Manahal (a name in Urdu meaning “heaven’s door”) has its origins in a 2018 trip to Sarajevo. It was further nurtured the following year in Geneva, Tübingen, and Rome, and then finally realized and recorded in the Washington, DC area over the course of the pandemic. An experimental/fusion song that draws from elements of early post punk/darkwave, Indian Classical Music, and a splash of Bollywood, Manahal is a reflection on people coming together, and the gift and necessity of doing so. This can mean any number of things – being with loved ones, friends, colleagues, or even some sort of coming together/closeness in a spiritual sense.
The lyrics consider the experience of Mary Magdalene in her encounter with Jesus at the tomb when she at first suspects he is only the gardener. However, when Jesus speaks to her, Mary Magdalene realizes that the stranger in front of her is actually her dearest friend and teacher hidden in plain sight, a profound and transformative experience for her to witness.
Most of the people we encounter throughout our lives are at one time a stranger. At least, that is the initial perception. However, sometimes when least expected, and particularly when people spend time in the physical presence of one another, lasting friendships develop and someone who was once a stranger can become like family, or may actually become family. Quality time physically with others can be extraordinary and reveal something of the divine in the flesh of everyday life.
The musical piece originally began as a simple melody and accompaniment reflecting on the idea of togetherness. More recently, the song was expanded, elaborated musically, and words were added considering the themes of closeness, amazement, and hope. When considering a meditative visual for the piece, visits to Sufi tekijas (religious houses) in Bosnia immediately came to mind. The strength of religious communities holding together through sustained trauma left an enduring impression. While one can only imagine what it must be like for religious communities to resume in-person activities after a war, this somewhat relates to the process many are experiencing now. In a similar sense, as people around the globe begin to emerge from the pandemic, and opportunities for connection and gathering in-person are being reintroduced, for many it is with a collective and lingering sense of “before” and “after.”
At a tekija in Sarajevo, the congregational use of repetitive singing and movements were powerful. The cyclic patterns of sound, however, were strangely familiar. Experiences of leading and participating in Taizé services, and also observing community bhajans in India came to mind. That is to say, “otherness” encountered in a new place, and when it was least expected, suddenly became recognizable and familiar.
If we are open to surprise, regardless of faith tradition or even no particular belief, being with one another can become a source of unexpected hope in our lives. Even more, like Mary Magdalene when she discovered that the gardener was Jesus, in those moments of doubt when hope is most needed and suddenly arrives, being together in the same physical space can bring comfort to our inner lives and might even offer a glimpse of heaven’s door.
Stranger/friend by your side
Hiding, open and willing
Touched by a gaze felt inside
Rising hope fills up in you