“I have a poor recitation and do not enjoy reciting the Qurʾān.”
The problem summarised in the above statement is brought up from time to time by beginner students of the Qurʾān.
A majority of Muslims grow up learning to read the Qurʾān in some capacity. They learn to string the letters together and produce the words and recite the verses, but too often, the element of precise articulation and pronunciation is missing.
This is until they sign up for their first proper tajwīd class usually as adults at which point they realise that they are yet to overcome Many hurdles to reach even a satisfactory level.
If in the past their recitation was ‘flowing smoothly’, now with all the mistakes that their teacher has pointed, it becomes burdensome. A taxing process in which they, from their perspective, have made little progress in.
If you find yourself in such a position then the following is for you.
Excellence in any field and in any skill is never innate, nor is it acquired overnight, nor does it come easily. If there is any takeaway from this post, this is it.
When you hear a melodious recitation of the Qurʾān, you are witnessing the fruits of thousands of hours of practice and effort. Thousands. You are witnessing a culmination of their life’s effort and dedication. What you do not witness is the hours upon hours (that then became days, then weeks, then months, then years) that were put towards practising. What you do not witness is the number of times their voice went hoarse from reciting, nor do you witness the comforts that were sacrificed, nor the pleasures of the nafs that were put aside, nor the countless times their teachers sternly corrected them, nor the number of times they drove back home bawling their eyes out. You do not witness the ʿEīds where everyone was relaxed and enjoying themselves but they were cooped up in a corner practising; you do not see the muṣḥaf that has become an extension of their arm. You do not see them doing menial household chores with their muṣḥaf propped up on the side, practising.
It is unfair to want the fruits that you witness without putting in the effort that they have put in.
In a book that I am currently reading titled ‘Grit’, the author discusses the path towards excellence in an array of fields (from swimming to ballet to music to chess). In one chapter the author summarises two supposedly opposing researches both by renowned experts in the field.
One suggests that the people who display very refined talent do not enjoy the tedious work put in to acquire that talent; the practice is painful for them as it would be painful for you. Another study suggests that as they partake in that skill, they are in a state of utter delight—a swimmer as he swims, a runner as he runs, and so on. They love what they do.
The conclusion the author draws is that both opinions are true and both hold for every single person. As a person acquires a talent, the process is slow and bitter. It is a process full of sacrifices. But after each practice session and at the end of each day spent coercing the self to do better—there is gratification because of the sheer love for the passion. Then, when the talent grows and becomes ‘second nature’ there is that absolute delight. But for you to reach the point of absolute delight, where your skill flows as if it is second nature, there are hours upon hours of painful, less enjoyable practice.
When you are forcing your tongue to pronounce the letter Rāʾ correctly, for example—it is no fun! It may be frustrating and exhausting and perhaps even embarrassing. But after each session is complete, you cannot deny that there is some level of gratification for the effort and the time spent. Revel in that sense of gratification and work through the feelings of frustration and exhaustion. This is the formula for excellence in whatever skill you seek to acquire, in our context—a melodious recitation of the Qurʾān.
As a Muslim, your enjoyment should be two-fold, one, the above gratification of effort and time put towards a noble goal, and second, the knowledge of rewards that you acquire that you will one Day see as a promise from your Lord.
If you recite and do not quite sound like Mishārī… I’m sure Mishārī did not sound like Mishārī when he was starting out. Hang in there as you learn and grow, and do not become too strung up on not feeling the right emotions. Ask any ḥāfiḏh about their journey—they will tell you that it was mind-numbingly painful and difficult, and they hated themselves for not doing better, and they hated that it was not easier. They did not enjoy the feeling of failing as they struggled. Yet in the same breath, they will tell you that it was the most enjoyable time of their life. If you are struggling towards a noble goal, you are fulfilling a very necessary condition to reap the fruits. The fruits are so sweet that they make the memories of the non-enjoyable part sweet.
Finally, if you are that student struggling to improve your recitation, break down what you aim to achieve into individual components. Work on those individual components dedicatedly, and when you complete one, move on to the next. Instead of thinking, “I need to fix my tajwīd,” which is a huge and undefined goal, ask your teacher for the top 3 things to work on for the next month. Then zoom in on those and only those and work hard to improve. Never consider yourself to be above correction and improvement. I know people who are teachers of the Qurʾān who still seek out scholars more learned than them and request correction. Equally important is to never consider yourself a hopeless case.
Consider any mountain ahead of you like a composition of smaller steps, work on those steps whilst keeping your goal clear and well defined.
والله ولي التوفيق.
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