Quotes of the Day

If you were to create the perfect global pop star, the result would be nothing like Daler Mehndi. There's his look—black beard, bejeweled turban and belly surfing over his waistband. There's his halting English, his insistence on singing in Punjabi and his tongue-tangling name, pronounced "Dlurr Maindy." Then there are his '80s-style videos, pulsing with primitive arcade-game effects and joyful dancers in jumpsuits. And yet in the late '90s, fresh from a stint driving a cab in Berkeley, California, Mehndi became Asia's biggest-ever pop export.

Taking the rhythms of the Punjab and combining them with jubilant pop hooks, Mehndi introduced the world to a new dance genre, bhangra, that was happier than hip-hop and as irresistible as disco. Bhangra clubs sprang up around the world, fostering a movement that today stretches from the Punjab to Paris, from London's Southall to Manhattan's Soho. And Mehndi was bhangra's king. He released six albums that sold millions worldwide, and his deliriously cheerful tunes (with names like "Bolo Tararara") defined a new sound for kids and clubbers alike. In 1999 an American critic, stunned by the ecstatic crowd at one of his New Jersey concerts, declared Mehndi "bigger than the Beatles." Today hot London producer and fellow bhangra artist Rishi Rich says Mehndi "put Asian music on the map." Or as Mehndi himself says: "Daler Mehndi was different from anybody. That's why people like Daler Mehndi."

Then, last year, the happiness shattered. There had already been an ugly split from his Indian record label a few months earlier, and his only release since 2000 had been poorly received. But that was nothing compared with the scandal that broke in October 2003. The Indian police accused Mehndi of human trafficking by taking large entourages of staff on his tours of Europe and the U.S., then returning to India without them. The police claimed to have statements from 30 would-be illegal immigrants alleging that Mehndi and his brother were charging tens of thousands of dollars per person to spirit them abroad. Panicked and alleging an elaborate conspiracy by the police to extort money from him, Mehndi hid out for six weeks in friends' houses and his own New Delhi villa. When he finally showed up for questioning at a police station in the Punjabi city of Patiala, a mob threw paint at his Mercedes. "It was very scary," says Mehndi. "Like a film story, and Daler Mehndi was Saddam or Osama, moving all the time, always between midnight and 4 a.m. ... People hated me."

A year later all charges have been dropped against Mehndi. "Daler Mehndi and his brother look alike," says Punjab police Director-General A.A. Siddiqui. "That's where the confusion arose." Siddiqui rejects any suggestion of a police attempt to blackmail Mehndi. Meanwhile, the case continues against Mehndi's brother Shamsher. "The whole case is concocted," says Shamsher's lawyer, Rajvinder Singh Bains. "But the police are going ahead with it as a face-saving exercise."

Whatever the truth to this murky affair, the 36-year-old Happy Daddy of bhangra is now attempting an almost superhuman comeback, releasing a new album this month that he expects to put him back on top. It won't be easy. Not only is he returning from a controversy that nearly annihilated his sunshine image. But the bhangra scene has left its founding father far behind. There's a new breed of younger, tougher British bhangra kings in Rishi Rich and Panjabi MC. Rich, in particular, has taken the music to heights Mehndi never dreamed of, fusing it with hip-hop to create a more aggressive sound that has Britney Spears and Ricky Martin queuing up to ask the 26-year-old to add a global street edge to their singles. "It's getting really big," says Rich. "It's crossing over; it's huge in America." In a sense, Rich's hardening of bhangra takes it back to its roots. As the music of the dry farms of the Punjab, bhangra lyrics were often gritty, and even today Punjabi artists are the most outspoken in India, singing about sex, drugs and crime just as their hip-hop peers do in the West. In that context, Mehndi was bhangra lite and a diversion, says DJ Rekha of New York's hip Bhangra Basement club: "Even back when he was big, he was kind of like the Will Smith of bhangra. Not so respected. Now, after the scandal, his position in the scene is that he doesn't really have one."

With his new release, Sha Ra Ra Ra, Mehndi is trying to keep pace with the times by adding what he describes as a moodier "jazz and blues" sound. But he's having a hard time keeping out the fun. At a recent recording session in Bombay, he still looked like a cartoon king, decked out in a black turban with sequined band, gold bracelets and chains, and a bright red designer shirt. ("I want the fans to look at Daler Mehndi like a maharajah," Mehndi explains.) He still has the same spring-soled bounce and huge smile. And, in the studio, he's clearly enjoying the music as much as ever. As they fine-tune the tracks, Mehndi has discussions about rhythms with his technicians and tumbi players that go like this:

Mehndi: Dung dung dara dara dung dung.
Technician: Ding ding da di da da DAK?
Tumbi player: Ta blakakak dak dak?
Mehndi: Neh. Dabadung dakadaka dakadaka DING!

After a year in which the world's happiest and most unlikely pop star became both miserable and unmarketable, Mehndi now sees nothing but blue skies ahead. "You know, I was a very bad taxi driver," he says. "Always looking in the mirror at myself and imagining I would be a big star in music. Nearly many accidents. But Daler Mehndi has no accidents in music. Yes, I struggle, I arrive and then I lose everything. But in music, I am very happy. And bhangra is very happy music. So in music, Daler Mehndi always has clear road ahead."

• Alex Perry | Bombay
• The king of bhangra music makes his comeback after a nightmarish clash with the police