Main Bhi Pakistan Hoon: Mohammad Ali Shaiki (1980)
Perhaps the first ever popized “patriotic” song in Pakistan, even if only groovy for nothing other than Shaiki’s fading late ’70s bellbottoms.
Was a huge hit, quite unlike the myopic dictatorship it was made under (and for). Also marked the end of the Socialist national songs of the Bhutto era. It was bye bye awaami libaas and hello sherwani.
Khiyaal Rakhna: Alamgir (1981)
The time for young pop enthusiasts mouthing off odes to General Zia’s idea of Pakistan had arrived. Alamgir couldn’t care less, though. To him it was just another opportunity for some valuable air time on PTV. The irony of it all was that
he was a Bengali who had refused to go to Bangladesh after the 1971 debacle. Perhaps that’s why the time’s blinkered PTV censor board had no problems with his longish hair and denim disco drainpipes? Is this why the dude decided to stay back? Silly man.
Huma, Huma: Mohd. Ali Shaiki & Allan Fakir (1985)
A wonderful proto-Sufi-Pop chestnut, but really, controversy theories aside, the Zia dictatorship was doing all it could to indoctrinate (and control) the Berelvi mizaar/pir/fakeer culture in Sindh and the Punjab which had a life of its own and was way outside the Deoband-inspired “Islam” propagated by the state and most pro-Zia concerns of the time (one of them being the wholesale recruitment for the so-called “Afghan Jihad”).
Coupling a secular pop icon with a famous Sindhi Sufi musician was a clever (and at least one) way to achieve this. No wonder the very next year Allan Fakir was kidnapped by a group of anti-Zia Sindhi youth and forced to sing at colorful Sindhi nationalist leader, GM Syed’s birthday celebrations. Had his cake but wasn’t allowed to eat it too.
Dil, Dil Pakistan: Vital Signs (1987)
By now the whole idea of patriotic pop ditties had devolved as being no more than strategic ploys used to appease right-wing moral brigades (so they would make less noise regarding Pakistani youth indulging in “decadent” and “immoral” activities such as pop music). ‘Dil, Dil Pakistan’ opened a brand new chapter in Pakistani pop, with a more modern beat and feel, even though the lyrics treat the country as the next best thing to heaven (albeit army-run).
Pepsi, Pepsi Pakistan: Vital Signs (1989)
One of the first examples (in Pakistan) of a large American company using local pop acts to spout out its love of Pakistan. Also one of the first examples of a local pop act selling out so profoundly, proudly, and, of course, so “patriotically.” This heaven was privately-run, but equally unreal, if not worse!
Aye Jawan: Awaz (1993)
An archetypical boy band melody topped with the usual deluded nationalistic chauvinism found in most Pakistani/Indian “national songs.” However, such songs always made me want to burn all flags.
Hum Jeetein Gay: Vital Signs (1995)
If the Signs can be excused for youthful naivety regarding ‘Dil, Dil Pakistan’, they stand guilty for an unabashed show of cynical lip-service and over-the-top nonsense about since we are Pakistanis it is our destiny to win. What audacity … and utter foolishness.
Jazba-e-Junoon: Junoon (1996)
Junoon boldly confronted the whole idea of formulaic pop anthems with their angry and anti-heroic Talaash (1993), but by 1996 they just couldn’t deny the temptation to finally cash-in on the lucrative and cynical sides of the gluttonous national song genre. This once angry-young-band was soon seen selling this chunk of patriotic hogwash for a whooping 1.2 million rupees to Coke. Very Pakistani, indeed. Were Pakola or Yummy ice-cream made with freshly picked Thar thorns?
Jeet: Najam Shiraz (2002)
It was funny, rather surrealistic, watching Najam preaching the “true meaning and glory of the Koran”, then bouncing off to do a tea commercial, then returning with a huge Pakistani flag in one hand and the usual patriotic gibberish about how wonderful the country was … yea, especially when seen through the tiny holes of a profitable looking steaming tea bag!
Pak Fauj: Jawad Ahmed (2003)
By the start of the new millennium the genre of patriotic pop song had further devolved into exactly what chauvinistic, right-wing tyrants would’ve loved to hear from young urban Pakistani men. As Indian filmmakers jerked on about their own versions of post-Kargil glory (and paranoia), Jawad Ahmed led the local pop lot in romanticizing the dust, death (and dumbness) of the battlefield and dumbed up militarist heroism.
Dil Say: Haroon (2003)
Don’t know about the Dil, but I do know that Unilever-Pakistan paid the bill for this melodramatic ode to the common heroes of 1947. Did Lord Mountbatten by any chance have any financial interests in Unilever? I know Jinnah didn’t.
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