Sunday, October 4, 2026
Zofeen Ebrahim
- According to sixty-something Gul Mohammad, the ‘rabab’ is the ‘king of Pashto music’, and without this traditional string instrument, "Pashto music would be lifeless".
It is either played as a solo instrument or accompanies singing, especially of long epic poems. Yet, it is has been pushed from its princely status and has become merely a pedestrian one. Groups of street musicians play either the Indian pop numbers or folksy tunes around the eateries in the Boat Basin – Clifton, Karachi – making money through it.
Gul Mohammad, a Pathan, suffers from diabetes. He was never interested in making the ‘rabab’ but did so at his father’s behest.
"I have made ‘rabab’ long enough, for over forty years and what did it get me? One of my sons remains unemployed for the past ten years, another one is ill, which just leaves the third son to take it up,” he rues.
His wife interjects, "It’s not even considered a very respectable profession – to be singing and making musical instruments. My in-laws were into carpentry, which was a rather fine profession. I don’t know how they came into making ‘rabab’ and ‘sitar’ (another stringed instrument). It may be considered an art for some, but for us it’s brought us nothing but heartache."
She is obviously still seething. Interestingly, while outwardly quite frustrated by the way this profession has turned out for the family, she, too, can play the instrument.
"We are up to our ears with this instrument," says their son Sohail, who cannot make ‘rabab’ anymore as he suffers from Hepatitis C, which he contracted after going as a migrant worker to Malaysia. "Even when one tries to strum the strings, just idly, someone or the other stops you." There is not a single ‘rabab’ in their home that day.
Unfortunately for this beautiful instrument, which Gul Mohammad assigns as "one for the illiterate" and a popular one among the Pathan migrant community, there is only one ‘rabab’ maker in Karachi his 22-year old son Khalid.
Then again, Khalid, if he had a choice, would pack up everything and go abroad like his brother did "but not to a Muslim country as there are too many restrictions. If I could, I’d move to Europe."
"While we can’t claim that we are the sole sellers of this instrument, we can definitely claim to be the sole makers in Karachi,” says Gul Mohammad.
So if you are a ‘rabab’ enthusiast and living in Karachi, the only place to go to is Khalid’s shop in Orangi Town. He is the only person who can make a ‘rabab’ for you, or repair it for you, although he has an apprentice working with him.
In a month he can make up to four ‘rabab’, 10 to 11 ‘sitar’ and repair eight to 10 ‘rabab’ and a dozen ‘sitar’.
However, in Peshawar, Mardan and Nowshera, cities in the frontier province of Pakistan, some feudal lords patronise the tradition of playing ‘rabab’.
There was a famous ‘rabab’ maker by the name of Samandar Khan some 100 to 150 years ago. His grandson, who must be quite old now, is believed to be still carrying on with his grandfather’s tradition.
"Some four months back, due to the Talibanisation of the North West Frontier Province by the MMA (Muttahida Majlis-e-Amal alliance of religious parties), the few shops that were in the business remain closed and business is bad. They may be doing covert business, but I’m not sure," says Khalid.
But in the case of Gul Mohammad’s family, after Khalid, no one is motivated or even encouraged to take it up after him.
It takes a minimum of one month to make one ‘rabab’ and is sold between 43 to 86 U.S. dollars. Except for cutting the initial wood for the frame, using a sawing machine, everything else is done by hand.
"Wood from the ‘shahtoot’ (a kind of a berry) tree is bought from Swat or Mardan. The ‘shahtoot’ tree bark is also available in Karachi but the wood is not is not of a very good quality,” says Khalid. ”Making the ‘dolcha’ (drum) part is the most difficult as the wood needs to be given a certain shape and all pulp taken out to make it hollow.”
Unlike the ‘sitar’ and the guitar, a ‘rabab’ has from 18 to 21 strings depending upon the size of the drum.
Gul Mohammad says that at times you can get a really old Kabuli ‘rabab’, which people come to sell. "At times you get 50 to 75 year-old instruments. You can clearly tell the difference between an Afghani ‘rabab’ and one made in Pakistan.”
”For an Afghani it is a labour of love. They make it over a long period, anywhere from six months to a year. We, over here, do a hurried job. In one month our ‘rabab’ is made and ready for use,” he says.
"Rabab is a very popular instrument and is played when the labourers get back to their homes after work and sit out in the evenings among friends. If you really are passionate and are lucky to have a good teacher, you can learn within six months," says Shehryar, who has a spice shop but is an ardent ‘rabab’ player.
According to Gul Mohammad, "There are no written notes that I know of. You just follow what your teacher tells you.”
He says that in Karachi alone, there may be 50 to 55 ‘rabab’ players – and some 20 really good ones.