Mr. Boota wants to be a good American, and a good Muslim. "I don't want to bother other communities' people," he said. "Just the Pakistani people."
September 13, 2009
Giving Ramadan a Drumroll in
By KIRK SEMPLE
New York Times
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/09/13/nyregion/13drummer.html?pagewanted=print
A few hours before dawn, when most New Yorkers are fast asleep, a middle-aged man rolls out of bed in Brooklyn, dons a billowy red outfit and matching turban, climbs into his Lincoln Town Car, drives 15 minutes, pulls out a big drum and — there on the sidewalk of a residential neighborhood — starts to play.
The man, Mohammad Boota, is a Ramadan drummer. Every morning during the holy month, which ends on Sept. 21, drummers stroll the streets of Muslim communities around the world, waking worshipers so they can eat a meal before the day's fasting begins.
But
"Everywhere they complain," he said. "People go, like, 'What the hell? What you doing, man?' They never know it's Ramadan."
Mr. Boota, 53, who immigrated in 1992 and earns his living as a limousine driver, began waking Brooklynites in 2002. At first he moved freely around the borough, picking a neighborhood to work each Ramadan morning.
Not everyone was thrilled, he said. People would throw open their windows and yell at him, or call the police, who, he said, advised him kindly to move along.
As the years went by, he and his barrel drum were effectively banned from one neighborhood after another. He now restricts himself to a short stretch of
Fearing that even that limited turf may be threatened real estate for him, he has modified his approach even further — playing at well below his customary volume, for only about 15 to 20 seconds in each location, and only once every three or four days.
The complaints have stopped, he said. But as he reflected on his early years of drumming in the streets of
"You know," he reluctantly concluded, "in the
Mr. Boota wants to be a good American, and a good Muslim. "I don't want to bother other communities' people," he said. "Just the Pakistani people."
Several prominent Muslim organizations in
"They're waiting for me," he said.
The daily Ramadan fast runs from the start of dawn to dusk. So shortly after 3 one recent morning, Mr. Boota left his wife, Mumtaz, as she prepared a predawn meal in their
In one fluid motion, Mr. Boota popped the trunk, cut the motor, leapt out, hoisted the drum's strap over his shoulder, greeted the owner — "Salaam aleikum" — and, standing in the sidewalk penumbra of the shop's fluorescent light, began playing.
The men came to the door. "He's a very popular man here," one of them said, nodding at Mr. Boota, who wore his usual performance attire: a traditional shalwar kameez, a loose two-piece outfit, elaborately embroidered with gold thread.
Mr. Boota wielded his two drumsticks in a galloping clangor that echoed off the facades of the darkened buildings.
After about 20 seconds, he ended his performance with a punctuative smack of the taut drum heads. There was an exchange of mumbled pleasantries, the men moved back inside the store, and as quickly as he had arrived, Mr. Boota was behind the wheel of his car again, driving a block south to another Pakistani-owned business.
"A few seconds," he said, as he cut the engine again. "Ten, 15 seconds, and bye-bye."
For the next 20 minutes, he repeated this drill outside three Pakistani restaurants, four convenience and grocery stores and a service station.
No one complained — audibly, at least. And a close watch on nearby windows along the street revealed no annoyed, or even curious, residents.
"You see, nobody yelling at you," Mr. Boota said cheerily. "Everybody happy to see you."
He added, "I don't want people unhappy."
Drumming, Mr. Boota said, is a family tradition. He is a seventh-generation ceremonial drummer and is now training his 20-year-old son, Sher, one of eight children. In addition to his Ramadan reveilles, Mr. Boota plays at Pakistani weddings, birthday parties, graduation celebrations and other events.
"A lot of happiness hours!" he exclaimed.
During his rounds the next night, he stopped at a Pakistani-run service station and wandered with his drum into the service bay. He wanted to demonstrate the full capacity of his instrument. One of the mechanics slid the heavy doors shut, and Mr. Boota started to play at full volume, unleashing deafening sheets of sound. For three solid minutes he pounded out relentless, churning polyrhythms that filled the space like smoke.
Mr. Boota was obviously reveling in the power of his drum after a week of frustrated Ramadan duty. As the ringing in the listeners' ears faded, he headed back to his car.
"It's a great noise," he said.
Majeed Babar contributed reporting.
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