason. Now though the band has made no such claims, as a listener I cannot stop after my initial listens and remember the context it has been created in. It would be a disservice to forget that the language for both these songs and part of Parvaaz (Khalid and former band-member and lyricist Mir Kashif) is from Kashmir. Be it the use of Kashmiri itself to communicate, the imagery of the lyrics, or the literal bereftness, shadow, and death that the album art shows, these songs seem to echo not just personal loss and grief, but the ongoing loss and grief of a people. The land of Lalded, Arnimal, Habba Khatun, the seat of multiple kingdoms, religions, poetic and literary movements, Kashmir now is a ghost of its former self, and its people struggling in a now uncertain, ever-changing, and tumultuous land.
Kyah gov, kyah gov
katyi rov mahshook
Of course, these two songs are personal favourites but each song in each album put out by the band is singular in its lyrics, tone, and truly worth multiple listens. Shabaan, Zindaano, Mastaan, Beparwah, Gul Gulshaan– no matter which song or album I dip into, there is an honest exploration waiting. The dedication that goes into putting out an album– starting from the detailed work of building each song, till the end where the booklets with lyrics and accompanying images convey more of the story that each album is building– all can help one understand the amount of time and effort Parvaaz puts into creating each work. No wonder that between each album there have been years-long gaps. And these are only the observable aspects; imagine all the blocks that have to be navigated creatively and personally to put the final work out there...
I was introduced to Parvaaz two years ago by an online friend. Their work grew on me as I travelled Turkey alone, navigating a difficult break-up and my own internal fears as well as those of everyone back home due to the continuous earthquakes happening in the country. Baran was my musical companion through that month, and Roz Roz often the song that was paused, rewinded and put on repeat. I didn’t even try finding out the translation or meaning at that point; I didn’t need to. I cried to the song, walked in the cold night with the wind coming from the Bosphorus or the Aegean, saw the moon and as I heard the song, I knew what it meant beyond the words.
In image: Birds in flight over the Aegean, Cunda Island, Turkey, March 2023.
Before I went to the concert, multiple people told me, Parvaaz is really good live! They are better than their recording. That made no sense to me seeing how I loved their albums. How could they be better? But then I experienced their performance at Gilly’s Redefined. That solidified them as one of my favourite bands.
Now I feel grateful that my online friend shared a song two years ago, unaware of the impact it would have on me. And I thank God that I exist in a time when Parvaaz coexists and watching them live (at least once) is now an experience I can count off my bucket list. I also find it poetic that their name, Parvaaz, translates to flight– a fitting name for a band whose music frees that which you might call the soul.
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