Music is an important element in the development of an individual, a society, a nation, and a culture. Across different parts of the world, from ancient to modern times, numerous cultures have emerged. This process continues even today. New layers are constantly added to the old. Sometimes, knowingly or unknowingly, two distinct cultures blend together and give birth to something entirely new.
Indian music includes classical traditions whose origins are traced back directly to the Samaveda. Just as the saying goes that language changes every twelve kos, so too does local folk music vary across regions. There is no reason for conflict between folk music and classical music. Nor should there be. Both complement each other. That is precisely why Indian classical music developed tradition-oriented “gharanas”, while at the same time producing visionary artists like Kumar Gandharva, who could bring folk melodies into the framework of classical music.
At one level, Indian music operates within the structured discipline of musical theory, yet at the same time it remains astonishingly expansive and inclusive. This inclusiveness is the reason why Pandit Ravi Shankar could carry Indian classical music across the world, and why Afghan musicians like Ustad Homayoun Sakhi could absorb and reinterpret it. Through the Rubab, a Central Asian instrument closely related to the sarod, Sakhi performs both Indian classical compositions and traditional Afghan melodies for audiences worldwide.
But how did my attention turn to this instrument and this musician? The answer lies in the magical box called YouTube.
Whenever I read, having instrumental music in the background, santoor, flute, or voices like Pandit Jasraj or Sanjeev Abhyankar, makes time pass effortlessly. On one such occasion, Rahul Sharma was performing astonishing improvisations on the santoor, accompanied by Ustad Zakir Hussain on the tabla. That musical spell reached a certain peak, and suddenly another unfamiliar instrument began to emerge in the soundscape. For a few moments it felt unusual, but soon the santoor joined it again.
Curious, I looked up from my book and noticed that YouTube’s autoplay had started a video titled “Rubab Meets Santoor.”
I set the book aside and listened attentively to the jugalbandi between Homayoun Sakhi and Rahul Sharma. While listening, I constantly felt a sense of familiarity, as if I had heard something similar before.
My curiosity was now fully awakened. I searched for more performances by Sakhi. The list included several Indian ragas, most accompanied by tabla. The tabla accompanist in many recordings was Salar Nader, a disciple of the legendary Ustad Zakir Hussain.
Among the recordings, I noticed one of my favourite ragas, Raga Yaman. I started the video and returned to my book.
I had indeed returned to the book, but within moments a remarkable coincidence left me astonished. On one side, I was listening to Homayoun Sakhi playing Raga Yaman on the Afghan rubab. On the other side, in my hands was the book “Agnikand” by the perceptive editor and writer Govind Talwalkar.
In the book’s second and third chapters, Talwalkar reviews Afghanistan’s turbulent history over the past two hundred years, particularly the last fifty years of war and instability. As the notes of Yaman echoed in my ears, I read about how Mullah Omar’s Taliban had declared music haram and banned it, even within the privacy of one’s home.
Naturally, a question arose in my mind: How could a musician like Homayoun Sakhi emerge from such an environment?
Talwalkar’s book offered the answer through stark statistics. During the conflicts involving the Taliban and other militant groups, nearly six million Afghans became refugees in Pakistan. Among them were Homayoun Sakhi and his father, Ustad Ghulam Sakhi.
Although Pakistan became a separate nation after the Partition, despite being divided along religious lines, the tradition of Hindustani classical music has continued across the Indian subcontinent. Homayoun Sakhi pursued further musical training in Peshawar.
Even though the Taliban regime collapsed in 2001, Afghanistan’s civil strife did not end. In 2002, Sakhi made the decision to move to Fremont, California, in the United States. From there, through the rubab and the accompaniment of tabla, he continues to carry the banner of Afghan musical heritage across the world.
Even now, as I read, the sound of the rubab accompanies me. I listen to various ragas. While listening, one observation constantly emerges: the basic structure of the raga clearly belongs to Hindustani classical music, yet occasionally a different melodic phrase appears, carrying a distinct tremor, a unique vibration.
That vibration reminded me of something familiar. After a moment’s reflection, I realised where I had heard it before, in the famous song from the film “Kabuliwala”:
“Ae mere pyaare watan, tujh pe dil qurbaan…”
O my beloved homeland, my heart is devoted to you.
A composer like Salil Chowdhury, born in Bengal, creates music for a film based on a story by Rabindranath Tagore, another son of Bengal. For that story, Kabuliwala, he studies Afghan musical traditions and instruments, and composes a song that evokes the soul of Afghanistan itself.
Is culture really anything other than this?
Meanwhile, a musician born in Afghanistan, who experienced the hardships of exile, performs Hindustani classical ragas on an Afghan instrument, accompanied by tabla, before audiences around the world.
In recent years, particularly after the Taliban’s return to power in 2021, the situation for musicians in Afghanistan has once again become extremely difficult. Music has largely been restricted or discouraged in public spaces, and many musicians have either stopped performing or have fled the country.
Institutions such as the Afghanistan National Institute of Music, which once trained young musicians in both Afghan and classical traditions, were forced to shut down or relocate abroad.
Despite these challenges, Afghan musical traditions, especially instruments like the rubab, often called the national instrument of Afghanistan, continue to survive through diaspora artists and international collaborations.
Afghan musicians across the world keep performing traditional melodies, Sufi compositions, and classical ragas, ensuring that the cultural voice of Afghanistan remains alive even in exile.
When religion and borders divide people, culture, especially music, often becomes the strongest force bringing them together. Yet their music receives appreciation worldwide. That recognition itself must surely inspire hope, that one day their art will flourish again in their homeland.
As the Persian poet Rumi once wrote:
“Where there is ruin, there is hope for a treasure.”
Perhaps, through music, Afghanistan will one day rediscover that treasure of harmony again.
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