R

amadhan is in full swing, which means the whole kit and caboodle is on display '€” mall décor, endless events for breaking the fast, as well as the ubiquitous religious songs on TV, radio, in building lobbies and, sometimes, elevators.

I'€™m not sure exactly when the tradition started, but it'€™s safe to say that Bimbo brought it into the mainstream. (Yes, it'€™s the band'€™s actual name and no, I doubt it was coined with the English language in mind). The Bandung-based siblings started out as a regular pop band, the brothers sporting long ABBA-style hair and strumming acoustic guitars. Then sometime in the late 1980s, Bimbo began adding religious lyrics to their melodious tunes, which then took a life of their own as one day Bimbo just seemed to drop singing any other genre altogether.

Yet unless you are the Beatles, musical monopoly doesn'€™t last. Similar groups started popping up, before nasyid from neighboring Malaysia and the Turkish musicians arrived. Nasyid was quickly deemed '€˜too serious, too pesantren (Islamic boarding school)'€™ by moderate Muslim Indonesians. The Turkish group, on the other hand, stole the hearts of Muslim mothers nationwide with their fancy embroidered frocks, fluent Indonesian, fabulous cheekbones and, I suspect, flowing fair-colored hair (resist the urge to make a biblical quip, people, resist the urge).

Then, lo and behold, Sufism arrived (or, as my Sufi student friend painstakingly explained, finally manifested in our collective consciousness). A side of Islam that is filled with poems about universal understanding and acceptation, words of worship in divinity that sound more like love letters, which is almost a devotion to life than a religion. A breath of fresh air indeed, when organized religions have been fighting each other in so many parts of the world under the holy name of God that we have lost count of how many have died.

People started reading, quoting and composing songs based on Rumi'€™s poems so that, for a while, my social media feeds were regularly Rumified after 11 p.m. Local whirling dervishes also began to appear, whose mundane-yet-magical whirls captivated Indonesian urbanites so much that the jaded crowd forgot to snap pictures and upload them online.

Pretty much at the same time, musician Candra Malik arrived on the alternative music scene as the modern, local '€˜Sufi'€™, singing spiritual praises in Indonesian with a fusion band incorporating traditional Indonesian tunes '€” often tagging traditional performers to join whirling dervishes onstage. For me, his music is some other version of soothing yoga chants. For most Indonesians who still can'€™t differentiate religion from spirituality, he looked the part (flowing robe, turbaned locks) and sounded sufficiently Islamic.

Then the marketing girl in me asked, why not? Why shouldn'€™t the Sufi brand of Islamic music sell now? As the country that houses the world'€™s largest Muslim population, there is always a sizable demand for some form of Islamic lifestyle. Indonesians across the archipelago value piety yet practice their religions moderately, and have only in recent years been wrestling with the ugly seeds of hard-line sects.

The growing middle class tends to spend more on things considered trendy or status-worthy '€” the boom in Muslim fashion and umrah (minor haj pilgrimage) travel is a cue '€” so a Sufi-traditional music fusion should fit nicely into the scene. The lyrics speak about love and compassion, nothing about engaging in holy wars. The tunes are soothing yet jovial, refreshing weary hearts and minds jaded with urban living. The dances are modest yet entertaining enough.

As a whole performance it'€™s much closer to Indonesia'€™s own artistic traditions and a far cry from a certain Islamic faction that bans art except calligraphy altogether, such as the aforementioned faction that worryingly has been gaining ground on friendly Indonesian soil in the past decade.

That was the potential demand, now� what about potential supply? Indonesia is never short of performing artists, I tell you. Rumi poems or other Sufi praises can be delivered in Indonesia'€™s national language or countless local dialects, and I'€™m betting there are spiritual lines in our antique folklore and manuscripts that can be mined for inspiration. The accompanying tunes and dances can also draw bottomless inspiration from our rich traditions.

Whenever I watch whirling dervishes I can'€™t help noticing the stark difference between the peace on these young men'€™s faces and the anger I'€™ve personally encountered on Islam Defenders Front (FPI) members'€™ faces '€” even if both groups set out to act in honor of their Almighty. This can bridge that gap between Indonesian musicians'€™ varied traditions and their collective faith, and present a unique choice for fellow Muslim Indonesian audience members '€” that may just impress ancient Persian Sufis watching from their virtual dimension somewhere.

These days, when everyone is busy with kami (the exclusive word for '€˜us'€™) instead of kita (inclusive '€˜us'€™), for politics and other worldly issues, I welcome any effective effort to patch up the frayed nerves and torn fabric of society. A simple step of the principle of Bhinneka Tunggal Ika (Unity in Diversity), on that long walk for Indonesia.

Amen, anyone? Ramadhan kareem, everyone.

Lynda Ibrahim is a Jakarta-based writer and consultant, with a penchant for purple, pussycats and pop culture.