Beginning of The End

dukh|dard

for added dukh you can play the song above.

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One of the most consistent features of subcontinental people, aka desis, is the lament for the loss of power and prestige. In many ways, this lament has lasted for several centuries, ever since the British came in to colonise the whole region. Central to this lamenting is the belief that the loss of power was caused by a ruling elite that had become too indulgent in the pleasures of life. An elite that had become careless, and even effete, as it celebrated wine and poetry more than the rigours of ruling.

The celebrated writer Munshi Premchand captured this sentiment in his story, Shatranj Ke Khilari (The Chess Players), which also happened to be translated into the only Hindi-language film acclaimed director Satyajit Ray ever made. The plot of the story revolves around two noblemen who remain so involved in their passion for playing chess that they end up ignoring the upheavals going on in their personal lives.

I have never been one to endorse this view fully. While there is little doubt that empires on their downturn are marked by self-indulgent, out-of-touch elites, I don't like the idea of blaming the arts for a political downfall. But there are times I wonder whether the idea of lamenting itself is one that all desis enjoy too much to let go.

Much of these thoughts come after reflecting on the art form known as the Ghazal. The ghazal is "a form of amatory poem or ode, originating in Arabic poetry. A ghazal may be understood as a poetic expression of both the pain of loss or separation and the beauty of love in spite of that pain". Now, it is too much for an uncultured idiot like me to try and explain the multitudes of meaning and relevance that the ghazal has, particularly in South Asia. But what I wish for you to take away is the celebration of pain — the celebration of a love that necessarily causes heartbreak.

Given that most South Asians have their life partners chosen for them according to all kinds of considerations except love, the idea of choosing someone to love is both liberating as well as, in most cases, practically impossible. Perhaps that is why you see countless trucks and buses with 'Sanam Bewafa' (disloyal lover) written on them. Perhaps that is why you can find similarities between the superb poetry of Mirza Ghalib and the Instagram posts of . Each of these examples represents desis celebrating the exquisite pain that only a broken heart can provide.

I am the furthest thing from any sort of expert on sub-continental music (I can't play any instrument nor do I understand the meticulous and detailed knowledge of Indian classical music) but I also feel that the birth of modern Pakistani pop music — which can be traced to somewhere around the early 80s — saw the sentiment behind the ghazal translate into pop music. These songs lacked the rules that ghazals follow, but they captured the same emotional aesthetic. Think of the songs by Vital Signs, or Sajjad Ali, or even early Junoon. Atif Aslam is perhaps the epitome of this trend, as his decidedly untrained voice manages to reflect the sweet pain that desis crave. The point of all this is to emphasize just how much the subcontinent loves to celebrate the valiant hero, the doomed affair, the star-crossed lovers.

For Virat Kohli, the idea of being a valiant hero must be a relatively recent one. A superstar during the golden age of Indian cricket, Kohli has picked up countless accolades. Always marked out as a child prodigy, he captained India to the U19 World Cup in 2008, and just three years later picked up the senior version of the title too — one that had eluded most of the players who had ushered in this golden age. He soon established himself as a premier batsman in all three formats, and tasted considerable success in each.