I first met Amjad Sabri during the month of Ramazan. The year was 2011. On a quiet Friday afternoon at FM 101 — a channel of Radio Pakistan where I then worked — I walked in to find one of the radio jockeys wrapping up her broadcast with Amjad.
I stopped in my tracks; here, in the flesh, was the man who had long mesmerised me by his powerhouse vocals.
The schedule didn't matter to me; I had to go up to him. “My show is next,” I said, introducing myself. “I would be honoured if I could discuss Qawwali, Sufism, and the artistic contributions of your gharana....”
In response to my expectant question, Sabri acquiesced. He had just come off air, but he didn't mind going right back on again.
Inside the studio, our conversation moved quickly and deeply towards his one, singular passion: Qawwali.
Midway through the stimulating conversation, my mind wandered to the numerous times his expression of Sufi kalaam had utterly transfixed me.
I had to keep bringing myself back to the air-conditioned studio where we were sitting, and I couldn't help but feel humbled as I began to learn about the man behind the voice.