But they all loved this song and so, after practising a bunch of times, we went to the studio. “It was a motley crew of young boys who probably sat on their terraces and played the guitar,” laughed Saqib. Saqib said that many recording studio owners either quoted really high rates, or got upset with the lyrics.įinally, when a friend of Saqib’s said yes to recording the song, he gathered a bunch of his other friends and headed to the studio. When this song went viral, we had a chance to connect with them for the first time.”īut the brothers did hit a bunch of roadblocks while trying to record the song in 2005. “Considering our generation gap, we barely had links with our Indian relatives. “Nobody has ever raised an issue with the terms used in the song,” said Sohail. In India, many Indian college bands cashed in on the popularity and played it at music festivals. In Karachi’s music scene, Saqib’s song was already a hit. “Gaalis (profanities) are a part of our society,” said Sohail, adding that the song was never flagged as controversial or even censored by the government. Given the cultural similarities between Pakistanis and Indians, the song appears to blur man-made borders and diffuse the otherwise fraught geopolitical tensions between the two countries.Ī big paradox in South Asian lives is the way raw, profanity-filled vocabulary exists in deeply conservative societies. Or maybe he does, but we’d rather not ask him,” said Sohail. “Our siblings know, as do our cousins, uncles, even our school teachers.
Saqib added that some of his father’s friends told him they heard the song, but his father never bothered to check. “He does know there’s a famous song, but he’s not interested in it.” “Will you say such a cuss word in front of your father, even when you’re older?” Sohail asked me, laughing. The brothers say their father probably still doesn’t know about this song, even 16 years after it went viral. Then it hit me that we can do something with this phrase.” You’re smoking a cigarette?) Later on, this became a joke among us for many days. Sutta pee raha hain?’ (Fucker, cigarette. “One day, when he caught me smoking, he was so shocked, he said, ‘Bhenchod sutta. The translated lyrics of the song go something like this: “I was smoking with my friends / when my father caught me red-handed / When I got home, my father gave me a good one/ sister-fucker cigarette, I didn't get to smoke.” That’s how I started composing a song around it.” Then it hit me that we can do something with this phrase. “During school and college days, we’d be bunking and smoking with our friends,” he said. The “real creator” of this song, Saqib said, is their father. Last week, when VICE reached out to Saqib, now 37, and his brother Sohail Abdullah Aziz, 42, who manages Zeest, the duo went back in time to talk about what shot them into fame, and keeps them relevant even now. Within a week, he called me up and told me, ‘Saqib bhai, bada masla ho gaya hain (Saqib brother, a big problem has come up). “I knew someone who had a small music website and we had sent him the song to upload. This bit, especially, was often chanted as an anthem by millennials when they were the age group Gen Z is in now, in a bittersweet mix of angst and joy. Towards the end of the song, the lyrics are just two words, “bhenchod” and “maachod” (the latter literally translating to “motherfucker” but which connotes the same nondescript cursing as “bhenchod”).
In Pakistan and India, the song resonated with youth life, and was associated with existential gloom, angst and youthful nihilism, among other sordid feelings. The song’s lyrics chart the journey of a young man, from being caught smoking by his father, to dealing with young love and existentialism in college, to being married and constantly tired – all while being denied the small joys of a smoke.