Originally posted by AliBeta:
**hmmmmmmm! Junaid bhayee ki baaton kaa kuch samajh main nahi aa raha. He sounds like a politician! lol!
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Coutrtesy images
By Maryam Juzer
Junaid Jamshed, amidst much brouhaha, announces at a press conference that he’s not going to record any music in the future.
In a later dated interview at his residence, the singer gives details of his decision, reinforcing his above-mentioned statement.
April 8, 2002
“I’m coming back into music!” he informs us. A string of flurried phone calls follows after which a second rendezvous is decided for the necessary additional statements.
April 10, 2002
Jamshed is holding his second press conference, announcing that he is very much alive and kicking in the music scene. And we thought the curtains had fallen.
APRIL 3, 2002: THE FIRST MEETING
“I literally had to ‘kill’ myself at that press conference where I declared that I wasn’t going to do any more music! Music is my passion. I wish to God that nobody ever goes through what I experienced that day.”
Junaid Jamshed’s golden voice bounces off the marbled floor of his sprawling home where we’re seated on a padded couch surrounded by a melange of intricately carved teakwood furniture and gilded divans piled with vivid throw cushions. I am at a loss to answer and look away in discomfiture from those familiar brown, hooded eyes that have gazed dreamily out of a plethora of music album covers for the past 12 years. But in those brown orbs lurks awareness - awareness he says he had to die for. “I died and was reborn,” he finishes off.
Junaid Jamshed, the incomparable maestro, has been religiously inclined since the past five years during which rumours of his departure from music remained consistent. Yet, it ‘was’ somewhat of a shock to hear him officially yank the curtains on his music career on March 22, 2002 merely 10 days after he had declared at the Nazia Hassan tribute concert that the Vital Signs might start to work on an album. He sighs:
“That concert was nostalgia time for us; the band had performed together after seven whole years and so we ended up making a statement like that.” His voice trailed off.He harbours no unnecessary modesty regarding his popularity. “I had the world at my feet, but don’t you realize, that I ‘must’ have a very compelling agenda before me that drove me to take this step,” he reiterates endlessly during the course of our tete-a-tete.
So what was it that made this crooning heartthrob, who wasn’t even moderately religious in his youth, go out there in quest of the divine light?
“Five years ago I was reunited with an old school friend of mine and I began to envy his peace of mind. It was a time in my life when I had everything - fame, money, contracts that people would willingly give their hand and leg for. Yet,” he emphasizes, “I had this inexplicable fear of the unknown within me.”
This fear would subside when he started going to Raiwand with this friend for religious congregations and sat in the company of ulemas and muftis. “That was a totally different world.”
What’s changed? It’s not just the beard that makes him look different, nor is it the sagacity in his eyes that one can clearly see from where he’s lounging casually in a crumpled shalwar kurta, at such close quarters. I’m looking at a man who has experienced soul-searching many times and has come out with a new set of fiery goals.
“For a person who is in the limelight no affair remains personal,” he begins solemnly. “For the past five years I was conscious of the fact that I was making 14 crore people, who were hanging on to my every move, believe that ‘music’ would solve all their problems while I, on the other hand, was trying to achieve my peace by seeking the path of the Almighty.” Impressionable young boys from small towns had shaved off their beards and started playing the guitar impressed by his music. Junaid pauses, willing me to understand the profundity of his words. “Can you imagine what that did to me? I couldn’t have that on my conscience. People labelled me a ‘confused’ man. Perhaps during those five years my resolve wasn’t that firm. I mean, fame and money is addictive,” he justifies. “But I had realized that the truth did not lie in my music and nobody was going to benefit from it. Listen,” he continues, jabbing my knee with a pen he’s been toying with, “If today I were to be convinced that music will help me in this mission of mine, then to hell with what I said at any press conference, I’ll start singing again.”
He adds, “I’m not pointing my finger at anyone. Everyone has a way of looking at things - this is mine. I’m not saying that music is haram.” I raise my eyebrows, the skepticism blatant on my face. He lets out a sigh of exaggerated patience. “I’m only leaving music because through music I believe that I won’t be able to do what’s best for my people.” He quickly affixes, “If this step of mine succeeds in affecting even one person” he looks at me intently, “then I’ve achieved my goal.”
“So all these years you were a hypocrite?” I quip. “Why do you say that?” he retorts, his expression deadpan. I stutter to elucidate on my rash comment. But his voice is controlled. “If I’d come back from Raiwand for the first time and suddenly quit music everyone would have doubted my sanity. Now that I’m taking my time you’re accusing me of hypocrisy. What do you want me to do?” That burning look again! I tactfully change the topic.
My head spins with Junaid Jamshed’s passionate rhetoric, filled with Quranic verses, and coupled with renditions of Iqbal’s couplets.
“Islam doesn’t teach us to let go of all worldly things,” I speak out. “I never said that,” he responds promptly. “Islam was spread in the subcontinent by the Sufis so we all believe that to embrace Islam means to start dwelling in the mountains. We must realize that the Holy Prophet (PBUH) and his companions never did that because Islam is a religion closest to nature.” He leans forward as if to disclose a grave secret, “Mufti Taqi Usmani once told me that a man who doesn’t abide by the teachings of Islam cannot enjoy life to it’s fullest.” His soft voice goes up a notch, “Why is it important for me to talk about this, than go sing yet another national song? Why do I go to Raiwand four times a year? Because I’m trying to fight the propaganda that has been bombarded onto us from the West for the past 200 years. We have our own world order. We don’t need one enforced upon us,” he says. Knowingly, a cold fire has leapt into his eyes.
“Don’t you think that you’ll be leaving a void in our music industry?” I voice the query that has flitted across every music fan’s mind. A pause ensues. “The sun of my fame was going to sink someday anyway. It was inevitable,” he shrugs his lean shoulders. “I’m not leaving music at the peak of my career to make a point. It would have been easier to lift a mountain single-handedly than to do what I have done.”
I feel like a midget as he walks me back to my car, his form towering, letting out a barrage of instructions regarding how he wants this interview handled! “Religion is a very sensitive issue,” he lectures. I believe that I’m bidding adieu to the singer for the last time, but an unprecedented phone call five days later informs me: “Junaid is releasing a new album.”
An hour later a fasting Junaid is before me again.
APRIL 8, 2002: THE SECOND MEETING
Junaid’s head is bent over the first draft of his interview; his forehead puckered in concentration; chic spectacles perched on his chiselled nose. While we’re consulting over the interview his mobile beeps incessantly with a hoard of messages. But they all say the same thing: “Please don’t leave music.” He shakes his head.
“Last August I recorded a solo album titled Dil ki Baat,” explaining the reason for his (latest) surprise decision. “And it’s about to be released any day,” he grins at the absurdity of the entire scenario. He explains how this seems like a complete inconsistency to the earlier interview he gave me. But he roars, “This second press conference ‘does not’ contradict my earlier resolve to not record anymore. I will not record anything in the future.” He runs his tapering fingers through his hair, “But as per contract I’m obligated to make myself available for the marketing projects of this album only.” That means television appearances, concerts and music videos - the works until the cassette and the hype surrounding it is over which is necessary for marketing purposes.
“Even Vital Signs are booked to perform at a concert on May 16 in Dubai later this year, and the entire band is trying to convince me to sing just this ‘last’ time. But I don’t want to. However, I’m still contemplating it.” For Junaid the pressure is still raging. Well, as the saying goes:
'it ain’t over until the fat lady sings. Or in this case, until Junaid decides.
**