Remarkable for its resemblance to a complaining human voice, the classical instrument is fading from the Pakistani music scene – with the exception of a few players who are committed to maintaining their position. Difficult to repair, expensive to repair and with little financial reward for professionals, the decline of the sarangi was difficult to stop, Hassan told the AFP news agency. “We are trying to keep the tool alive, without even taking into account our miserable financial situation,” he said. For seven generations, his family has owned the bow, short-necked instrument, and Hassan has been highly regarded throughout Pakistan for his abilities, appearing regularly on television, radio and at private parties. He also teaches the instrument at an academy he founded in Lahore. “My family’s madness for the instrument forced me to pursue a career as a slut, leaving my education unfinished,” he said. “I live hand in hand as the majority of directors arrange music programs with the latest orchestras and pop bands.” Zohaib Hassan plays sarangi at the historic Lahore Fortress of the Mughal era in Lahore [Aamir Qureshi/AFP] Traditional instruments compete with a thriving R&B and pop scene in a country where more than 60 percent of the population is under the age of 30. Sara Zaman, a professor of classical music at the Lahore National Arts Council, says that not only sarangi but also other traditional instruments such as sitar, santur and tanpura are disappearing. “Platforms have been given to other industries such as pop music, but it is missing in the case of classical music,” he said. “The sarangi, which is a very difficult organ, has not been given due importance and attention in Pakistan, with the result that it is gradually disappearing.”
“The strings of my heart”
The sarangi gained prominence in Indian classical music in the 17th century, during the reign of the Mughals in the subcontinent. Its decline in Pakistan began in the 1980s after the deaths of several of the country’s top players and classical singers, said Khwaja Najam-ul-Hassan, a television director who has created an archive of top Pakistani musicians. “The instrument was close to the hearts of the top internationally recognized male and female singers of classical music, but it began to fade after their deaths,” he said. Traditional sarangi are placed on the carpet at a music academy in Lahore [Aamir Qureshi/AFP] Ustad Allah Rakha, one of Pakistan’s most world-renowned sarangi players, died in 2015 after a career that saw him play with orchestras around the world. Now players say they are struggling to survive only on performance fees, often much lower than those paid to modern guitarists, pianists or violinists. Hand-carved from a single piece of cedar from Pakistan, the main strings of the sarangi are made of goat gut, while the seventeen sympathetic strings – a common feature in the subcontinent folk instruments – are made of steel. The instrument costs about 120,000 rupees ($ 625) and most of its parts are imported from neighboring India, where it remains the main part of the rule. “The price has gone up as there is a ban on imports from India,” said Muhammad Tahir, owner of one of only two repair shops in Lahore. Pakistan has downgraded diplomatic relations and cut off bilateral trade with India over New Delhi’s decision in 2019 to remove India-ruled semi-autonomous Kashmir. Tahir, who may take about two months to carefully repair a single worn sarangi, said no one in Pakistan makes the special steel strings because of a lack of demand. “There is no admiration for the sarangi players and the few people repairing this wonderful instrument,” said Ustad Zia-ud-Din, owner of Lahore’s other repair shop, which has been in existence for some 200 years. Years. Efforts to adapt to the contemporary music scene have shown promise. “We have invented new ways of playing, including making the sarangi semi-electric to improve sound during performances with modern musical instruments,” Hassan said. He has now appeared several times with the custom instrument and says the reception was positive. One of Hassan’s few students is 14-year-old musician Mohsin Muddasir, who has avoided instruments such as the guitar to take over the sarangi. “I am learning this instrument because it plays with the strings of my heart,” he said.
