The composition Kya Karie Korimol (What will the bride’s father do?), in Hindustani and Koshur, recently made it to the ongoing Coke Studio Bharat. The otherwise underwhelming series found attention last month when 40-year-old musician Mohammad Muneem Nazir, aka Alif, created the piece in collaboration with Aashima Mahajan, a Dogra musician from Jammu, and Kashmiri folk singer Noor Mohammad.
In this compelling composition, the twang of an acoustic guitar hauls one into a bedecked home in the valley, where a father is making arrangements for his daughter’s wedding – stressing about the feast, quintals of rice, adding meat and raisins to it, adhering to the social norms that will satisfy the wedding guests. But after a boisterous beginning, the song shifts to another part of the house, where melancholy surrounds the bride who sits in reverie, wondering about home, identity, and belongingness.
While Nazir takes on the rollicking first half with Noor, Mahajan sings the bride’s story through Wanwun – the traditional Kashmiri folk, which is a blend of prayer and blessings. It is usually sung by women at weddings and thread ceremonies. Interestingly, Wanwun has been sung for years irrespective of caste and religion, sung by Hindus and Muslims, with minor differences in the use of Persian and Sanskrit words.
And in here lies the masterstroke from the musician. This satire on ostentatious weddings, merges the binaries of festivity and sorrow besides being a reminder of a collective consciousness. Paired with guitars, drums, and a string section, the piece forges a relationship between the past and present. So far, Kya Karie Korimol has been heard over 10 million times.
With his trademark kashidakari shawl wrapped around the microphone, “a constant reminder of home and the struggles of his journey,” Nazir has put Kashmir’s cultural essence on a mainstream platform.
“An artiste is someone who either makes your life easier or transports you from one point to the other. In today’s times, one of the most beautiful ways to do that is through storytelling. The tune is there, but it’s the story, which will melt away your pain and probably allow you to feel joyous. It’s all about processing pain,” says Nazir, who had originally created the song in 2018. “With Coke Studio, we got the opportunity to extend the story,” he adds.
While Coke Studio Bharat has highlighted Nazir’s work as an independent artiste, it has also put a spotlight on the two-decade career of an independent artiste from the valley who found prominence with his song Ride Home (2018), a collaboration with Noor Mohammad, that won him the best folk song at Indian Independent Music Awards (IIMA) in 2022. The song spoke of the condition of artistes in Kashmir and how so many talented and unsung ones like Noor Mohammad whose art has suffered much due to lack of technical skills and years of discord in the valley His other songs such as Lalnawath (2018), Mazhab (2017) Like a Sufi (a collaboration with MC Cash in 2016), and Jhelumus (2020) which spoke of women and their grievances also found much attention in the independent music world. His song Katyu Chuko also made it to Imtiaz Ali and Sajid Ali’s film – Laila Majnu (2018).
Nazir grew up amid the conflict-ridden Srinagar and began writing poetry when he was 14. But music and writing were only vocations in a very academic-oriented family. “My father was an engineer and my mother a professor and many in the extended family were doctors and engineers. In this atmosphere, sangeet sunne ki bohot ijaasat nahi thi (one wasn’t permitted to listen to a lot of music). But my father did bring home Jagjit Singh cassettes and I fell in love with his soulful ghazals and poetry,” says Nazir. His introduction to Western music was through his father’s brother, a RJ, who did a Sunday afternoon show that played English chartbusters on a local radio channel. “That’s how I heard Queen and Michael Jackson,” says Nazir, whose home radio often played Kishore Kumar, Mohommad Rafi and Mukesh songs, as well.
When he was 11, Nazir was sent to Dehradun to study in a boarding school. This is the early ’90s, insurgency was at an all-time high in the valley; civilian deaths had become common. But nothing can ever replace one’s home, with all its pain and bloodbath. “I would write letters to my parents, keep them under my pillow and cry. I remember that sense of abandonment, which is also why my writing has a sense of lament to it. People latch on to it, they feel that it’s for them, too,” says Nazir, who moved back to Srinagar a year later.
Times were hard, there were no friends, so he began to channel his thoughts through reading and writing. “Music has helped me process who I am and how I am. There would have been no other way. In the end, art is something that reflects history,” says Nazir, who also teaches a writing course at Symbiosis. Since becoming a musician wasn’t an option at home, Nazir joined an engineering college in Pune in 2000. By this point, he was keen on voice training. He learnt of Celia Lobo, a popular opera singer from the ’60s and ’70s and choreographer Ashley Lobo’s mother. It was four sessions a week, for Rs 1,000 a session. “Since my family didn’t give permission, I’d have to somehow arrange that money for the week. On the day of the class, I’d start walking at 6 am. If I’d get a lift, I’d wait outside her place for three hours, if I didn’t, I’d keep walking and reach by 11 am. It made me wonder, do I really want to do this?” says Nazir. It’s the affirmative reply that kept him going.
Nazir formed a band in 2008 and for the first four-five years performed for food. “All day, we’d not eat anything. The gig would happen in the evening and we’d get our money and eat. We only had one condition – performing originals,” says Nazir.
In 2011, Nazir went on to open for Bryan Adams in Pune and appeared on Kappa TV in 2016. His latest single Fitna Fitoor – “a song about the madness of wanting to win over the chaos” – from Universal Music’s album Siyaah, which delves into concepts of resilience, identity, and uncertainty, already has the social media bonding over it.
