Come, come, everyone come
Find yourself
Come
Find your way home.
So goes the song of the Tumata Ensemble. Lulled by 2 hours of traditional pendantic shamanic (baksha) melodies from Afganastan, Turkey, Persia and the Steppes of Russia, we ease gently into rhythmic rocking of sufi strains. and the whirling of dhikr begins. The Swiss sheik is a doctor of musical history, his wife with the long golden locks a German musical therapist and the balance of the ensemble of seven encompasses the rest of the world. They are masters revered around the world for their study, collection, and performance of music in its oldest forms. Tonight's performance presents the vina, the sitar, the harmonium, a flute and a few more, in addition to the soft sounds of the pouring of water.
Afganastan tunes are architipically similar to Apalacian in melody, rythm and tempo, the Afganis among us lead us in singing along; cowboys of the Steppes may have been tele-transported right to our own wild-wild west; Turkish Sufis from the congregation join the performers in dancing the 'horse dance' of Turkey until the little space cleared for them in front of the low stage becomes a coral of prancing, head tossing steeds.
An hour and a half of journey through time and the mid east leads us to a refreshingly lilting interpretation of Sufi tradition. And the whirlers come forth. While the hundred rock and sway in wasaif, they spin, skirts billowing, arms lifted, floating, connecting heaven and earth, eyes closed in ecstasy. Sweet, subtly powerful, I wish it wouldn't end. But Sunday's dusk creeps in.
Monday morning's sheik caravan teachings goes on for hours, I never tire of the telling of the Universal message of Love, Harmony and Beauty. I'm pleased to learn more of the intimate history of PHIK as told by Sheik-ul-Masheik Mahmood Khan, his nephew and Pir Zia's uncle.
After closing prayers, I decide to be alone today, my last day in India.... 'till next time!
One last poignant embrace of the saints, PHK and PVK. Kneeling at their feet, head bowed to cold marble, I get the message. "Welcome. Well Come. Come Again."
After a stroll about the Basti, visiting the cap maker and the perfume seller, I strike out for a 1.5 K walk to Lodhi Park. Forgoing a rickshaw, I get to see another side of India, with its fenced-in garden communities and international corporate headquarters manned by gates and guards. So this is how the other half lives. Not the one percent, certainly, but certainly these never know hunger nor want for warmth. Along the way, I'm engaged in conversation several times by locals, professionals who are of this very different world from the one I've engaged these past few weeks. Several of them have been to US numerous times, but not one has seen Philadelphia. I urge them to come, to see a bit about our history, as we share in common winning independence from colonial Britain.
Lodhi Park, like Longwood Gardens, is a wealthy-class escape from concrete and cacophony to lush lovingly tended gardens. Much smaller than our treasure, it's a refreshing drink none-the-less. Winding paths encompass acres of dahlias, labeled trees, manufactured water ways and spacious lawns. They've created a rain-capture terrain, and, signs admonish: "Don't allow anyone to harm the trees!" Here, as I've seen in even the poorest of the poor sectors, are fledgling trees barricaded by 3 foot fences baring the insignia of "Green India." In this area, too, are bins for compostables. Disappointingly, I've looked but haven't found recycling bins anywhere.
The park is spun around a scattering of ancient structures - some of the oldest tombs, mosques and gateways I've seen on this trip. Children run and play on the lawns. A few of them are wading in a shallow pond in a jocial attempt to herd the fish, drawing shrieks of delight from their compatriots ensconced safely on the bridge. Tourists snap photos, lovers cuddle on park benches, ice cream vendors call to passersby, old men simply sit. Such a lovely close to an amazing three weeks.
Tonight, our little group will gather for a farewell dinner. Then tomorrow, en sh'Allah, the EU freeze will have been dealt with, and I'll be winging my way back home. I hope you've enjoyed peeking over my shoulder these many days. You might like to check back in a week or so, hopefully by that time I'll have had the time to edit and post photos to go along with each post. I don't pretend to show you anything new. So much has been written and pictured by so many about this great struggling continent of contrasts, this people of desperation and of hope. My tome has simply been one sufi's journey, India as seen through one person's eyes and heart. May you see it with your own, some day!
Farther than far it is
and
close at hand
verily
he who sees it
dwells in the heart
- Inscription on a pillar of the Lakshmi Temple
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