C OVER STORY
Amjad Sabri’s life was a
celebration of art. His death is
a verdict on Pakistan’s war on
terror
I
met Amjad Sabri in 2013. I was hosting a live midnight
show for Pakistan Television for the month of Ramzan.
He was our grand finale guest, we were so excited to
see him perform. He was the last performer of Ramzan
and I remember him walking and settling onstage with
his ‘humnawa’an’ and get into the groove, the ‘samaa’. I
remember the goosebumps as he began his qawwali, I
remember every single person in the studio being mesmerized by the sheer power of his performance. I remember walking up to him later, I remember wanting to
compliment him, but he complimented me first. “You did
a great job hosting the show!” I was a little taken aback,
laughed and told him it was really gracious of him. “Thank
you. You’re amazing. I’m a huge fan,” I said. He laughed
his hearty laugh, the laugh he was apparently famous
for among the many people who knew him. A couple of
us stood together and we had a photograph with him.
Where is that photograph today, I wonder. I lost it. I can’t
believe I lost it. It seems a lot of things are lost in the fire
of Islamic fundamentalism in Pakistan today. The news
flashed across my television screen. I scoffed at first. Of
course it should have been a skirmish. A petty fight or he
may have come in the line of some misdirected gunfire
that is often a part of Karachi’s violent political culture.
I refused to even process for a minute - that some deranged human being would want to kill Amjad Sabri, the
man who had brought nothing but music and love to the
people who listened to him. I sat motionless watching
the television screen flash photos and footage of him.
Laughing. Singing. Talking. Saying nice, sweet things
to his audiences. I saw his friends and acquaintances
weeping, someone said even the guy who used to sell
him tea from a stall remembered him like ‘a friend’. How
many of us can say that about ourselves? About many a
celebrity, high profile personality that leaves their earthly
abode?Thousands flocked his funeral. Grief poured on
social media, celebrities who performed with him (Sonu
Nigam for example) expressed their grief as well. The
Rangers, the ever powerful omniscient Rangers in Karachi claimed that “Liaquatabad (where Sabri lived and
was shot) seemed like an area of terrorists.” Tehrik-eTaliban claimed responsibility.I drove around for a while.
The hate, the constant hate, the constant stupidity, the
constant madness of lives lost was getting unbearable. I
played the famous qawwali of his, Bhar de Jholi Ya Muhammad, in my car. Before I realized, I felt tears on my
face. Tears that wouldn’t stop. I kept shaking my head
when he uttered the words, “Haalat e beykasi kis ko
dikhlaeyen hum?” (Who should we show just how helpless we are?). Where would we go? What would we do?
Amjad Sabri’s life was a celebration of art. His death, his
untimely, unjustified, unprecedented death, was a statement about who is winning the war on terror in Pakistan.
Soon enough, the discourse on social media started attacking liberals. Those who missed Sabri. Those who
celebrated him. Those who loved his art. Those who
formed alliances with him. Once again it was liberal, progressive, peace-loving Pakistan that lost. The terrorists,
their apologists, their spokespersons, everyone started
hating liberals and their standpoints all over again. And it
got so much that I realized something someone told me
a few weeks ago. “You are not winning this war.” All of
a sudden, with Sabri’s death, I remembered every progressive voice that Pakistan that has left us one by one.
And all the rest of them who walk around with a target
sign on their foreheads