Recently signed up for the trial version of Apple Music and it's digging up the songs from near and distant memory that's got me hooked.
Friday night Ryz picked me up from work, and well the drive down 152 Street towards White Rock is just beautiful.
I was exploring Bally Sagoo on my phone and found a remix of, "Tumhein Dillagi" which was performed by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan.
The remix was awful. Realized why Bally Sagoo couldn't make waves after the days of Aaja Nachle.
15 seconds into the remix and I put on the original version.
Qawwali starts and I remembered the drive from my home to my school every morning. This would be the last song on one side of the audiocassette and I would want to hear it at a single stretch.
I don't remember whether Arif Bhai drove fast enough or slow enough for the song to start at our driveway when he would be backing onto the street, and end when we'd pull in through the gates of KAS.
Each time. Every morning.
I made Arif Bhai listen to a lot of great and crap songs in my teenage years, each one on repetition because hey, once would never be enough.
Tumhein Dillagi was one song that we'd both hear with shared appreciation. I'd spy the fingers on his left hand gently tap the steering wheel. Random taps despite himself, since he was too proper to tap in sync.
And I in my teenage longing for that kind of love that makes one sing out in rhyme and refrain loved that qawwali every day.
Until the next passion rolled in and took over me.
Sixteen minutes and twenty-three seconds of bliss.
Hearing it more than a decade later in the car and the perfect weather, sitting next to my lifelong crush who is also my husband, the song seemed too intense. Too self-destructive, when my definition of love is constantly changing and evolving with myself.
For a brief moment I did remember those feelings as they rushed back. Though I didn't know what to do with them. Like meeting that one person you had a brief connection with way, way back in school years later. You marvel at how time flies, smile and walk on.
Except Arif Bhai is still working with my father, and I'm not shy to tell him that I appreciate all that he's done for me.
And that boy that I fell in love with in my twenties is behind the wheel next to me while we listen to happier songs together.
Friday night Ryz picked me up from work, and well the drive down 152 Street towards White Rock is just beautiful.
I was exploring Bally Sagoo on my phone and found a remix of, "Tumhein Dillagi" which was performed by Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan.
The remix was awful. Realized why Bally Sagoo couldn't make waves after the days of Aaja Nachle.
15 seconds into the remix and I put on the original version.
Qawwali starts and I remembered the drive from my home to my school every morning. This would be the last song on one side of the audiocassette and I would want to hear it at a single stretch.
I don't remember whether Arif Bhai drove fast enough or slow enough for the song to start at our driveway when he would be backing onto the street, and end when we'd pull in through the gates of KAS.
Each time. Every morning.
I made Arif Bhai listen to a lot of great and crap songs in my teenage years, each one on repetition because hey, once would never be enough.
Tumhein Dillagi was one song that we'd both hear with shared appreciation. I'd spy the fingers on his left hand gently tap the steering wheel. Random taps despite himself, since he was too proper to tap in sync.
And I in my teenage longing for that kind of love that makes one sing out in rhyme and refrain loved that qawwali every day.
Until the next passion rolled in and took over me.
Sixteen minutes and twenty-three seconds of bliss.
Hearing it more than a decade later in the car and the perfect weather, sitting next to my lifelong crush who is also my husband, the song seemed too intense. Too self-destructive, when my definition of love is constantly changing and evolving with myself.
For a brief moment I did remember those feelings as they rushed back. Though I didn't know what to do with them. Like meeting that one person you had a brief connection with way, way back in school years later. You marvel at how time flies, smile and walk on.
Except Arif Bhai is still working with my father, and I'm not shy to tell him that I appreciate all that he's done for me.
And that boy that I fell in love with in my twenties is behind the wheel next to me while we listen to happier songs together.
