Atif Aslam’s feet are firmly placed on the ground.

That’s quite a feat, considering that he is arguably the country’s biggest superstar, loved across generations, idolised around the world, and capable of causing audiences in packed arenas to break out into euphoric roars when he steps up on stage and begins to sing.

What must it feel like to start singing a song, only for an entire audience to join in, word by word? And to be greeted by crowds of fans wherever you go? To receive emails and messages every day from thousands of people around the world who love you, are inspired by you, or rely on your music to get through the day?

A lesser person would probably succumb to extreme megalomania. But Atif, for as long as I have known him — all the while chronicling his journey through interviews during his 22-year-long career — has always been humble. Now, more than ever, he exudes a sense of peace. He loves what he does, and he has reached a point in his career where he no longer needs to prove anything to anyone.

At some point during our most recent conversation, he says, “For a considerable time during my career, I was on a quest to win over the world, sell a certain number of records and perform at particular venues. There comes a time, though, when you realise that nothing will ever be enough. I decided that I didn’t want to get into the race. I wanted to sit back and enjoy everything I had achieved.”

He may not be obsessing about winning races, but that does not mean that life for Atif is any less hectic.

I meet him at a time when he has been on the go for months, travelling the world for an extensive concert tour. It’s one country one day, and another the next. When I meet him, he is nursing a sore throat, taking heavy medication and is scheduled to perform in Karachi the next day. A week after this, he tells me, he will be performing in Dubai.