On a fine sunny February morning, a sky studded with numerous little objects of colored paper captured my eyes for a long time while I tried, in vain, to focus on the string held in my cousin’s hand. He was head over heels in love with kite flying. I watched the sky like thousands of other children: with utter bewilderment. Meanwhile, we listened to local and Indian songs – mixed with shouts of bo kata – being played loudly on huge music systems placed on tall buildings. These are my earliest recollections of Basant – a festival that we once had, but don’t any more.

It is February once again and I, as a Lahori at heart, yearn to see the splash of colors and festivity spilled across the horizon. Even decades ago, statements bemoaning the nation’s downtrodden morals, and indulgence in an “infidel” culture, came from religious quarters.  Just because it falls on the same day as the Saraswati Puja does not essentially make Basant a Hindu festival. Especially in Punjab, it always was about the change of the season and the welcoming of spring. A time to reap, to dance; to eat and to connect with the soil.  The brilliant yellow mustard flowers of Punjab, the likes of which never breathed in Sindh, are etched in my memory.  Traditionally, Lahore has been at the helm of the Basant affair: the narrow allies and twisting staircases of the walled city have witnessed many such festivals; and hurried footsteps can still be traced to the roof tops that have accommodated dozens of boys who had smuggled their kites upstairs and hid under water tanks, out of their elders’ sight. 

But before we discuss this romanticized version of Basant further, let’s not forget that there always were a few unfortunate incidents in which people got injured during these activities, but none of them were serious enough to result in the loss of life. But they got uglier over the passage of time.  When Basant was finally gaining official patronage, and Basant tourism was at its highest – 5 star hotels got over booked and Lahore bound flights, all packed – something changed for the worse.  A few days before Basant, newspapers could not help but narrate the gory stories of innocent people – including children – who had falled prey to the kite flying twine (do’r).

Before the kite-making business, let us talk about the making of the twine which is used to fly the kites.  There always were special preparations for it: the customary manjha (the coating) became lethal over the decades trampling over the innocence of the sport and turning Basant into an uncouth monster out on a killing spree.

To minimize incidents of death, the government could have hunted down people who sold twine covered with harmful materials, but instead, a brilliant idea crossed their minds: their genius guided them into banning the beautiful festival, instead.

Was it in anyway easier to kill a centuries old tradition than to ban the dangerous string, and to fine its manufacturers in order to discourage them? Punjab government rather chose the unique scheme of ending a thriving business that had recently started to attract tourists even from across the border.  Instead of promoting this unconventional booming economy, the government played the worst role and brought all the joy attached to the sport, to a halt.

Anyone who has been to Lahore to witness Basant as it was celebrated just a decade ago cannot get over the fact that it has left a void in hearts of the locals. Gone are the days of the spools of twine, of kites with funny names (Machar and Parri) and of children running through the streets to catch a broken string with the help of tall tree branches. We, the Lahoris, now go through our old photo albums or look at Dr Ajaz’s paintings that beautifully capture the splendor Basant brought with itself every year.

February is now but an echo from the past bringing just faded shades of excitement to each Lahori’s heart. Basant, that had earned a permanent spot on Lahore’s cultural calendar for hundreds of years, has now turned into a story to tell while the Punjab government trumpets about its ‘good governance’.