The date for Lollywood Film Star Sana’s marriage with model Fakhar Imam has been finalized at the end of this year on December 13.The Mehndi will be on December 14, Baraat on December 15 and Valima on December 16.
Sources said the marriage is scheduled in December because Fakhar is busy in building a house to present it to Sana as the marriage gift.
Starring: Shahzad Nawaz, Mahnoor Baloch, Ali Kazmi, Nausheen Shah This telefilm showcases a very intricate and complex story that revolves around the situations couples face when living in Pakistan due to the highly conservative society.
Shahzad Nawaz plays the role of Dabeer Baig, a successful business tycoon who is living a very unhappy (second) married life with university professor and ambitious woman, Izzat Adil, played by Mahnoor Baloch. In the lives of these individuals enter Sharjeel Khan (Ali Kazmi), a college student and Rosheen Aslam (Nausheen Shah), an assistant and secretary to Dabeer. How these individuals interact and the relationships they develop make for a very interesting plot. This telefilm leaves you thinking about the extremes of relationships and how insensitive human beings can be to each other.
Few days back, music director Aadesh Shrivastava lambasted Adnan Sami in front of everybody at singer Richa Sharma’s birthday party held at BJN Banquets, Mumbai.
He insulted him calling him a non-singer and claiming he had no right to be in the Indian music industry. While we thought that matter was closed that night itself, the whole thing is now taking a very serious turn what with Aadesh hell bent on kicking Adnan Sami out of India.About the recent turn of events, Aadesh states, “I am the Vice President of the Cine Music Director’s Association and a man of strong principles. Adnan has utter disrespect for Indian laws and regulations. If he wants to give music to Indian films he should respect the laws of our country. He has no right to work in India.
“People like him who come from Pakistan are ready to work here even at peanut rates because they get a global platform. But do you ever see them lauding our nation and its people for that who give them this opportunity at the first place? Do they buy any properties here? They send the entire money back to their country. Also, if he is so desperate to work in India then why doesn’t he posses the required legal documents.
Days after the recent skirmishes at the Line of Control, when the composite dialogue between India and Pakistan was threatened, an alternative reconciliation was underway in Lahore. Music became the metaphor of shared ground between the two countries, challenging divides between them that can become violent.
Lahore hosted the legendary vocalist Shubha Mudgal for a few days. The crusade launched by Beyond Borders Television, a production house and sister company of The Friday Times and Good Times, is a unique development in Pakistan’s media world. It is Beyond Borders’ mission statement to produce programming for regional channels that promotes understanding between peoples. Undaunted by visa restrictions and overcoming official barriers, Beyond Borders organised Mudgal’s visit to Lahore to record a tripartite discussion between Mudgal, Tina Sani and Jugnu Mohsin, the compere.
The night before the recording, there was a get-together at the home of Jugnu Mohsin and Najam Sethi. It was a typical July evening, marked by the promising stillness of the monsoon. The fragrance of tuberoses, motia and lillies had made the atmosphere surreal and when the power breakdown happened, and candles were lit, it was like a slice out of some previous age.
This was also the day of my homecoming: I had returned to Lahore after a year. I recalled a fleeting meeting with Mudgal in Delhi that had left an indelible impression of her unassuming and cheerful personality. The possibility of meeting Mudgal again on the day the exile returned to his country was the best of surprises. In the bargain, spending time with Tina Sani was a great bonus.
Khalid Ahmed, executive director of Beyond Borders and a man who has won his spurs both as a theatre artist, director and screen actor, was in Lahore from Karachi to oversee the recording. When I entered Jugnu Mohsin’s living room, he was sitting there with his full head of silver hair all askance as in the famous Einstein look. There was also a sprinkling of Lahore’s literati and intelligentsia, the proliferation of which has lagged behind annual population growth rates. One of the tragedies of Lahore since the time of General Zia ul Haq has been the inwardness of the public intellect and its retreat into private spaces, that is until the 2007 lawyers’ movement that has hopefully changed the contours of public life for time to come.
The varied guest list was eclectic: Pakistan’s premier historian, Ayesha Jalal; the incisive writer Ahmed Rashid; and the famous British journalist Christina Lamb were present. Lamb, with her long association with Pakistan was as dismayed as the rest of us with the rise and rise of extremism in the once peaceful land of the Indus, at how those taking the name of Allah had decided to appoint themselves His representatives and had reached the precincts of Peshawar. These are bizarre times, full of cacophonous constructions of discourses, jihads and nationalisms.
Ghazala Rahman and Nuscie and Jeelo Jamil joined the gathering later, to be followed by the dynamic Principal of the National College of Arts, Naazish Ataullah. Also present were the exuberant young Mira Sethi and her friend Hira Nabi; and thus the reception of Shubha Mudgal was not restricted to the fast-fossilizing intelligentsia of the older generations.
The overdose of camera flashes amid the dim lighting indicated that Mudgal had arrived. Flanked by Tina Sani and accompanied by a music devotee from Karachi, Dr Ghazala Aziz, Shubhaji made a graceful entrance. Dressed in an understated sari, she sported a mangal sutara as her only piece of jewelry, a stark contrast to the ostentatious display popular on this side of the border. Smiling effusively and doing her namastes and handshakes with a personal touch, here was a legend of our times, a voice that is already in conversation with immortality.
Shubha Mudgal is a diva of Hindustani classical music and its myriad genres such as Khayal, Thumri, and Dadra among others. Of late she has also espoused modernity and dabbled in popular Indian pop music; this has not pleased all the puritans of music but has provided the youth of the Subcontinent with access to her majestic voice.
Shubha Mudgal was born in 1959 in Allahabad, Uttar Pradesh. Her parents, professors of English literature, were ensconced deeply in the classical Hindustani music tradition as well as in Kathak. Mudgal was made to learn Kathak initially, though later she devoted herself to learning classical music. It was her first guru, Pandit Ram Ashreya Jha in Allahabad, who chiseled her talent and instilled rigour and patience into Mudgal. Later she also learnt with the maestros Pandit Vinaya Chandra Maudgalya and Pandit Vasant Thakar in Delhi, Pandit Jitendra Abhisheki, Naina Devi, and Pundit Kumar Gandharva. Thus she has had the best musical training and developed her unique style perfecting various musical forms. Mudgal recounted these stages of her training when she addressed her Lahori admirers, who listened to her with respect and a fondness that is usually expressed for long lost friends.
In Lahore, Mudgal appeared comfortably at home. Perhaps this is because of the Delhi mood that Lahore shares, for reasons of history and a shared culture that refuses to dissipate despite the partition of 1947. The home-cooked dinner, sensitive to Mudgal’s vegetarianism, was a chance for a breather before this little gathering picked up. Tina Sani is the other star who attracted the attention of the guests at the mehfil. Tina’s is also an unassuming persona, charming in manner; her large, intelligent eyes support her conversation.
Within minutes, the dining room was converted into a small arena of interaction, of spontaneous musical renditions and of fascinating discussions. Some were seated on sofa chairs while others sat on the floor continuing the exchange on India, Pakistan, music and all that is common to the two countries. Indeed, Pakistanis and Indians can be most gracious as hosts and guests, and the camaraderie expressed could not be ignored by the visitors from the West, Christina Lamb and her colleague Justin.
Mugdal was requested by Khalid Ahmed to sing; and this began an endless series of lilting melodies, a collage of the best of her thumris and geets including the famous line, “laga chunri mein daagh,” from the film with the same title. She sang from her soul and left everyone spellbound. Tina Sani sang her hallmark Faiz’s poem “Bahaar ayee” (spring arrives), but her most captivating rendition was a wistful ghazal by Bahadur Shah Zafar where he laments the beloved streets and forgotten faces of pre-1857 Delhi. Sani was superb as she sang this, and the reaction she elicited had everything to do with the precariousness of genteel life in today’s Pakistan.
And then she sang “Bahaar aye” which lifted everyone’s spirits. Hope, as they say, sprang eternal. Conversation then veered towards the modernist interpretation of Faiz’s poetry by Tina Sani as she brought a new sensibility to her renditions with the outstanding compositions of Arshad Mahmood. Sani recalled how she had never known Faiz as a person but her interaction with him had started through his poetry and her own readings of the great poet.
I asked Shubha Mudgal to sing a few lines from the Sufi ghazals that she had rendered at the famous Jashn-i-Khusrau concerts in Delhi. The fulsome nature of Mudgal’s voice is well suited to the soulfulness of Sufi poetry. We were told how Mudgal had been taught by her Guruji to consider music and devotion inseparable realities. Small wonder that she turned to mystical compositions across religious divides.
Shubha Mudgal has over time proven her versatility and eagerness to experiment. This is why Sufi chants have relevance for her. In fact the roots of Hindustani classical music are located in the shrines of India, especially in the bold new phase initiated by Amir Khausrau and his patronage of Qawwali. The melodies and innovations of Amir Khusrau were to shape the future of classical music, especially the ascendancy of the Khayal style in the Mughal era.
Mudgal had sung Ghoom tana with Salman Ahmed of Junoon; the central motif of the spinning wheel represents divine motion. Her solo album The Awakening also contains a few Sufi melodies, testifying to Mudgal’s belief that there is an intrinsic link between all forms of music. Ali Moray Angana and Kar Sajda are therefore melodies that are not only relevant to Muslims and their belief systems but central to the ethos of Hindustani classical music as well.
This was a splendid evening that became more memorable when Jugnu Mohsin spoke of her own adulation for Farida Khanum and all the stories of her personal musical evolution. Naazish Ataullah also shared her childhood memories of the centrality of music in her daily life, narrating tales of eccentric Ustads; of migrant relatives from India who came with nothing except their highly developed musical tastes and talents; and of how an age intertwined with music and musical training crumbled after 1947.
But music, the great uniter, is eternal. It has acquired newer dimensions and forms; though this centuries old classical music requires patronage as well as a renewed interest from all walks of life. This is why Beyond Borders has undertaken the momentous task of bridging divides, reclaiming shared heritages, and contributing to the transformation of the Subcontinent into a region where musical notes may eventually subdue martial tunes.
This is not a eulogy or a tribute to Ahmed Faraz, for I never knew Faraz personally. Nor is it a comment on his poetry - I am not qualified to do that. It is just a memory of a few impersonal encounters with Faraz that came rushing to my mind when I heard of his death a week or ten days ago.
As students at Peshawar, we often saw Faraz on campus. He taught Urdu. (Poetry, I guess. What else?). He was a noted poet even then but, among the students on campus, he was equally known, if not more, for his bohemian lifestyle .
Peshawar University campus, built at the foot of the Khyber, was then 5 miles away from Peshawar city. It still is, but now you cannot tell where exactly the city ends and the university begins. Peshawar Sadar, in the cantonment area, was the happening part of the city. It was here that you found trendy cinemas and cafés, bookshops and upscale stores.
The Sadar was to Peshawar what the Mall Road was (or still is?) to Lahore. The Greens Hotel served Murree beer to its customers in a bar tucked away upstairs. (Prohibition came later, in 1972, when MMA’s version 1.0 came into power in the NWFP.) A few minutes down the road, the upscale Dean’s Hotel, even though it had cast off most of its colonial trappings, still retained its colonial architecture and continued to serve mulligatawny soup and caramel custard, and, of course, beer and other drinks, in a more formal setting.
In the evenings, the students would descend upon Sadar to watch movies, to gossip over a cup of tea in the cafés, and to just walk up and down the short stretches of the main Sadar Road and the Arbab Road, watching people. The Capital and Falak Sair were the two elite cinemas that showed English movies ; Silver Star and Café Alig were the two popular cafés; London Book Depot was the big bookshop; Bandbox were the drycleaners and Medicose were the chemists. Not far from these places, on the main Sadar Road, across the bus stop, was this little paan and cigarette shop, a khokha, which did brisk business.
I do not know if Faraz visited the Greens or the Dean’s but he often stopped by at the cigarette shop. He would come on his noisy motorbike (it was before he graduated to the white Volkswagen), stop in front of the shop, and, without switching off the engine or getting off the bike, buy his cigarettes and paan, and breeze away. The alacrity with which the vendor stepped out of his khokha to serve Faraz suggested that Faraz had a running account with the vendor or perhaps he was an ardent fan of the poet - or both.
Zeb and Haniya have said “chup” (quiet) to all those who thought contemporary Pakistani music has become a men’s domain. Their debut album ‘Chup’ is breaking new ground for Pakistani music as the first album by a female duo to be released in recent history.
Zeb and Haniya have officially arrived, and that alone is a landmark event. Pakistan has not seen the launch of two young talented women in the music industry in a very, very long time - and these two have made 2008 a year to remember for Pakistani music.
Zeb and Haniya (or as their full names go, Zebunissa Bangash and Haniya Aslam) appeared on the Pakistani music scene a few years ago, when a song called ‘Chup’ by the duo started spreading like wildfire on the Internet. The song was then picked up by radio stations that began playing it. The girls of the ‘Chup’ fame have just launched their debut album, also titled Chup, which has been flying off the shelves at Karachi’s popular music stores. Zeb and Haniya have a cult following and their fans have been waiting for their album ever since they downloaded the song ‘Chup’.
Produced by Mekaal Hasan, Chup also features some of the best talent we have in Pakistan today: Gumby, Shallum, Kamran Zafar, Mohammad Ahsan Papu, Omran Shafique, Hamza Jafri, Sameer Ahmed and Sikandar Mufti; as well as Norwegian musician Hildegunn Oiseth.
The album opens with the song ‘Chup’ and the vocals on this are a treat to listen to. ‘Chup’ is this sweet, folksy song that packs a jazzy punch because of the use of the trumpet, played by Hildegunn. It has very simple lyrics yet the song is very endearing.
‘Chup’ is followed by ‘Rona Chor Diya’ which packs a far stronger punch - the girls sound infinitely more passionate, the music is fiery as is the chorus ‘maine rona chor diya’ (I’ve stopped crying). Take a note of the lyrics ‘paani barsa / yeh dil tarsa / par jab beeta thoda arsa / maine rona chorr diya’ (it rained / my heart pined / but after a while / I stopped crying) and ‘ab to bas mai hi khabar hoon / gardish main hoon / rahguzar hoon / toofaan hoon main / tera darr hoon’ (Now, I’m the news / I’m revolving / I walk the path / I’m a force of nature / I am your fear) - ‘Rona Chor Diya’ could very well become the darker, twisted Pakistani version of post-breakup anthems Gloria Gaynor’s ‘I will survive’ and Meredith Brooks’ ‘B**ch’
She has a commanding presence that fills the screen, a presence that spills out of your television set and dominates your living room. When you meet Naveen Naqvi in person, its even better. The professional presence is very much there, of course, but she also has a friendly look and a relaxed manner that puts you at ease.
We are seated in a glass-fronted cubicle in the middle of DawnNews studios open-floor plan. Young men and women are everywhere. Some are hunched over desktop computer screens while others are scurrying about from one end of the cavernous hall to the other. Despite the bustle, Naveen is as calm as you like, giving unwavering attention and conversing easily.
We have come to associate her with the anchors role on DawnNews, but there is more to Naveen Naqvis talents than meets the eye. As most people are aware, I used to be a model, she says, referring to the first of several things she has tried her hand at and done well. After modelling, I started working on television. I hosted a music show and also acted in a few dramas. My first play was under the direction of Haider Imam Rizvi, and I went on from there.
In a span of just four years, Atif Aslam has released three albums, won countless awards and has developed a massive following in and outside Pakistan. Its not exactly rags to riches and yet his success story remains unique.
I always dreamed of being a rock star as a kid,” says Atif smiling.
At the age of just 25, Atif Aslam is living his dream.
With three albums to his credit, in a span of four years, the mess of a break-up (with his former band Jal) behind him and a mass appeal that extends all the way out to India and beyond, Atif Aslam’s story is truly unique. He is sitting on a sofa in denims, a polo top and his guitar on his lap when we meet.
It’s a crisp Sunday afternoon and Atif has a hectic schedule ahead. He is flying back to Lahore and is then heading for a massive US, UK and Canada tour.
We meet the morning after the Atif Aslam Lookalike-Singalike contest, where five men, who adore Atif, belt out Atif ditties, imitating his antics, attempting to impersonate the man himself. Atif came to the finale and picked the winner himself.
“It was a little bizarre,” admits Atif and continues, “but a good effort. Some of those guys were confident, others had a decent voice but Gibran matched my style more than the others so it had to be him.”
As a person, Atif is friendly, open and confident. What drives him is his ambition to bowl out the world. He doesn’t look at Asians as his target market. The world is his stage and he is here to perform and entertain.
What sets him apart is his ability to mould himself, that elastic factor.
Whether it is through lending his vocals to Indian films or dancing with Aaminah Haq at the Lux Style Awards or going out all-rock on a single like ‘Hungami Halaat’, Atif is willing to bend and break norms to make his mark.
His latest is his new album, Meri Kahani.
A sharp, conscious turn from his commercially hit album Doorie, and a return to form, the kind one first witnessed on his debut record Jalpari.
Meri Kahani sees Atif don the roles of singer, songwriter and lyricist. But most importantly it sees the various emotions of the man that is Atif Aslam. Not surprisingly, it is a mixed bag. And even though Jalpari remains the best Atif Aslam record, Meri Kahani shows off his skills as an artist and his will to experiment. To make sure that it is his brand of music, Atif brought in Overload men Farhad Humayoun, Shiraz Siddique and Mahmood Rahman to play on the album.
“I did Doorie but afterwards I wanted to do my kind of music. Meri Kahani is just that. It is an album that is filled with personal reflections. I got Overload guys involved because I love their music, especially the Pappu Saeen bit and it was fantastic working with all of them,” says Atif.
The record comes after Atif received severe criticism for Doorie, the smash hit album that consolidated his position firmly in India and Pakistan. At the same time, it brought out criticism on the fact that the album was purely commercial and Indianised.
But Atif has never shied away from criticism. His defense has always been one, breaking into the Bollywood-friendly Indian market.
Ahmed Jehanzeb has proven himself to be a talented musician. So far he has one hit album to his credit as well as several title songs for Pakistani television dramas and the one-off collaboration for a song on Shoaib Mansoor’s Khuda Kay Liye soundtrack.
I quote here from his album sleeve: I am what I am only because of the true love, guidance and comfort provided to me by my family. They are the foundation and proof of (who) I am. I thank my family especially my father, Capt. Sabir Ahmed, without whose support I would have never achieved what I have today.
Jehanzeb further shows his understanding of music’s (spiritual) nature when he outlines his philosophy in these words: I strongly believe in the saying Music is food for the Soul’. It is the best way of communication.
In my point of view music provides purity and clarity to one’s soul. It is the truest form of expression for an artist. True music requires education, training, hard work & like any other field, raw talent has to be nurtured and that is the reason I was given the opportunity to educate myself in the art of classical music.
His recent album, Laut Aao, predictably starts off with the song released earlier as a single and used in the promotional video of the album, Chandni Raat Mein. The single demonstrates that Ahmed isn’t just all about sad ditties. This one’s more contemporary and has a faster tempo than his earlier sombre style. Interestingly, Ahmed humbly gives all the credit for the success of the song to the video director, Kookie V. Gulati.
If Chandni Raat Mein sets the tone, Mein Aur Tu is evidence that people with contrasting composition styles should work together (Sachin Gupta and Ahmed in this case) on a joint composition if they compliment each other. The more rock-inspired composition of Sachin blends almost organically with Ahmed’s melodic vocals and rather haunting compositions.
In Bol Mahiya Ve the opening sequence featuring the vocals (in English) by Tara Baswani is yet another organic progression which gives way to a near-qawwali harmonium synthesised effect in mid-song. Ahmed’s advanced control over folk singing shines through this very interesting tune.
Lagan Lagi, however, disappoints as it is in the please Bollywood’ mode and is uselessly techno in its sound. Ahmed’s vocals don’t go very well (despite his best efforts) with this sort of music. Up next is the title track, Laut Aao, and despite being a haunting number it isn’t exactly the best song in the album due to the remix effect. The song could have done without the brrr-ing effect which is mostly distracting for the listener.
Tere Bina Jeena is another song that Ahmed must be swearing by as the album’s next hit (he has even included a blues-mix version of the song towards the end accompanying similar rehashed versions of Chandni Raat Mein and Mein Aur Tu). While the song is lively, it seems short on something. Dekha Mein Ne Nahin is another song possibly composed for a Bollywood production rather than being a pop number.
Amazingly, Jiss Ko Bhi Lageya is vintage Ahmed at the start coupled with some vintage rock guitar during the chorus. This is one song that can be predicted as a true hit. Jab Tumhari Yaad is again in Ahmed’s newfound pop-rock’ style. It comes across as one where the singer is probably burying his past and preparing to move on.
The rock infusion seems to have added a contemporary feel to Ahmed’s work, and one feels it would be fantastic if he can follow up more on this style of music composition.
