That wink and style - re-enter the Khanum It was 1970. Comedian-writer-producer-director Rangila's film also named Rangila was released and the husky-voiced Tasawwar Khanum, with her song Ve Sub Ton Sohniyan, made her way into her countrymen's hearts. Soon after her successful film songs, she was offered to sing for television.
"I was not ready to sing on TV as I was not very good looking," she says to my disbelief. In fact she was, in those days, among the few good-looking and slim singers seen on the mini-screen. She then explained how she had always been put down by her family. "Akhtar di dihi badi koji" had been their verdict, meaning that Akhtar Husain (her father) had a dark and ordinary looking daughter.
Tasawwar grew up with this complex, but producer Rafique Waraich became instrumental in changing that. He introduced her on television and the young Tasawwar performed with such spirit - nose twitch and all - that television audiences kept craving for more. Amongst the first ghazals that she sang was Dil may eik leher si uthi thi kabhi, in Master Altaf's composition which, like her film songs, also became a hit.
Tasawwar Khanum's name then faded from public memory. Always dressed in glittering saris, she was quite a presence on the TV screen in the era when PTV ruled the airwaves exclusively. The younger generation may neither recognize her, nor might they have heard the songs that were lapped up by the audiences of the '70s and '80s.
"My family hails from Gujarat, Punjab, but I was born in Karachi." Memories of her childhood are shared haiku style. A little later, as our meeting progresses, Tasawwar warms up and discloses some details about her mysterious disappearing act. Seated in her apartment in Karachi's Garden area, she is asked about her parents, but she only discloses that her father had no regular job.
"And I have several siblings - five sisters and four brothers."
Initially she trained in vocal music with Ustad Butay Ali Khan of Gujarat. "Raag, raganiyan, taan, murki, paltay..." She received some training in classical music but by and large the focus remained on folk and film songs. "Kaunsay rajay maharajay baithain hain classical gana sunnay ko! (Gone are the days of the rajas and maharajas who appreciated and encouraged classical singing!)" was the retort from her family as they urged her teacher to do away with classical training.
The very first film song that Tasawwar recorded was a duet with Mujeeb Alam, but she cannot now remember the words of that song. The film, Baap Beta, never saw the light of day, but the song for her second film, Rangila, brought the house down. She sang two versions of Ve Sub Ton Sohniyan for that film: "A happy version picturised on Nisho and a sad version picturised on Saiqa," she says, and hums the popular song.
So how did she get selected to sing for films in the first place?
"The producer of Baap Beta, Syed Rifaqat Ali Shah, heard me reciting a noha in a majlis. My aunt Naseem (not the famous Naseem Begum) was a radio singer, and that connection also helped."
Besides stalwarts such as music composer Khwaja Khursheed Anwar, for whom Tasawwar sang a duet with Nayyara Noor, and Nisar Bazmi, who employed her voice in films like Mastani Mehbooba (Main nachoongi le ke), Anmol (Aesi chaal main chaloon), etc. Tasawwar has sung for a number of composers: Master Abdullah; Master Inayat; Bakshi Wazir; Tafu and A. Hameed are some of the names she recalls. The Bazmi number from Anmol is another classic hit in the annals of Pakistani film music.
Ever since she has made a comeback, Tasawwar says she has been looking for a particular ghazal that used to be her favourite: Apnay ashkau pay sitaraun ka guman hota hey, teri raataun kay sanwarnay ka samaan hota hey. She requests that I mention this so that anybody who knows the ghazal might respond. A Punjabi folk song, Bari thaani chadiya, nawan din adya is also one of her favourites, which she has sung in Mian Sheheryar's composition.
The sensuality that Tasawwar Khanum brought to film songs made her a popular and much sought-after singer, as her voice had those essential ingredients needed for commercial hits. Her vitality and verve were added attributes. But the question that was begging to be asked was, where had she disappeared and what made her resurface?
"It was during Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto's days as prime minister..." Tasawwar Khanum finally begins. "I was visiting the mausoleum of Lal Shahbaz Qalandar in Sehwan Sharif with the rest of the recording crew of the film Rangila. While at the shrine, I was spotted by Ghulam Ali Khan Marri, my future husband."
He was so enamoured by her that he immediately proposed to her, although he admitted he already had a wife and children. "I was very young. My father made all the decisions. He said here was a good, honest man who had fallen in love with me and would take good care of me. So what was the harm in accepting his offer?"
Little did Tasawwar realize at the time that the landlord from Sanghar already had not one but two wives. She was destined to be the third. She says they all lived as one big family. Her husband never barred her from singing. In fact, her appearance on television and the subsequent fame that came with it all happened after marriage.
Tasawwar has three children. "My husband died of cancer 17 years ago." It was surprising to know she had been widowed for so long. So why didn't she sing all these years?
"I was busy raising my children. My older daughter is married to her cousin and lives in Sindh. My son, together with his stepbrothers, looks after the lands, and also lives in the village. I was here in Karachi some seven or eight years ago when my youngest daughter fell ill. I had no money at the time. Sitting with her in the hospital, I realized that I must get back to singing and focus on my livelihood. I moved to Lahore and recorded songs for radio and television over there. After a family tragedy, my older children suggested I come back to Karachi, as it is relatively closer to where they live. So I decided to move back. I have been here with my younger daughter for the last two years."
So why did it take her so long to start appearing in stage programmes? The reason, she says, is that there are many people who do not want her to sing.
"They spread rumours about me, saying I do not live in the country, or that I remain away for long periods. Yes, I did go to the Middle East for brief periods, as I was performing there, but otherwise I am right here and available for singing."
She has also been recording songs on the radio regularly. Mohammad Naqi has encouraged Tasawwar to sing for the radio here and also helped her to get contracts for live stage performances. But television and films have been eluding her.
To my question regarding whether her teenage daughter can sing or if she was still studying, Tasawwar Khanum replied rather forlornly that in Bobhi Goth and Jamando (her husband's villages), it is only recently that girls have been allowed to study.
One also hopes that her daughter might want to break away from the family tradition and move forward to enlighten herself with the magic of the words her mother sings with such panache.
"My daughters are both totally illiterate."
