How I came to this music:
I started to sing at the age of 10- my father and my uncle used to teach me. When I was 12, I sang in a very respected Sufi ceremony every Thursday in Kabul. That ceremony used to start at 9 pm and go on until 4 am. I used to stay awake specially just to sing, waiting all week for that night. My time for singing was short - one or two songs. But I loved the atmosphere and the people and the place.

The Civil War got worse in Afghanistan -- they were after musicians and music. They were preparing to kill some musicians and my father was scared, so he left. We came to India in '88. I sang in India for a year - then I met a very old man who was playing tabla and teaching. He encouraged me to come back to the tabla, to the family tradition. Because we've had this tabla in our family for 200 years. I was 14 or 15 when I started tabla, but it was in my blood.

 

Where I Play:
I've lived here in London since '92. We have lots of concerts, functions: there are 12-15,000 Afghans in London. Coming to London has been very useful for my music. I've been all over European countries -playing Afghan music, and working with Indian groups as a tabla player.

We do perform at parties and celebrations - although not so much these days; we're very busy with our profession on the stage. At my daughter's birthday in December we played our music -we had all the family together, dancing and singing. Or if some friends ask us for a wedding party we play. Tonight we are celebrating the birth of my second daughter - she arrived just today! Traditionally we get together on the sixth day after the birth, but I will be away performing in Spain.

Of course I hope I could go back to the land one day - to Afghanistan. Hopefully we'll go soon. I would like to pass on this music to the next generation of Afghans. I'd love to stay in Kabul and teach people music so they can come back to the tradition. Because for many years now they've been disconnected from the music.
It's not easy to decide quickly that we will go back to live in Afghanistan. We are happy and a little bit nervous--we're still waiting for the right time. The first time we will go to perform - then we will decide later.

 

Listen (8'20) to an audio feature recorded at Yusuf Mahmoud's house in Southall. Presented by Reem Kelani. (Broadcast on Radio 3: 29/1/02)

Listen to Tchun Djaney Kharabat played by Yusuf Mahmoud (voice, harmonium) with his father Ustad Asif Mahmoud (tabla).

A favourite song:
I grew up in an area of Kabul called Kharabat. It was next to the palace of the king, who built the neighbourhood 200 years ago for the musicians who used to perform in his palace. All the musicians and people involved in the music industries -- dancing and everything -- lived in Kharabat.

It was very famous all over Afghanistan. Everybody looked forward to going one day to visit the place where all these respected musicians and dancers lived. They used to hear them on the radio and see them on the TV, but they wanted to go and meet them personally in a coffee shop. Wherever we go the people ask 'Can you sing Tchun Djaney Kharabat.' That means my heart becomes as Kharabat.
Kharabat has two meanings: one is this neighbourhood called Kharabat. But the real meaning, in Sufiism, is somewhere where you can go and have some peace for your soul and some happiness for your heart. You can just go and leave all the world behind - you are the king of yourself.

There are some steps and rules before you get into Kharabat. You have to be clean inside, have respect for your elders, be open and big inside. For example if you see someone who is thirstier than you are, you should pass on the water to him. They don't like you to be too 'religious', saying 'I'm praying five times a day' If you're doing it for God, then God is watching you - you don't have to show it off to me.
Later on, the song shows what happens when you get into Kharabat. They believe, in Sufiism, that we are a drip of water which has been separated from the sea. But once it gets back to the sea it's not that drip any more -- it becomes the sea. So they believe that we are a drip of water from God. Once we die, we get back to that sea, and we are God. We go back to God.

I still have the spirit of Kharabat in London. The family of musicians is a universal family all over the world, and within this family I always find Kharabat. Wherever I find musicians, Kharabat is there.