How Pakistani Music Reflects Our Solitude

Life has a way of giving you sixers, at the unlikeliest of times. At one point, you might be dealing with a persistent sense of retreat and isolation – despite knowing that you’ve weathered the worst possible, in all your life thus far. You start hoping that better things will follow, but the overcast comes and goes in waves. And on days when the darkness cuts deep, you long for that friend who understands you and connects with you in just as many waves.

Music for me, is that friend; and, I take a chance in saying that that is the case with a lot of peeps we know.

Today was one of those days. “Give me a song that can get me through today and then get me through this thing called life – maybe challenge my mind to dream again,” I said to myself one chilly, not-so-sunny day this winter. My friends usually do this (and more) for me; but on that day, I didn’t feel like connecting with them. Yes – they are dependable and familiar; that’s all fine and dandy, but I felt like exploring. And on a musical exploration I went.

During this excursion, I went on some soul-searching and that soul searching had me do some backtracking. In the process, I had a quick realisation. It’s difficult to imagine Pakistan’s current-day pop music scene without peeps like the Nazia and Zohaib duo, Vital Signs and Junoon. Their songs inspired an entire generation of Pakistanis – where everyone knows and still remembers their songs.

Having grown up outside of Pakistan, I was a few years late to the Dil Dil Pakistan (DDP) bandwagon – where the song was released in 1987. But, to date, I know that DDP is the first song that comes to any Pakistani’s mind, when talking about patriotic music – making it something like Pakistan’s unofficial national anthem. And I still remember the exhilaration when listening to something by Junoon. Salman Ahmed’s solos, and the adrenaline rush when Ali Azmat sang – those albums had some serious spark in them. My memories also include somehow being part of a happy-go-lucky gang with Strings, Awaz, Faakhir and Haroon.

These songs were clearly personal. But this music somehow felt both caged and strangely free. It was unapologetic and contextually clear but felt attached to something

While writing piece, I had Sayonee (Junoon) on my mind. Written by Salman Ahmad and Sabir Zafar, Sayonee was part of a the Azadi album, circa 1997 and was their first international outing, especially in India. According to Salman Ahmad, the aim was to make something different from the crass materialism that he saw at that time. The narrative of Sayonee’s video demonstrates a boy’s pursuit of a soulmate in the backdrop of the horrific quandaries and plights in life: basically, the proverbial lemons that life constantly throws at us. Given how real the song is, hinting at the transient nature of life and the impermanence of circumstances – I often listen to Sayonee, despite 2025 marking 28 years since its release. And every time I hear it, I visualise the intent behind Sayonee – that a restless heart and soul and a tired mind will always have one pursuit: that being infinite love.

Another regular on my playlists is Mera Pyar (Amir Zaki). The story behind Mera Pyar Tum Hi Ho is far more personal than the connection listeners would ever understand. Amir Zaki wrote this song after his divorce, at age 24 years. What was the appeal of this song, though? Recall that at the time of its release, its video came off as very half-hearted and hastily made; this was when Yasir Akhtar and Yatagan were doing Bhangra in their videos and Awaz was exploring new concepts. And in that entire theatrical affair, the simplicity and sincerity of Mera Pyar’s video took time to sync with the masses when it was originally released. But it was a collection of heartfelt lyrics coupled by a mellow but catchy melody — something anyone could connect to when they are in “that phase”. Maybe that is why it is still regularly covered at underground gigs and occasionally redone, as an experimental version of the song being released.

Or take for example ‘Anjane’ by Strings. Here is a song that delves into the complexities of human relationships and the emotions that come alongside. In my mind, Anjane has a tri-faceted focus: (a) exploring how it feels to become strangers despite ever being very close or deeply connected with someone, (b) explaining that no matter how well we think we know someone – there will always be some aspect of them that remain unknown and (c) feeling a connection to someone – despite otherwise being strangers. Thus is the reality of life: where familiarity coexists with a sense of mystery. To date, this is my go-to song for whenever I am treading unchartered territories or am in process of connecting dots. A song that can get you, by sheer force of music and poetry, to move forward. To find positivity in all the darkness and noise.

And this is what makes a true anthem. But I needed to find a new one.

Google the word ‘anthem’ and the definition that is retrieved reads as: “a rousing or uplifting song identified with a particular group, body, or cause”. This is stuff that the doctor ordered. And, so, the quest had begun – where I aimed to explore as much as I could. And being Sarah, I had my preferences.

This time, though, I was ready to let go.

I rummaged through the soulful lyrics of songs by Hassan and Roshan, Coke Studio songs by Zeb and Haniya, the very perky Asim Azhar and a few others that make up the indie and popular Pakistani music scene of today. It was quite the journey, and I felt multiple emotions: intrigue, fascination, emancipation and irk – all in disproportionate measure.

But the one thing I didn’t feel was uplifted.

Good music should reflect how one feels at that point in time and those feelings come from within. While what I heard was good stuff, but there was no emotion that connected me to that music. “That” reflection would, therefore, be disconnected or broken – at best. Was there something missing in between, or my mind not open enough? But “that” emotion was looking for isn’t something you have to be consciously open to – because it’s like a bolt of lightning that leaves an immediate mark.

Listening to ‘Ishq Bina’ by Hassan and Roshan, I was intrigued. It is a beautiful song that emphasises the essence and power of love, whilst simultaneously capturing the vulnerability and uncertainty that often accompanies falling in love. At its core, though, the song felt like someone else’s story that I could listen to, but not relate to – because it wasn’t me.

My next take was ‘Humraah’ by Asim Azhar. Quirky, fun and definitely personal. ‘Kahani Suno’ by Kaifi Kahlil is a song that speaks about the human experience of a poignant story of love, loss, and life’s journey; this, again, wasn’t particularly relevant to my search. ‘Chal Diye Kahan Tum’ did stand out; maybe this was because I loved the drama serial – Kabhi Main Kabhi Tum, whose OST this song was a part of. This soul-stirring composition delves into the depths of sorrow and yearning – offering an exploration of loss and longing, conveying the sensation of shattered hopes following a heart-wrenching loss. And, again, the dependency factor here explained why I always aim to believe in myself.

Now wondering if I was isolated in my thought process, I connected with friends and family to get their views on today’s music. “Today’s music is selfish”, “It’s fresh”, “Is something I can dance to”, “I don’t understand what’s going on!” You get the gist. Many felt alienated, others felt connected.

To be honest, I felt somewhat confused while listening to this music. These songs were clearly personal. But this music somehow felt both caged and strangely free. It was unapologetic and contextually clear but felt attached to something.

Now, here’s the thing.

Our world today is at odds with itself and through a series of events, circumstances and inevitable evolution, we’ve been reduced to being completely individualistic. And “that” was the rein hook.

But was that necessarily bad?

Perhaps this is what troubled me the most. For a couple years now, I have started feeling that people have generally and collectively lost the value of “true” connection. This then defeats the concept we have: that – today, we are more connected than ever before. Because listening to these songs proved otherwise. Circles within circles.

I did not find the anthem I was looking for, but I did realise that the underlying feeling of “solitude” was mutual – where my friends might be living in their own “isolated” bubbles, but they’re holding down their forts. Throughout my discourse, I also noticed that there was order within disorder and connection by disconnection. So, while I did not entirely connect to a lot of the music that I had heard – and how I heard it, I could choose to step back.

So, my point here is that there is no struggle for relevance here – where Pakistani music has is as individual as it can get. And while those ‘Big 3’ will be forever favourites, today’s artists are making their mark in the industry. And that is a cause worthy enough of being an anthem, in itself.

You don’t have to sing along, but you can surely get some popcorn and enjoy the show.

_{Images are for reference only.Images and contents gathered automatic from google or 3rd party sources.All rights on the images and contents are with their legal original owners.}