South Asia’s cultural commonalties surpass artificial political boundaries much more than outside observers can reckon. There may be two Kashmirs, two Bengals and two Punjabs, divided on grounds of religion and nationalism, but tastes for life and arts are remarkably similar for the man-in-the-street, whether one is in India, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Bangladesh, Nepal or Sri Lanka. Nowhere is it truer than with popular music. Lata Mangeshkar, Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan, Jagjit Singh, Mehdi Hassan and Ghulam Ali belong to no individual nation-State as such because their creativity and golden voices waft across borders like fragrance, unstopped by armies and check-posts.

That music has the power to transcend man-made frontiers, especially when it speaks the language of love, redemption and tolerance, was demonstrated vividly by Bob Marley way back in the 1970s. His call to shed mental slavery and love all humans appealed not only in his native Caribbean but caught on like wildfire in Africa, Europe and South America. Until 1996, South Asia had no equivalent of Marley’s Wailers that exclusively sang and performed with the objective of uniting people under the banners of redemption and brotherhood.

A storm called Junoon (obsession/passion) suddenly sprang up in Pakistan and filled the vacuum, riding on fusion music and ‘sufi-pop’ to the top of the sub-continental charts, and more importantly, into the hearts of young people.

Junoon’s achievements are unique because they practically invented a new genre of music, mixing spiritual poetry rendered in mellifluous voices backed by traditional instruments like tabla and dholak with the electric guitar. Before their arrival on the music scene, pop bands were seen as Western by South Asian audiences, largely because of the superlative popularity of film soundtracks. Junoon revolutionised the concept of three youthful exuberant showmen, Ali Azmat, Salman Ahmed and Brian O’Connell, equally at ease on the stage in live concerts and in the recording studios.

When a twenty-something Azmat leapt up and down in Yanni-like hairdo and crooned with verve—Yaar bina dil nahin lagta (life without the beloved is empty)—Bollywood songs lost their monopoly grip, and Junoon’s adulation spread at an electric pace.

Junoon’s first international album, Azadi (1997) sold hundreds of thousands of copies and became an instant hit even in the Middle East. One of the most memorable renditions in Azadi was Allama Iqbal’s classic Urdu poem, Khudi ko kar buland itna (strengthen your being). Purists wailed that the late poet would be turning in his grave at the ‘rock-music remix’ that Junoon had done to his inspirational lyrics. But fans loved it. As an undergraduate in Delhi University, I used to close my eyes, turn on the volume full, and simply lose consciousness as Junoon belted out songs on subjects as varied as ethereal mysticism and standing up to oppression. Traditional numbers like the Punjabi Dama dam mast qalandar (dance in joy, oh devotee) combined the ardour of a climaxing qawwali with terrific Western beats. I recall dancing in circles like the mad dervish who has found God. So did everyone touched by Junoon, be it just to a tape recording or a live performance by the ‘awesome threesome’.

Junoon is heavily influenced in their choice of lyrics by Jalaluddin Rumi, the occult Persian poet of the 13th century. In beauty of nature or in the person of the loved one, Junoon hint at the existence of a higher divine power. For instance, Mahiwaal mere mujhe paar laga can at once be interpreted simply as the love song of Sohni and Mahiwal, the Romeo and Juliet of Punjab, or at a different level, a call by the mortal being to the supernatural to come and guide him across the waters of the world and reach up to the heavens. Bulle Shah, the 17th century Sufi saint, is another Junoon favourite. Parvaaz (1999) is dedicated to Bulle Shah’s life mission of moving beyond religion and loving each human as a fragment of God. Pyaar bina kya bashar kya khuda (without love, what worth is man or God?) is the track that captured listeners’ attention most. Besides winning accolades and a mountain of awards, Junoon has the distinction of being the first pop group to perform at the headquarters of the United Nations in the ‘Millennium Peace Concert.’ Guitarist Salman Ahmed is also a U. N. Goodwill Ambassador assisting publicity campaigns against HIV/AIDS. More recently, Junoon visited America in a spectacular concert tour that took cities like New York by storm (bassist O’Connell is a native New Yorker). They released their first ever English song- ‘No More’—a call to purge terrorism from Islam and to mourn the victims of September 11. Azmat sang- ‘All that lives is born to die, love remains, I wonder why’.

Junoon’s viewpoints on political issues have drawn a great deal of controversy in conservative Pakistan, with Nawaz Sharif’s government slapping a ban on them for allegedly making ‘anti-Pakistan remarks’ on a tour of India. Their overt opposition to Pakistan’s nuclear tests and governmental corruption have also irked the powerful. Describing state crackdowns on student activity and on minority Shias, Junoon sang—Had se badhne laga zulm ka silsila (the cycle of repression has gone beyond endurance). Elsewhere, they have championed the causes of minorities by crying—Kaha jo unhon ne sab ne suna, jo ham ne kaha, vo kis ne suna (what the mighty say is aired to everyone, what we say is censored).