Rock These Bells

In the richest temple in the world, the clamor of bells is deafening. Dozens of tiny diyas ricochet light off of gold pillars and walls in all directions. Shoulder to shoulder, pilgrims and priests – jam-packed – jostle their way to get a glimpse of the altar. The clanging surrounds the deity, a manifestation of the Lord Vishnu reclining on a hooded serpent.

Amongst the commotion, the dim chamber takes on the feel of a time machine. The constant shift in lighting plays tricks on your eyes and on your mind, as if you have entered an almost-parallel dimension.

You cannot help but try and prolong every second in that deep chamber, if only to simply absorb the feeling .The vibrations are both ancient and kinetic down on the coast of Kerala. It is only a matter of moments, but the uniqueness of the forces around you cement themselves somewhere in your being – not so much as a memory, but as an imprint of experience.

It’s not the most familiar form of expression, yet not the most foreign. But you get it. You get that the ritual and worship is significant for many. Contained in the constant flicker of tiny flames are meanings left to ponder. Despite the prejudices that still permeate society, from unequal social hierarchies to differential power relations, we assert claim to our own definitions from fire and flames.

In those moments and the ones after, your mind takes you back, trying to understand the articulation of culture witnessed. Exiting back outside to the streets of Thiruvananthapuram, you cannot help but wonder whether that indeed was another dimension, where the sound of ringing never ceases.

***

Behind the Nizamuddin Auliyah dargah there is another, smaller dargah. Upon ascending the stairs, I am immediately greeted by a tree that reaches through the floor from the ground below. On the wall written in Urdu, Hindi, and English are prayers and recitations, reaffirming the equality of all human beings and all faiths in a spirit of plurality. As I take my seat on the marble floor, the music begins. The beats, sounds, and rhythms from centuries passed on echo the Sufi tradition of unity, love, and harmony between this world and the divine.

And there are moments, moments where I lose myself in the tunes of tabla and harmonium, in the potency of Saqlain and Jamal’s voices, which belong to a tradition that spans generations. Saqlain and Jamal’s family have been singing qawwali for over 700 years. There is something in that setting that blurs this world with another.

For some it is about personal connection to inter-connected cosmic forces, for others simply a cultural experience, but for me evenings at the dargah are all of these, as well as a reaffirmation of spiritual expression. Over the next days and weeks I will crave a return to that place of solitude within, and mystical discourse abound, all around me.

***

From South Ferry we climb aboard the boat that takes us to the stage of hip-hop culture and community. From the tip of Manhattan we have set out with style and swagger to celebrate rap legends rhyme a hardened street existence with obscene material success. We grew up watching flashing images from music videos, and listening to the clever manipulation of poetry, prose, and profanity that mocked what authority held sacred. It is the playfulness in rhyme, the nuance in satire, and the truth beyond what news reports or textbooks ever chose to reveal that constituted a large part of our education.

We have come for the soulful journey with Erykah that takes us on (and on), as part of a gathering of the masses to pay respect to the Wu-Tang Clan (amongst others). But the highlight of the evening must be Ms. Lauryn Hill. We can’t help but sing, dance, and smile along to the Miseducation that we first received as teenagers. Witnessing classic Fugees tracks performed live, our youth is resurrected in front of our very eyes. And as the curtain closes with “Killing Me Softly” it’s sorta like – “I can die happy now.” With the soundtrack in our heads, we make our way back to the city – exhausted, full, and satisfied.

***

From Hinduism to hip-hop, whether in temples or dargahs or rap concerts, whether religion or poetry or music, each setting and form holds the potential sparks for learning, sharing, and creating. While the methods and means are often co-opted by reactionary forces committed to mere consumption and soul destruction, our creation should not be compromised. The liberation of creative expression is not only a celebration of the spirit, but formation of the education and culture of tomorrow.

As the thirteenth century Persian Sufi poet Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi is to have said, “There are a hundred ways to kneel and kiss the earth.”

So whatever you do – whether it be a prayer to the gods, a lament from the heart, or an occupation of public space for human dignity and against corporate greed– let your song be heard. Rock these bells.