I first arrived in Lahore in 1988 as a student, carrying more curiosity than confidence. Some cities introduce themselves with skylines; Lahore introduces itself with layers: history stacked upon history, taste upon taste and a culture that speaks even when no one is speaking. It felt less like a place on a map and more like a living archive: Mughal arches, colonial avenues, crowded bazaars and a strange certainty that the past here is not past.
In that Lahore, spring had its own language, and Basant was its loudest sentence. It was never merely a pastime of kites. It was a collective mood that lifted the city upward. Rooftops turned into meeting grounds. Neighbours who barely exchanged greetings suddenly became teammates, rivals and friends. The sky, crowded with colour, became the one space where class distinctions softened. A child with one small kite and a family with dozens were equally at the mercy of wind, luck and skill. And when the shout of “bo ka ta!” rang out, it carried not hostility but a playful energy that made urban life feel communal again.
But traditions do not collapse because they are old; they collapse because we mistreat them. Over time, Basant was infected by a dangerous desire to dominate. String was sharpened, competition turned vicious and celebration began to carry a shadow. Deaths and injuries forced the state into action and as is common in our governance, it chose the bluntest tool: prohibition. As a public-sector university professor, I recognise this reflex. When cheating rises, we tighten surveillance instead of improving assessment. When debate becomes uncomfortable, we restrict speech instead of teaching civic literacy. We often silence the symptom rather than cure the disorder.
Today, talk of Basant’s revival is also talk of a national test. The real issue is not whether Basant should return; it is whether we can host joy responsibly. A meaningful comeback requires more than slogans: firm action against hazardous string, clear rules, visible enforcement and, above all, public cooperation. The government cannot monitor every rooftop, but society can refuse to glorify recklessness.
A safe Basant would do more than brighten Lahore’s skies; it would restore something we are losing: shared space, shared rhythms and shared happiness. Spring will arrive anyway. The question is whether we will greet it with wisdom — or repeat our old mistakes under a prettier sky.
Dr Intikhab Ulfat
Karachi
