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THEME MUSIC

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik (VO): Welcome to This Being Human, I’m your host Abdul-Rehman Malik. On this podcast I talk to extraordinary people from all over the world, whose life, ideas, and art are shaped by Muslim culture. 

 

Bilal Chishty: Even a beggar in that remembrance is king. So this is why it is like a liberation theology. I think John Coltrane called Qawwali the jazz of the East. So it’s liberation. That’s what it is.

 

MUSIC

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik (VO): Today, we’re diving deep into the heart of music and mysticism from South Asia with the remarkable Bilal Chishty. Bilal is a direct spiritual descendent of the great Chishti Sufi lineage, and a musician who has spent years preserving the art of Qawwali. His journey is rooted in both his deep connection to the Sufi tradition and a relentless passion for keeping this sacred music alive in the modern world.

 

In this conversation, Bilal shares intimate stories of learning Qawwali from the legendary maestro Ustad Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. He reflects on the profound spiritual and historical legacy of Sufi music and discusses the challenges of balancing tradition with contemporary influences. We’ll explore the heart of Qawwali, its role as a conduit to divine love, and Bilal’s personal mission to preserve this art form for future generations.

 

MUSIC RESOLVE

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik: You know, I want to begin at probably a familiar place for you, because many of us know the Qawwali musical tradition through its most famous protagonist, the late Ustad Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. I think about my own journey into Qawwali, and I think about, you know, those days of the early 1990s where I was sort of rediscovering my own Punjabi Sufi tradition. I was fascinated by it. And here comes this, this dynamic force, Ustad Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, and his music sort of enraptures us and and becomes a doorway into the world and the universe of Qawwali. He almost single handedly globalized the sound and the ecstatic spirit of Qawwali. So you can imagine my great joy, surprise, and intrigue to know that you were one of his last students. And so I want you to take me back to that moment, that first time that you met Ustad Nusrat and what it was like to be accepted into his tutelage. 

 

Bilal Chishty: Well, I shall repeat an oft repeated tale, but, I shall make it concise. But I will tell you that, Khan Sahib, my first encounter with Khan Sahib, of course, was, just like with everybody else, over the wires, as they say, you know, and then, listening to him in the ‘80s, eventually, you know, luck, kismet, serendipity, happenstance. Some friends in the elite circles of Lahore and, you know, my mother’s gender studies circle, and old activist friends who happen to live in defense, you know, one, one thing and another, kept adding up and eventually, back in the end of ‘95, I first met Khan Sahib, you know, in the University of Seattle. He was an artist in residence. When I met him, he was sitting in a room with three ladies, people from the States, like, you know, who were very enraptly looking at him. And I just walked in on this scene and he was sitting there with a big mug of coffee and harmonium and explaining some complex musical technique to them in his broken English. And so that was my first encounter of Khan Sahib. And I remember feeling overcome. I must have been 15, 16 years old. So I was young. And, after that, I mean, I told him who I was, and then, you know, he asked me to sing something which was kind of cool.

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik: Bilal, tell me, that first meeting. I’m very intrigued. Do you remember what you sang to Ustad Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan when he asked you to sing? Do you remember what you sang to him? 

 

Bilal Chishty: You know, it’s funny, I think I remember. 

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik: Okay.

 

Bilal Chishty: I think I remember.

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik: Can you give us some of that song? 

 

Bilal Chishty: I can try. I can try. Shall I use my harmonium or will it be too loud?

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik: You can use your harmonium if you want, absolutely. 

 

HARMONIUM PLAYING

 

Bilal Chishty: Let me try. Let me try. [vocalizing] Okay. So, you know, I was learning the Qawwali since childhood, right? I was, became a student of Ustad Meraj Ahmed Nizami at a very young age. In the courtyard of Nizam al-Din Awliya, rahmatullahi alayh, who was literally across the street from us. And, so I knew a few Qawwali songs and, I do remember asking any, can I sing for you Khayal Ki Bandish, or Qawwali? And he said, why don’t you sing both? But I, I think I don’t know what happened, but in the end, I ended up singing the very well-known Kirpa Karo Maharaj. I may not be able to do a faithful reproduction because I was 16 then, you know, and now…

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik: And you have grown in experience and wisdom since then. But we will capture some of it!

 

HARMONIUM PLAYING

 

Bilal Chishty: [singing]

 

“Khawajayy, Khawajayyy, Khawaja gan muinuddin….

fakhray kanon maqam muieudden

Kirpa karo maharaaj Mueenuddin
Kirpa karo maharaaj Mueenuddin
Kirpa karo maharaaj Mueenuddin
Kirpa karo maharaaj 

HARMONIUM CONTINUES

 

tum murid sun kay khabariya
tum dariya ki sun kay khabariya

Tumri diya sun ki khabariyaa
Tumri diya sun ki khabariyaa
aan pari hooN mein tori dahariyaa
sukh wase Ajmer nagariyaa
jis meiN karo tum raaj Mueenuddin

Kirpa karo maharaaj…”

SONG RESOLVES

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik: Mashallah. It’s stunning. Stunning, Bilal Bhai. Give us a sense of the meaning of this particular Kalam. 

 

Bilal Chishty: Now you see the, as you know, Professor Sahab, you know the chisti Sufis, when they entered India, there was no Persian or Turkish speaking population at large. People used to speak in the big cities and the cities, in the urban centers, where there was a bit of cosmopolitanism. So, you know, a lot of people kept asking him, why don’t you, oh, great saint, settle down here, become the advisor to our king, bring your blessings to our city? But he said no. My mission is to go serve the poor. Be the voice for those who have no voice. 

 

MUSIC

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik (VO): The verses you just heard from Bilal are about the founder of the Chisti sufi order, Khwaja Moinuddin Chishti, also known as Khwaja Gharib Nawaz. Khwaja Muinuddin was born in Sistan, in southeast Persia. At a young age, he started traveling, from Jerusalem to Medina, Samarkand and Bukhara, and eventually to the city of Chist in Afghanistan, where he served his spiritual guide and master and became a flag bearer of what would eventually be known as the chisti sufi tradition. In 1191, at age 52, he arrived in a town called Ajmer, deep within the ancient Rajput kingdom, where he served people, teaching them Islam and used simple language to guide them along the spiritual path.

 

MUSIC FADES UNDER

 

Bilal Chishty: And so these syncretic encounters led to the emergence of Sufis using simple people’s language to convey the Sufi message into a largely unlettered population through idioms and symbolisms of daily life, devotions, piety, which were…so turning the ordinary into something beautiful and creating a new vernacular which people could use. You know, rather than saying, well, if you don’t know Farsi, you can leave, right?

 

MUSIC CONTINUES

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik (VO): 100 years after Khwaja Moinudeen Chisty, comes Amir Khusro, who is credited with the creation of Qawwali as we know it today. 

This 13th-century Sufi poet, scholar, and musician whose influence on South Asian culture is unparalleled, was born in 1253 in what is now Uttar Pradesh, India. Khusro was a disciple of the renowned Sufi saint, Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya. His spiritual devotion and creativity bridged the worlds of art, music, and mysticism. Amir Khusro is credited with not just Qawwali—he also played a pivotal role in shaping what we now know as Hindustani classical music. His compositions, written in Persian and Hindavi, brought the mystical teachings of Sufism to life in the form of ghazals, poems, and songs that celebrated divine love and unity. His linguistic genius also led to the development of the Urdu language, as it blends Persian, Turkish, and local dialects. Today, his poetry and musical legacy continue to inspire, making him one of the most beloved and enduring figures in South Asian history. He’s known for all of this, yet we know little about the details of his life.

 

MUSIC RESOLVES

 

Bilal Chishty: I mean, literally, he’s the Renaissance man of the Middle Ages, and he has only one paragraph in our history books. Now, of course, partly this is due to xenophobia. Partly this is due to jealousy and bias and a misreading of history, but it’s also because he never made anything me-centric. You know, they say, “naiki karr, darya mein daal”, do good and cast it in the river of life. So he never made it me-centric. He was like, people will remember me through my works. That’s how Sufis go. And so very little is known about his personal life. And, you know, very little is known about him as a person. 

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik: So tell me, Bilal, among the many sort of gifts that Amir Khusro gave to our culture, this gift of Qawwali is such a powerful gift, and it’s such an enduring gift. And in some ways, it’s such a universal gift. There’s very few people who will listen to Qawwali, whatever their background, whatever culture, whatever tradition, whatever geography they’re coming from, that they aren’t mesmerized by it. 

 

Bilal Chishty: Absolutely. Absolutely.

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik: Tell me a little bit about this art form. What is it about Qawwali, Bilal Bhai, that does this? What is it about this art form that moves us so?

 

Bilal Chishty: I have no answer. But you know what? What is Sama? Daani samaa che bood? Sote balaa shenidan. What is Sama? It is nothing but listening to La Ilaha Ilalla. Old Persian proverb, unnamed. 

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik: And when we say “Sama,” it’s the…

 

Bilal Chishty: Audition of music, and… 

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik: Right, it’s the listening to and the experience of music, right? 

 

Bilal Chishty: Yes, of music, and specifically Sufiyana or Islamic mystic music. But Sama can be Sama. And Sama happens when Sama happens. Right? So, he says, 

 

Sorood chist ke chandin fosoone eshgh dar oost 

Sorood mahrame eshgh ast o eshgh mahrame oost

 

What is this music, this Sama? What is this attraction in it? Why does it stir the strings of the soul? So whoever it is, whether they understand, they don’t understand the language, like I’ve had people tell me when I was used to work in dance theater in Germany many, many years ago, some guy told me, I’m German, but whenever I listen to Nusfrat, I crash my car. You know? Once I crashed my car when listening to Nusfrat, he sent me somewhere else, you know?

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik: That’s amazing. 

 

Bilal Chishty: Then my dad said, we don’t have insurance, so you better not do this again. So, you know, what is this attraction? Why is it that all these people are going crazy? Why is it that…

 

I remember when Khan Sahib singing in New York, there was a very famous journalist from Italy, who was, he said, it was 45 minutes of unadulterated joy. And I found myself shouting at people who were daring to talk, saying, silence! Don’t you see? God is singing. How is all this happening? 

 

So he answers that Surud Mehrem-e-Ishq, music is a conduit to love, and love is the secret of God. So basically this is an answer I like to use, because what’s the point of using worldly analogies when we are not dealing with something which is really, in that sense, worldly? The early Sufis, like Jenab Hassan al-Basri, Hazrat Junayd al-Baghdadi, they used to say sama’ are simply what takes you closer to the divine, that which takes you away towards fahashi, towards worldly thoughts, and your base ego, is not sama’, it’s just it’s wrong. Don’t spoil yourself with it. Anything that reminds you of the creator is beautiful, and it’s the base of faith, and anything that doesn’t is wrong. And even a beggar in that remembrance is king, so this is why the liberation, it’s like a liberation theology. Basically, it’s that. This is what it is. I think John Coltrane called Qawwali the jazz of the East. It’s liberation. That’s what it is. To make it simple, when you feel even for a moment you’ve seen delight, then why would everyone not be attracted to it? So I think that Qawwali has something unique, and that’s why the world finds it so magical. 

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik: And it’s a tradition, Bilal, that has been preserved through lineages. Literally, bacha gharanay. Family homes. These family lineages. Tell us a little bit about that and then I want to explore your connection with them. 

 

Bilal Chishty: Absolutely. I mean, very simply, the gharana system. Again, gharana is a Hindi word for khandan, right? Or a family name, family home…

 

MUSIC 

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik (VO): In the classical Indian music tradition, a gharānā is a system of establishing a formal link between musicians or dancers by lineage or apprenticeship. These are often multigenerational families that keep traditions alive. 

 

MUSIC RESOLVE

 

Bilal Chishty: And so the mirasis, you know, were kind of musical storytellers. They existed in every culture, like the bards, the Mirasis, Qawwals, Mirasis. So Miras is basically from the outset. So “miras” means your with your, you know, like your inheritance. So somebody’s inheritance may be like a $3000 million empire, but the inheritance of the mirasi is the sounds of his ancestors or her ancestors, and that’s what they are carrying forward.

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik: It’s such a beautiful analogy that, in these families, in these lineages, that this art is not only preserved, but this art is developed, it’s kept alive, and it is gifted to the world.

 

Bilal Chishty: It’s worth its weight in gold. I’ll give you an example. When people from Mirasi families marry each other, now they don’t do it because they don’t remember anything but ‘til even, like 15, 1700 years ago, they did not give gold in dowry. What do you think they gave? They gave rare compositions. 

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik: Oh. Incredible!

 

Bilal Chishty: Family secrets to musical techniques which only the families know and a few lucky people who studied with them. So, you know, mirasis – you can’t – mirasis have music in their blood. If some playback singer from a film industry thinks they can match the Mirasis, we know what happens. You know, there are all these live shows which happen now. So, you know, they’ll like, call a Mirasi to judge the show, you know, and then they’ll try and say, oh, you know, I love that song of your father’s, I’m going to sing two lines for you. So you suddenly see that that singer, whose entire career is based on software like Melodyne to make his voice or her voice beautiful, like, wow, these people, they don’t sing that great. And then here is this Mirasi with all their raw, primordial power of expression. And they are resonating something which has been reverberating through the ages in their family. You know, so, people say even if you are a crappy musician and you are a Mirasi, somehow you will find your way because it’s in your blood. Your ancestors prepared you for it. So it’s something so powerful. People don’t realize this power until they come this side of the world. And so Amir Khusro Sahab, he understood this very well. He said, these sawans and kalawans and khatakas and all these people, they are from musical families, right? Because in India, the caste system, you know, you have everything is a kind of occupation, you know, so their occupation is music. Now let’s make this beautiful. So he said, guys, you know music. I am not here to teach you how to sing. I am only here to tell you how to mold your voices and learn up this new stuff I’m giving you. And there were all these compositions involving beautiful experiments. Some were pure Persian compositions, some were from pure ragas, and some were things which Hazrat Amir Khusro literally invented or created, and then some had been Ibrahim became a repository of all of that. And they would sing not just at the dargah, but in the darbar. So they would sing in the shrine, they would sing in the king’s court, they would sing at private gatherings. They would sing whenever they had to sing. And their excellence came from practice, hard work and confidently bearing that tradition very bravely and passing it on to their family. 

 

MUSIC

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik (VO): Bilal came to Qawwali from outside of the tradition. His family had ties to music, but it was his grandmother’s passion, as one of the first women to perform on Radio Lahore before partition, that inspired him to pursue the art. His mother was a scholar and his father, an artist. At the age of 11, Bilal began formal music lessons with a teacher from the Delhi Gharana and later studied tabla with a student from the Lucknow Gharana. His interest in Qawwali deepened as he was drawn to the Sufi tradition. Around the same time, he began walking to a shrine near his home, which sparked a lifelong interest and curiousity in Sufism and Islamic mysticism, taking the path of Mueenideen Chisty, and eventually adding Bilal Chishty to his birth name, which is Dhruv Sangari. And from that young age, he devoted himself completely to the study and practice of the musical tradition.

 

MUSIC RESOLVE

 

Bilal Chishty: So, you know, we practiced eight, ten, 12 hours a day. Not because we imagined ourselves sitting here and talking about ourselves or getting an award or getting lots of money. It was just being completely subsumed by passion, that this is something so amazing, we have to be a part of it. Stick to it, work hard, try and make our teachers proud and do whatever we can to preserve and promote this lineage and pass it on. There was no other ulterior motive or agenda. And now the world is only full of agenda. So it’s also disappointing to see youngsters who come to us saying, sir, I want to learn with you for six months so I can go become a singer in Bombay. And I’m like, my dear, this is not what we do! So, so sadly, everything has changed. 

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik: It feels like you’re a bridge. You’re at the cusp of the world changing. In terms of technology, in terms of globalization, in terms of the way that music traveled. As you’re speaking and I’m hearing that passion which now I know existed from when you were a child, that you’ve continued to develop that passion. I wonder how you see this tradition surviving in this world that has changed, in this new form of modernity that we’re in, you know, will the gharana tradition survive? Will this tradition continue to exist for another thousand years, or do you think it’s going to turn into something else? And I think you’re uniquely placed to weigh in on this question, because, like you said, you’re almost between generations.

 

Bilal Chishty: Very, very nicely put, jenab. I think you have a handle on it perfectly because, you know, the one who is going through it is not often able to describe. I will say that, you know, the gharana tradition is really something people have not worked on. In fact, most of the great work about the gharanas was done outside India because, you know, ghar ki murghi daal barabar, the ones who have the treasure don’t even realize it’s treasure. And so these musicians today are on the cusp of disappearance and I will guarantee it to you that unless some international attempts are made to rehouse and preserve these traditions in the new temples of culture, and have people from the community, be given those positions where they can protect, preserve, promote, and pass on these traditions, it’s gone. It’s gone in 10 years, 20 years maximum. This is something which everybody knows. And the level of appropriation is shocking. Every vocal ornament, every melody, everything from their music has been stolen, appropriated, and monetized by the mainstream industry. Nothing has been given back to them. Nothing. And it’s done with impunity. Because there’s no law, because this is oral culture. Who cares? So, frankly, the great work of the last thousand years is at the cusp of disappearance. 

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik: That’s a very concerning, even depressing assessment. And I know that you, as an artist, have been actively engaged in the preservation and the continual teaching of this tradition. And also, you have engaged in this new world. You know, you’ve worked in Bollywood, you’ve worked with Coke Studio and, you know, some of the things that you’ve produced are just amazing. 

 

Bilal Chishty: Thank you.

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik: The question emerges for me, how do you balance preserving the traditional elements of Sufi and Qawwali music? And at the same time incorporating contemporary sounds and influences. Is that a balancing act? And for you, as a practitioner and as an inheritor of this tradition? 

 

Bilal Chishty: I think this is a very good question. I remember that when my first Bollywood song became a mega-hit with 30 million views, and overtook even other famous singers on the charts, there were many comments like, the singer’s voice is too innocent for this song. Another comment was, he’s basically a very good classical singer. I think he’s being wasted on this song. So, you know, I like that. I think that made me feel great. I’ll tell you, mainstream music has its own musical lexicon, right? It’s like a sound bank. And, these guys are always adding to it with their like, oh, look, Latin sounds are up. So, you know, you learn a few Latin jazz standards and, you know, mold your voice like those jazz singers, and then you vocalize in this way, make your voice rounder, or this will make it more falsetto-based. But the fact is that there is a gravitas and a depth and an authenticity to tradition, which cannot be replicated by any other form of music because thousands of years of sonic experience have fed into that. So singing mainstream music makes me very happy. A lot of people who managed me or attempted to give some, make some sense of my totally scattered career, find it very problematic to sell me to clients. They’re like, come on, you’re neither here nor there. What do we do? So now I just reconcile to them, like, listen, whatever it is, it is. My ideal day is get up in the morning, practice some music, teach a few students in the afternoon, go to the darga and sing. Or go to a concert. Or if not, just spend time with family and sing a few tunes. And then, you know, that’s my thing. And then if I have to come out of my comfort zone occasionally to deliver a big hit, that’s also something I love. 

 

MUSIC

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik: I have a small favour to ask you. If you enjoy this show, there’s a really quick thing you can do to help us make it even better. Just take five minutes to fill out a short survey. This is the Aga Khan museum’s first-ever podcast and a little bit of feedback will help us measure our impact and reach more people with extraordinary stories from some of the most interesting artists, thinkers, and leaders on the kaleidoscope of Muslim experience. To participate, go to agakhanmuseum.org/tbhsurvey. That’s agakhanmusic.org/tbhsurvey.  The link is also in the show notes. Thanks for listening to This Being Human. Now, back to the interview.

 

MUSIC OUT

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik: One strong feeling I have through this conversation is that Bilal Chishty, Dhruv Sangari, is a born teacher. You’re not just a born musician. You clearly have music in your roots and in your home, and you have a passion that comes really from a place divine, I have no doubt about it. But also, Bilal Bhai, as you’re speaking, I know I’m speaking to a master teacher. I’m going to be very audacious and I’m going to ask you something. I’m going to make a request of you. I wonder if you could choose a few lines of poetry that resonate with you. And I know you have your harmonium there. And if you could not only sing that poetry for us, but actually guide us through it, imagine that we who are all listening are students sitting with you. And in a way, I want you to teach me how to listen. If, through a couplet of poetry, you could give us a sense of what it means to listen. Because I think as you were speaking about the crisis in this tradition, I think one of the things that we, that I, I can only speak about myself that that we’re missing is the ability to to listen. I would be honoured. 

 

Bilal Chishty: The honor is all mine. I’m just. Your praise is overwhelming, and so is your confidence in my useless abilities. I’m just an empty vessel. You know,our ustads always say, [urdu ]“bizurgon ki jutiyon ki sadqa hai, koi baat achi lag gay, ustad kay ta’rif kardain na, koi baart buri lagay, juti mere sar pe marnaN”. But if you find something wrong, fault is mine. Everything good comes from the guru, comes from the teacher, comes from Rasul Allah, peace be upon him. So let me try and attempt something from our land of Punjab. Of Kasur and of Lahore and of our beloved Hazrat Shah Inayat and Baba Bulleh Shah And, one couplet that is very close to my heart that almost at every concert, either is requested or I sing before Punjabi Kalam. I’m just going to try and attempt that. 

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik: Bismillah. 

 

Bilal Chishty: Inshallah. So, here goes.

 

HARMONIUM PLAYING

 

Bilal Chishty: So, the raag here is Raag Bairagi. So “Baraig” or “Bairagi” means, kind of a separation or an isolation in love. And this is associated with the baraig of Lord Shiva. So it’s a very ancient melody. Most of the raags, you know, they emerge from the Karnatic tradition and the attempts of people like Hazrat-e-Amir Khusro were to blend them with the Turkish-Persian maqams and create something unique, which is today known as Hindustani or North Indian classical music. This is a pentatonic mode. It’s a flat mode, or the keys are flat.

 

HARMONIUM CONTINUES

 

Bilal Chishty: [singing] 

 

Parh parh ilm hazaar kitaabaN

kadi apne aap nu parhya nahin

Jaa jaa warda ve masjid mandar 

kadi mann apne wich wareya nahin

 

“You read all that there was to be read.The Ved, the Quran, the Kama Sutras. Socrates. Confucius. You left nothing, my friend, except your own book. You read all the books, but you never read the book of your own soul or of your own heart. You never followed the path of “man arafa nafsuhu, arafa’ rabbahu” He who knows his self knows his lord. But you wanted to know everything else. You went to the shrine, the mosque, the temple, the gurdwara, the synagogue. You never went into your own self. 

 

 Anven roz shaitaan nal larda de

 

In Qawwali, we have some leeway to change the ragas also.

anven roz shaitaan nal larda de

kadi nafs apne naal larya nahin

 

Ken Baba Bulleh Shah aasmani urdiya hi pharda aeN

jerra ghar bheta, unhoN phariha hi nahin

 

You fight every day to cast out devils from others. You judge, you berate, you offer violence, hatred. But you have never ever fought your own ego, my friend. You never even thought it was a factor. You were busy fighting the whole world in the name of fighting Shaytan. But you will never, never control your own evil. Bulleh Shah says, you fly the skies in jet planes. To catch that which is beyond your reach. To catch the ilm-e-kalilan, that of which little has been conveyed, that which you are not even supposed to be running after. But you are busy running after that on rocket fuel. But how about that which resides within the home of your own heart? You never even bothered to catch that. You never even acknowledged its existence. 

 

[singing] jerra ghar behta, parhiya nahin

so kehta Baba Bulleh Shah

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik: Bilal bhai, you’ve chosen the most perfect couplet. It summarizes…you know, every time I hear that poem. And it’s something that my father would oft recite to us when we were young. We had this tradition, you know, once every few weeks, he would bring out the books of Punjabi poetry and this couplet would often come up in almost every Sama that we would have in our home. Because it is the most penetrating, isn’t it? It is the most penetrating lines of poetry.

 

Bilal Chishty: They go deep, they go deep.

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik: Thank you. Thank you, Bilal bhai. 

 

MUSIC

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik: Bilal bhai, I want you to tell me about a joy or a meanness that came to you recently as an unexpected visitor. 

 

Bilal Chishty: So recently, a joy that came to me. Every day brings a new joy. But let me, let me say that, very recently, I realized that I am far younger than I actually am. And because what really keeps me alive and young is my connection to my Pir-o-Murshid and my music. And so the more I grow older, actually, the younger I grow. Because now my daughter, who’s nearly 4 years old, is telling me just a few days ago, Baba, will you teach me this music? So this is the great joy which came to me.

 

Abdul-Rehman MaliK: You are establishing your own Gharana!

 

Bilal Chishty: That’s exactly the thought I had. And I felt very chuffed. I felt very happy. Allah ki karamat. Allah Kareem 

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik: What an amazing reflection. My brother, it’s been such a honor to have you with us on this being human. 

 

Bilal Chishty: I must thank you for inviting me here to share whatever little I have understood of life, of music and my journey. And I’m honored, actually.

 

MUSIC

 

Abdul-Rehman Malik (VO): You can listen to Bilal’s music on any streaming platform by looking up “Dhruv Sangari.” You can follow him on Instagram @dhruvsangarimusic. 

 

This Being Human is presented by the Aga Khan Museum. Through the arts, the Aga Khan Museum sparks wonder, curiosity, and understanding of Muslim cultures and their connection with other cultures. 

 

This Being Human is produced by Antica Productions in partnership with TVO. Our senior producer is Imran Ali Malik. Our associate producer is Emily Morantz. Our executive producers are Laura Regehr and Stuart Coxe.

 

Mixing and sound design by Phil Wilson. Original music by Boombox Sound. Katie O’Connor is TVO’s Managing Editor of Digital Video and Podcasts. Laurie Few is the executive for digital at TVO.

 

MUSIC RESOLVE