BY MUHAMMAD MOHSIN IQBAL
After nearly a quarter of a century, Basant has returned to Lahore, not merely as a festival but as a long-suppressed emotion rediscovering its voice. For twenty-five years, the city carried the memory of spring like a faded photograph—cherished, yet distant. Past tragedies, when careless celebrations claimed innocent lives, had silenced rooftops and hushed laughter. This year, when kites once again rose above the Walled City, and families cautiously gathered on terraces, Lahore seemed to breathe differently. The revival was neither loud nor reckless; it was measured, regulated, and reflective, shaped by time, loss, and hard-earned lessons. Basant’s return symbolised not forgetfulness of past pain, but the nation’s capacity to reclaim joy without surrendering prudence.
In Lahore, the festival fills the air with a tenderness that only spring can offer. The mustard fields bloom in golden swathes, blending with the vibrancy of kite-filled skies. Children dart across rooftops with thread and spool, while parents watch with pride, apprehension, and hope. The city, long deprived of this cultural heartbeat, now dances cautiously with its heritage. Alongside the kites and laughter, the air carries the scent of traditional Basant delicacies; steaming platters of samosas, pakoras, jalebis, gajraila and phirni, alongside sweetmeats, roasted peanuts, and hot puri halwa sold from roadside stalls, evoking nostalgia for generations and adding a flavor to the celebration that is uniquely Lahori. Basant is not simply an event of colour and sound; it is a living memory of resilience, reminding Pakistanis that joy, even after decades of sorrow, remains possible.
Yet the celebration in Lahore exists alongside a national grief that cannot be ignored. In Balochistan, decades-long unrest has been inflamed by external forces, with India’s covert interference designed to destabilise Pakistan internally. The evidence is substantial: from the apprehension and confession of Commander Kulbhushan Jadhav to documented support for militant networks, the objective is clear—to weaken Pakistan by fostering fear, division, and disorder. Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, already scarred by years of conflict and displacement, remains vulnerable, as sporadic attacks continue to claim lives and devastate communities.
Even places of worship, traditionally sanctuaries of peace, have not been spared. Mosques have been targeted with chilling precision, and worshippers—men, women, and children—have been martyred mid-prayer. Such acts are not merely attacks on human life; they are assaults on society’s moral and spiritual foundation. They seek to replace devotion with fear and communal harmony with suspicion, yet Pakistan endures, demonstrating an unbroken will to defend both its people and its values.
The juxtaposition of Lahore’s revival with national grief is stark. While kites soar in the skies of the Punjab, coffins are lowered in Quetta and Peshawar. Yet, even in the face of these horrors, Pakistan refuses to let fear dictate its culture or its celebrations. The revival of Basant after twenty-five years becomes an act of courage, asserting that life, colour, and hope will persist despite adversity. Regulation, public awareness, and collective responsibility now shape the festival, ensuring that celebration does not repeat past tragedies.
The coexistence of joy and sorrow is not contradiction; it is the essence of resilience. Pakistan has learned to smile through tears, to celebrate while standing guard, and to hope even when circumstances conspire against hope. The laughter on Lahore’s rooftops does not mock the grief of Quetta or Peshawar; it affirms that terror will not monopolise the nation’s spirit. Basant, in this context, is not only a reclaiming of cultural heritage but a moral statement: that Pakistan will protect its traditions while defending its people.
The state’s responsibility is immense. Security measures must be intelligent, sustained, and rooted in justice rather than mere force. Counter-terrorism is not only about weapons or checkpoints; it is also about governance, inclusion, and narrative. Citizens must remain vigilant while celebrating. A society at war cannot afford indifference, yet it must resist being defined solely by conflict. Protecting life while preserving cultural identity is the delicate balance Pakistan strives to maintain.
History teaches that nations endure not only through military might but through moral clarity and cultural continuity. External actors, seeking to fracture Pakistan’s social, political, and spiritual fabric, understand this well. Basant’s revival is a testament to the nation’s resilience—a celebration that asserts life and joy even amid shadows of violence. As kites colour Lahore’s spring once more, they carry prayers for those who cannot celebrate, for those whose springs were stolen by terror. The scent of different delicacies of traditional foods related to Basant mingles with the spring breeze, reminding the nation that life’s simple pleasures—shared food, laughter, and colour—are also acts of resistance against despair.
Pakistan’s challenge is to guard both joy and grief with equal seriousness—to ensure that neither recklessness nor fear defines the nation. In holding sorrow and celebration together, in mourning martyrs while reclaiming cultural traditions, Pakistan affirms its endurance. The nation rises with dignity, proving that hope can soar as high as the kites above Lahore, even when shadows linger across the land.
