A "Laali" for Imam Hussain

Growing up, Hindi was the language spoken at me by other Indian Americans, and frequently a a source of derision against my mother tongue, Tamil. When I converted to Islam, suddenly I was expected to speak Urdu by those in Indian Muslim spaces. "We care about our faith," an Urdu Muslim friend from Chennai had told me. "Culture is from this dunya; it's not that important. That's why we speak Urdu at the mosque and at home instead of following this Tamil culture." I have nothing against Urdu Muslims and none of the weird xenophobia that hyper-nationalists sometimes inflict onto poor, vulnerable migrant communities. But it was disheartening to hear, time and again, Urdu being framed as of the "Deen" and Tamil being of the "Dunya." Is Urdu also not culture? And is a Tamil Muslim's Islam lesser just because he rejects Urduization? 

As a Tamil Shi'a, I find myself not having much of a choice when it comes to distance from Urdu. The vast majority of Shi'as in TN are Urdu-speaking, with a Persian-speaking minority of a displaced British-era Iranian population. There is a tiny Tamil-speaking Shi'a community—but only across the pond, in Sri Lanka, their customs strictly aligned with that of the 1979 Iranian Revolution. I have met a few, but not enough to bridge the gap between Shi'iness and Tamilness—a Tamilness which, as a result of trauma from a tumultuous Sri Lankan history, the SL Tamil-speaking Shi'a community avoids too much direct association with. There are only a handful of Tamil nohey/latmiyat, set to tune closer to Persian and Urdu musical modes, which makes no proper accommodations for the ruggedly beautiful double-stopped consonants of the Tamil language. I have not yet seen, in Tamil Nohey, the soothing melodies and deep history of Tamil Muslim Padalgal, such as those of late Kumari Aboobacker and E.M Hanifa, nor the spontaneity and swaying rhythms of Phakeershah Padalgal recited by Tamil fakeers, nor the heartrending impact of the Urdu and Punjabi nohey that move millions in South Asia.

I do not really enjoy stuffing Tamil Islamic mysticism into the paradigms of sectarian identity. Nathar Wali R A. is a Qalandari dervish whose blurry origins precede our modern definitions of Sanni and Shi'a, his santhanakoodu festival observed with the intentional involvement of various faiths. Kunangudi Masthan R.A. and the older Yakob Siddhar R.A. transcended the boundaries of organized religion via the Siddhar tradition. Up until the rigorous organizing of the present form of Twelver Shi'ism occurred under the Safavid ulema, the divide between a more Sunni-identified Sufism and Shi'ism was often non-existent (and still is, in many cases). My own humble journey with Islam began with the history of a Sufi saint in Killai donating land towards the temple of Sri Mushnam, the syncretism of which forced me to rethink the Islamophobia I harbored during my early teen years. 

So I feel a deep proximity with fellow Tamil Muslims via the avenue of mysticism, to the point that I do consider myself a Tamil Sufi as well as a Tamil Shi'a. But to others, this is not an easy answer, with Shi'as warning me against the "shirk" of Sufi dargahs and Sufis warning me against the "shirk" of Shi'a azakhane.

In my spare time, I've managed to make some sense of these “opposites”—of being Tamil and Shi’a—by writing (embarrassingly bad) Tamil poetry and songs of Shi’i themes. My favorite medium to work with is the “thalaattu”, the Tamil lullaby style which is recited equally for babies as well as for gods, martyr-deities, prophets, and saints across various religious sections. Here is a small portion from a noha I composed and sang two years ago, based on the thalattu trope where a mother consoles her restless, crying baby by promising punishment for whoever had harmed it—here, the mother is Fatima Zahra S.A., who lulls her son Hussain A.S., headless, murdered and disfigured, into eternal slumber upon her lap:

ஹர்மலா அடித்தானா? 

அவனுக்கு கைவிலங்கு போட்டிடுவோமே

ஷிமர் உன்னை மிதித்தானா? 

அவனுக்கு சங்கிலிகள் செய்திடுவோமே 

எனக்காக உன்னையும், 

உனக்காக என்னையும் 

படைத்தானை கேளாய் கண்ணா,

உன்னை தாலாட்டி வைப்பான் கண்ணா

எம்பெருமானாரின் அழகான லாலி,

தந்தை அலீயின் அன்பார்ந்த லாலி, 

அண்ணன் ஹசனின் அரவணையில் லாலி,

அன்னையின் மடியில் ஆனந்த லாலி,

செஹ்ராவின் லாலி, தாய் சொல்லும் லாலி

ஆரிராரிராரிராரோ, ஆரிராரிராரிராரோ

“Did Harmala strike you? 

May we fashion handcuffs for him;

Did Shimr trample upon you? 

May we fashion chains for him; 

Listen to the One

Who created you for me,

And me for you,

So that He may rock you to sleep, my beloved. 

Here is the beautiful laali of the Great Prophet,

The tender laali of Father Ali, 

The embracing laali of Brother Hasan, 

The soothing laali of your mother’s lap,

This is Zehra’s laali, a mother-sung laali—

Aariraariraariraaro, Aariraariraariraaro…”

When I sent a recording of this lullaby to a Chennai Shi’a uncle friend for his feedback, he not only listened to it right away but in his delight also forwarded it to his friends, saying to me, “I have many Tamil Muslim friends. They are all Sannis, but great lovers of Imam Hussain A.S.. They were thrilled because they had never heard a noha in Tamil before. You have everyone’s love, blessings, and duas. Please keep writing for Ahlul Bayt A.S., and don’t forget to come recite for us during Muharram.” 

I wasn’t sure whether he was just being nice to placate the cringe nature of my verses or not, but in that moment, my conundrum of being neither here-nor-there in linguo-religious identity was assuaged by this united brotherhood of both Tamil Sanni Muslims and Chennai Shi’a Muslims who had made Tamil Nadu their home.

I later slowly began to notice a wave of Chennai Shi’as who were eager to adopt a Tamilian identity—the only distinction between me and them, as they remarked, was that I was “asal Tamil” (original Tamil) and that they were “new Tamils.” “What else would we identify as?” one of my friends told me. “We have been here for quite a while. Regardless of what we speak at home, if we say we are Tamil, then we are Tamils.”

And just like that, my small, small first-world insecurity was shattered by the all-encompassing embrace of the Tamil Mother. And so I continue to write my cringey verses for it, so that I might leave behind my embarrassment, the confines of my head, and welcome our beloved saints into my life—for the Islam I hold dear and share with others, for the Tamil that binds all of us together, and for Allah, Whom we beseech for the purification of our deeds.

(Edit: the mp3 for the curious, if you would like to know how the composition—as well as my hypernasal voice—sound like 😅 note: the "Nabi Haider" that comes up at the end is just my name and my poet signature; that part is not in reference to the Prophet SAW or to Ali AS :))))