Amritsar Calling: A Festival takes Root

My association with them began six years ago when at the Jaipur venue one sought out Sanjoy, an illustrious classmate of my lady wife from DPS. During our conversation, I asked him if he could bring the fest to our Holy City. In reply to this seemingly over-enthused demand, he simply affirmed with an energetic, “Why not?” That Ambassador Suri and Mani worked on him aplenty is history. Lo and behold, TheSacred@Amritsar was laid forth with artists, poets, historians, melody queens, and eloquent maestros of the raga flying in from all over. Ambarsari sensibilities were overwhelmed for three days with India’s diverse talent from Kashmir to Kanyakumari, and a grand showcasing of Punjab’s finest.

Personally, one was shell-shocked as much by the oratory of Purushottam Agrawal as the retro delivery of Alif. While the former churned debates on the Bhakti movement and present-day polity, the latter sang a soul-stirring rendition of his score ‘Katyu Chuko” from Laila Majnu among others. The hyperbolic magnitude of Alif’s sensational ‘sonic-ology’, coupled with the strumming of wicked guitars blew many a mind and had people wiggling their toes. Rabbi Shergill, the showstopper, regaled the home crowd with his Punjabi hard-to-emulate form that had the crowds on their feet.

(Express Photo)

The festival began with Sardar Nanak Singh’s Khooni Vaisakhi, as narrated by his grandson Navdeep Suri, a son of the soil, while Harpreet sang the verses eloquently, depicting the tragedy of Jallianwala Bagh and thus moving the elite gathering. Teardrops flew aplenty as this narrative of the milestone event that eventually led to the freedom of the nation was laid forth with much depth and artistry.

Each morning had saaz and awaaz, spirituality and melody, the Dotara and the Taus, Dastaan and the folk in equal measure … and that is to name but a few of the dimensions on offer.

The legacy of Surinder Kaur was indeed a highlight, one that had me humming tunes that my mother did all her life. The pride of the land and its emotions were stirred that evening by Dolly Guleria, the Queen of Punjabi folk herself, and her multifaceted daughter Sunaini. They together rocked the ramparts of Gobindgarh Fort as people danced and sand Latthe di chaddar and Kankaan lambiyaan ni mahain. Many a farmaishaanwere made, as people asked for more and even more of the melodies of yore.

Our city attracts over 40 million tourists in a year, yatrus, parvasis and more. People who come to pay obeisance to the Harmandir, the Golden Temple, witness the spectacle of the Attari Wagah border retreat, soak in the Holy City’s heritage, spiritual ethos, and also to singe their palates suitably with our delectable cuisine. This valued addition to the cultural scene is thus a force multiplier to its offerings.

Hopefully, The Sacred shall be back each year if the city embraces it and owns its potential as well as visualises what it brings to our cultural value base. One looks at it as a catalyst, inspiring youthful talent, showcasing our legacy of musical gharanas, our literature and rich narratives of history. And as a bonus get the best of the best from across the nation. Soney te suhagaa folks.

That the creme de la creme of society from Mumbai, Kolkata, Bengaluru, Delhi and more came quietly into town, enjoyed this fiesta, paid obeisance, did Heritage walks and returned, has not dawned upon us yet. There were mining magnets, tycoons from the finest wineries, barons of iron and steel, ambassadors and attachés, dons of their businesses who came in hush-hush and left silently, renewed and rejuvenated by what they witnessed and imbibed. “Oh teri oh vi ayaa si, laah appan tey sochdey hi reh gayae,” said a dear friend. Well buddy, don’t let FOMO for the coming year get to you… just be there.

We Amritsaris ourselves are late risers, save a few, and prefer our lassi and Giani di chaa to shaking a leg or two for artistry, so even though the visitors thronged the morning venues, many snoozed the opportunity away. The lucky ones made it in good numbers and glowed with pleasure. The evening attendance on each day was impressive and so was the line-up for free passes. A few were unhappy too, “sannu te bulayaa hi nayee.” Wake up fellow city folks, ‘you’ were the hosts and not the guests. It is time to support such events in the spirit of Philanthropy and ‘give’ to conserve your heritage and the arts rather than spend on the mundane.

The bonus was that my son came in from Delhi, spent time and effort assisting the crew and made friends with these event magicians, people who gave us Khusro and Meera, Kabir and Iqbal, Gurbani and Veda. The other bonus was seeing strapping young lad Sabir, on the threshold of teenage, attending every session, imbibing the repertoire of Indian musicology. A salute to his parents, Tripat and Rishi, whose sensibilities as aficionados of the good, and as believers in the conservation of aesthetics, thus motivating GenNext, can only be admired.

The accolades have been aplenty, and those who missed out shall have to wait another year perhaps. I for one am still in a trance with the memory of the raga that described Krishna dancing on the nine-headed serpent as much as the invigorating Punjabi melodies. Colour me pink, colour me yellow, colour me any. But my red runs vibgyor now. For those who look for the full Monty in a Fest, the wait will be no more than a year.

(The author is an environmentalist, historian and philanthropist who loves all things Ambarsari. GunbirSingh@gmail.com)