Mourning is more than an expression of grief. In a world fraught with memories of past injustices and ongoing devastation, there is much to mourn. Often perceived as a solitary and passive act rooted in personal emotion, it has a transformative potential that can foster collective solidarity and community.
On Saturday, vocalist and performer Yusra Naqvi brought this transformative power to life, reciting verses of mourning in the evocative tradition of Sozkhwani, at a programme by Work In Progress (WIP) Labs in Delhi. WIP Labs, a collective of artists in Delhi, launched an initiative, Portals, exploring alternative and experimental art, in collaboration with Goethe-Institut. This month’s theme, ‘Individuals and Movements’, showcased art rooted in dissent, activism, and questioning of social norms.
The two-day event, held on August 9 and 10, featured documentary filmmaker Gurvinder Singh’s award-winning film The Trolley Times, offering a look at the 2020 farmers’ protest. This was followed by a discussion with historian Sohail Hashmi and director MK Raina, highlighting Safdar Hashmi Memorial Trust’s (SAHMAT) role in defending cultural spaces, concluding with Yusra Naqvi’s moving performance of Sozkhwani, a poignant reflection on all that has been lost and what still endures. Naqvi, a music artist from Kanpur and currently a Master’s student of history at the University of Delhi, traces her roots and cultural heritage to Mustafabad.
“Of the three main mourning traditions in Shia culture—Sozkhwani, Marsiyakhwani, and Mahakhwani—I was first introduced to Mahakhwani by my aunt and maternal grandmother. My maternal grandmother, who was a well-known singer in Mustafabad, taught me how to practise this tradition,”shares Naqvi. The Naqvi family has long been bringing the religious tradition of soz and salaam to secular settings.
Sozkhwani, which commemorates the Karbala tragedy — a battle between truth and falsehood fought by a small group of 72 men, women, and children—resonates deeply within the Shia community. But its beauty lies in its ability to connect with others through moments of vulnerability. As Professor Brahma Prakash writes, “During mourning—crying with eyes and words—one realises that this could happen to anyone, and that brings a shared emotion.
” It is not just the performative gesture that resonates, but also the musical tone that reminds people of a shared sense of being. Naqvi, who has been training in Hindustani classical music for 13 years, says that the tradition of soz promotes syncretism, i.e.
amalgamation of different schools of thought. “Sozkhwani compositions are based on ragas. Also, practices and poetry associated with Muharram promote a syncretic heritage.
Some poets have even drawn parallels between the stories of the Mahabharata and Ramayana with that of Karbala.” Although being a religious art form limits experimentation with its musical structure, Naqvi shares, “We have experimented with languages — our compositions are in Hindawi, Awadhi, Khadi Boli, and Urdu, along with an English narration.” Her favourite verse is Kahe Bano Mai Sees Nahau Kaha, Mora Saiyaan To Maika Beesargayo, meaning, ‘Where do I bow my head, my beloved has left me.
’ This is recited by Bano, the wife of Imam Hussain, lamenting the loss of her husband. When Naqvi’s voice fills the air, the audience is gripped in a state of reverie, allowing each one of us to see our relations differently. As feminist philosopher Judith Butler suggests, it presents an identification with each other—not born from pride—but from a sense of vulnerability.
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