Abida Parveen has been a constant in my life, albeit in a strange way. My father is an enormous fan of  hers, so the impossibly deep, resonant sound of her voice always hovered in my house as we grew up. Her music would be played late at night when friends came over, and when the basmati rice, black daal and chicken curry had been put away, my parents and their peers would sit lazy and full, sipping whisky and talking softly, bobbing their heads to a rhythm I could never quite latch on to.

Like so many aspects of my parents’ culture and tastes, it spoke to a past that they shared but which I had no access to. To this day, songs that can bring my mother to tears or a wistful look to my father’s face remain like doorways obscured by darkness. If I might peer through them – if I might somehow find the key that suddenly makes the language and references clear – I too might partake of the subdued ecstasy of the ghazal. Alas, for the time being, they are closed.

Still – this past weekend, we drove up north*. As we raced across Algonquin Park, an enormous, open area in central Ontario, we listened to Abida as the unending sea of green pine and sugar maple all aflame blurred past. It was a wonderfully incongruous moment, the hypnotic sound of Parveen’s voice inexplicably providing what, at the time, seemed the only suitable soundtrack for the landscape.

If I might be so bold, my suggestion for this song is that you put it on while you are doing something else that doesn’t require too much attention, so that, perhaps, you might lose yourself in it for a while. Sitting in a car on long open roads works. The train would too. Or maybe you might simply stare out of a window, watching nothing in particular – clouds, leaves, drops of rain. Of course, if you too can sit, lazy and full while sipping whisky, then all the better…

*“Driving up north” is a common refrain in Southern Ontario and generally means you are escaping the city to go a cottage.

NB: The singing doesn’t start until a minute in. Part 2 of the song is here. If you’d like the entire thing uncut, it’s available here on iTunes and eMusic. And, um, dbox too.