LETTERS OF HAUNTING
Letters of Haunting is a textile Installation by artist Par Nair that showcases migration stories of Indian women through a series of hand embroidered saris. The installation is accompanied by a soundscape composed by Hasheel Lodhia.
Hasheel Lodhia
Composer and Sound Designer
Hasheel began his training in North Indian Classical music at the age of three, under his father. Later he studied vocals under Shri Narendra Datar and bansuri under the guidance of Shri Jeetu Sharma. He is currently a senior disciple of the legendary Pandit Hariprasad Chaurasia and vocal student of Pandit Ajay Pohankar. He was fortunate to have had the opportunity to perform with notable musicians like Kailash Kher, Hariharan, Karthik, Shafqat Amanat Ali Khan, Karsh Kale, Javed Ali, as well as for academy-award-winner A.R. Rahman. His recent work includes Limca, an indo-queer music video series, and RaagRani, a documentary-style music video celebrating the union of his identities. He is honoured to be a part of the team bringing the Mahabharata to life.
Festival performances include: Iceland Airwaves, Pride Toronto, Small World Music Festival, DesiFEST, TD Mosaic Festival, Calgary Pride, Hariharan Live.
Discography includes: Circle, Alysha Brilla; RaagRani, Small World Music; Char Taal and A Raga Rainbow, Rakkatak; Limca, Hasheel; The India Beat Tape, Yanchan; Meeting the Beatles in India (original film soundtrack), Russell Walker; Green Sky Project, Anton Apostolov; Surkhaab (original film soundtrack), Anuj Rastogi.
Music Direction and Composition includes: Mahabharata, Why Not Theatre; In Multiplicity, Nuit Blanche; Possibilities Podcast; Mandala, Sampradaya Dance Academy; The Tagore Project, Tanveer Alam and Atri Nundy.
Letter #1
dear amma,
what does it mean to mother?
what does the mother
in motherland mother?
what does the mother
in mother tongue mother?
these mothers birth
a belonging,
a return to our roots
of abstracted memory,
of elusive hope
it began here
your journey and mine
my birthplace
the place i return to
it started here
your language and mine
my mother tongue
the tongue i return to
my mother, my first home
all my songs lead to you
all my stories end with you
mother, what is home
if not you?
Letter #2
dear amma,
i feel full and empty at once,
home and not home, at once
tell me, how do i grieve
for what i cannot see?
tell me, how do i love
when i’m a haunting?
i mimic their hues
their tales and tongues
only to feel like a fraud,
a ghost
probing
visiting
longing
Letter #3
mother,
i long to tell you how i feel
how there is no shame
in feeling this feeling
but you never ask
you never ask because
you don’t know how
you never ask
and that swallows me whole
for i have given up
everything i know
to belong
without you
Letter #4
dear amma,
do you cry?
they say we laugh in excess.
do you think laughter
is our way of screaming?
of being less soundless?
to remind ourselves we are full
full of stories that matter
full of colours that matter
they don’t hear me, ma.
do you hear me?
did you hear me cry my first cry?
right after they severed the cord
that held me braided
within you
for months
as you made me human
did you cry with me?
is there a place where we could
cry together again?
Letter #5
ma,
something in his eyes
something in the blue of his eyes
that evoked a lack in mine
something about that shade of blue
that reminded me
of the hottest part of a flame
i’m told i could never touch,
of oceans that could drown,
of skies that could devour,
of days that could devastate
as though he held
precious stones in his eyes
that were on fire
and could shatter at any moment
in complete contrast
to my earthly hues
of black and brown
something peculiar about his shades
of white and blue
that revealed a risk,
a warning
something so blue about him
that reminded me
of all the things
i could never touch
Letter #6 (Located at STC Mall)
your songs were soft
your stories were blue
your memory, a faint whisper
fiercely rewritten
your skin, a fading fuss
a battleground
your voice belonged to contradictions
twisting with your tongue
your hair, a river
dark, flowing
in your shadow, was a garden
one you could not see,
but somehow grew
it was a garden like no other
peppered with jasmine flowers
and monsoons of tender joy
but it was the smell of jasmine
that always brought me back
to your stormy garden
to you
it brought everything back
it will always bring
everything back.
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