Junoon and Allama Iqbal
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Junoon and Allama Iqbal
Pila dey mujhay woh mey pardah soz Key aati nahee fasl-e-gul roz roz Woh mey jis say roshan zameer-e-hayat Who mey jis say hai masti-e-kainat (Pour me the wine which burns the veil For the season of the rose does not come everyday That wine which reveals the essence of life That wine which intoxicates the universe)
— Allama Mohammed Iqbal, Saqi Nama (As performed by Junoon)
The amount of abuse our friends in the now dearly departed Junoon suffered for attempting to interpret the venerable Allama’s highly mystical, yet immensely topical verses was considerable. In both attempts the one cited above from 2001’s Ishq, and previously on Khudi featured on Inquilab many decried the group’s supposed profaning of these landmarks of Urdu verse. For some strange reason (maybe because I haven’t mentioned my good friend ‘Sufi’ Salman Ahmed in quite a few columns), I feel the need to revisit these strange incidences.
Yes, Junoon’s Sufi credentials were highly suspect, especially since ascetics and brand managers of multinational cola monsters make strange bedfellows. But one must admit Junoon did leave its mark on the admittedly pathetic face of Pakistani pop-dom. And perhaps this is so because a lot of times, their choice for lyrical matter belonged to a higher cerebral strata than the gobbledegook that was making the rounds at the time (and still is). And you don’t get much higher than Allama Iqbal.
Critics lambasted the group for using extracts from both of Allama’s lengthy pieces as lyrics for the aforementioned two songs — for supposedly desecrating these words of wisdom by mixing them up with wailing guitars and Ali Azmat’s vocal theatrics. If memory serves correctly, this became something of a national issue. But then again, we as a nation are used to making trivial things national issues. Forget the small stuff like crime, pollution, carjackings and exploding militants. Let’s crucify these long-haired hippies. Fun!
Not to defend Junoon unjustly. Sufi Sal and his cohorts have done some rather distasteful things when it comes to ripping off long-dead western rock musicians and passing the product off as their own. That’s simply unforgivable. But by using the poetry of Allama Iqbal, I think the boys in Junoon actually did many, like myself, a self-confessed heathen when it comes to ‘culture’ a service.
You see, for various reasons — many too complicated and personal to discuss in this column - I was not aware of the hidden treasure that was Allama Iqbal’s poetry until I heard Khudi as performed by Junoon in the late ‘90s. I mean, before this I obviously knew Allama’s role as one of the ideologues of the two-nation theory that has come to be considered the raison d’etre for this state. But beyond that, I knew little of the mystical, spiritual and incredibly revolutionary nature of Iqbal’s poetry.
Allama was a man ahead of his time. He saw the problems his people were facing and tried to offer solutions in the ways he knew best. Of course stakeholders of all political persuasions — from the far right to those loony lefties — in Pakistan have cast Allama Iqbal in moulds most pleasing to themselves. But getting back to the topic, I think Junoon helped introduce a tiny bit of this revolutionary thought through their interpretations of Iqbal, leading those like myself to study deeper the esoteric musings of a man who was Sufi, revolutionary and ideologue all rolled into one. So, Sufi Sal … thank you!
So you see, pop isn’t entirely useless and disposable. It can indeed be used for positive pursuits and social and mental uplift. But alas, not every popster is keen on carrying this heavy burden. After all, it’s much safer to dance around, look pretty, and get paid for it, isn’t it? Thus, one begs to ask, just when will pop eat itself? Very soon, God-willing.
Apart from this burning issue that I wanted to communicate with you friends, there’s really little else on the agenda. Well … no. That’s a lie. There’s plenty on the agenda, it’s just that there’s a time and a place for everything, and this is neither the time nor the place to reveal our cards entirely. Add to that two other things (a) it’s Muharram and most popsters thankfully choose to keep a low profile during this holy month and (b) pop is, simply put, empty. Over. Outta gas. Curtains. At least to me.
Reflecting on entertainment of the past, I remember once upon a time before the end of innocence how easily we were entertained. How many of us remember Neelaam Ghar? Ah yes, every Thursday evening, all of Pakistan would be treated to the ubiquitous mug of Tariq Aziz, with his ultra-patriotic ranting and raving that strangely captivated so many of us. Mainly because we didn’t have cable back then and PTV was the only channel around. Or there was the VCR, another relic of the past, to turn to.
I think I remember reading somewhere that Neelaam Ghar was the longest running TV show in Pakistan, which started broadcasting I assume soon after PTV’s birth. It was cancelled in the early years of this 21st century, after it was rechristened, rather tastelessly, the Tariq Aziz Show. Now that I genuinely resented (the renaming, not the cancellation), for if rumours are to be believed, large sections of the masses erupted in euphoric bouts of spontaneous celebration upon hearing of the show’s cancellation.
All jest aside, I think it pays to look at where we came from. We need to look back every now and then and study our mistakes, learn from them and improve on our few successes. Today, the Pakistani media milieu is incredibly saturated, with rumours afloat that there are currently 40 plus channels in the country. Sceptics are saying most of them will shut down pretty soon as we simply don’t have the content to cater to all of these, and do we really want to watch Indian shows re-marketed with local advertising on local channels?
Makes you kinda want to hit the pause button, scroll into rewind mode and watch Neelaam Ghar again, when life was less complicated. Who’s with me? — QAM
