Faris Shafi is one of Pakistan’s most popular rappers, with a massive cult following in the country and among South Asians abroad, and yet isn’t written about much. Perhaps that has to do with the fact that every single song that he writes includes some profanity. And that too in Urdu (somehow it doesn’t sound as bad in English or a non-South Asian language). But in Urdu, it’s too close to home and feels extra vulgar.

But once you move past that you realise that pretty much all of Shafi’s songs and poetry are a social commentary on Pakistani culture, touching upon economic inequalities, religious hypocrisy, political and social instability, corruption and the usual evils we have become so accustomed to — to a point where we have stopped noticing. Most of the time, at least.

Take, for example, his 2018 collaboration with producer Talal Qureshi in Jawab De (a censored version is available on the BBC Asian Network YouTube channel). The singer-songwriter is aware of his tendency to ‘rant’ and also that, in all these years, nothing seems to have changed. He begins and ends the song with “Qissay yeh phir se main kis tarha shuroo karoon/ Phass gaya hoon, pencilon ke sikkay hi ghiss gaye…” [How do I begin telling these stories again? I’m stuck and the lead in my pencil has worn out]. Of the many things Jawab De focuses on, some of them include extrajudicial killings, the war machinery, conflict and the ‘honour’ killings of women etc.

In his 2019 collaboration with Abdullah Qureshi on the somewhat haunting Prosaic, Shafi turns more inward in his little section of the song while also talking about the hypocrisy of the people he’s surrounded with:

Everybody’s got advice,
everybody got a vice.
Everybody’s got a knife for my back,
noose for my neck,
But everybody seems polite.
Aap meray piece takseem karein,
Aap mujhay please takleef batayein,
[Distribute pieces of me,
Tell me what is bothering you]
I never seem to see the light,
Believe that there’s more to me than meets the eye.

But while his previous collaborations and releases, when talking about ‘difficult’ issues, were always quite upbeat, his most recent release, Nazar is different. There are no snazzy beats building up the tempo in this one. The beats on this one are minimalistic and barely there. They’re intended to follow the song’s bassline which is accompanied by a few chords on the keyboard. The focus, however, remains firmly on Shafi’s voice and lyrics.

There’s a touch of weariness and melancholy in Nazar, as if the singer-songwriter is tired after years of ranting and raving, and is beginning to lose hope. Directed by Awais Gohar, the whole video has been shot in different locations in Gilgit Baltistan. There’s Shafi in the middle of stunning snow-capped, rocky mountains. There are glaciers and glacial lakes and beautiful cherry blossom trees in full bloom. Perched on rocks at the edges of these mountains, staring into this beautiful… emptiness is Shafi. Alone. There’s a quiet feeling of desolation in the song and, in the video, even if you don’t see it, you feel it.

Rap is a conversation with rhythm that the singer-songwriter has with the listener. In Nazar, Shafi shifts between rhythms in the verses, the chorus and the occasional pauses between them. And Shafi is both weary and aware, case in point this section of the lyrics:

Aap sab ki sun to raha hoon,
It’s like a boomerang.
Ek kaan se andar,
Ek kaan se baahir,
Aap sarey bandar,
Aap shayer kab se ban gaye?
Aap saray lagtay nangay,
Aap saray kartay dhanday.

[I’m listening to you,
But it’s like a boomerang.
In from one ear,
Out the other.
Since when did all of you monkeys
Become poets?
I see through you,
You’re only in it for the money]

Nazar exhibits a sort of loss-of-hope and ‘growing up’ of the singer-songwriter. It is a shift from Shafi’s usual style and can be received either way. I’ve met Faris Shafi’s fans who have both loved and hated the song. But they are not indifferent to it. Buss nazar na lag jaye.

Published in Dawn, ICON, March 8th, 2020