Songs of a nation, names worth knowing

This May 10, Pakistan observed its first Youm-e-Marka-e-Haq, marking the success of Operation Bunyan-um-Marsoos. A day to observe not just with ceremonies and salutes, but with reflection on the resolve of a people and their guardians who stood firm like a wall of lead when it mattered most. To the Pakistan Army, to our intelligence services, to every institution and individual who planned, sacrificed and delivered: the nation salutes you. But before the speeches settle and the ticker tapes fade, let us pause. And let us remember that our soldiers never stopped. Right now, as these words are read, men in uniform are standing guard on mountains, in deserts, along borders that never sleep. The duty continues every hour of every day.

Let us remember the ones who did not come home. This salute belongs above all to our shuhada. The sipahis barely past their twentieth year. The lieutenants who had just pinned their stars. The captains and majors who left behind young wives and younger children. The senior officers who spent decades defending this soil, driven by nothing but duty and love, always answering the call. They gave everything on the altar of a country that sleeps safely because they did not. May Allah grant them the highest place in Jannah, and may their families find peace in the knowledge that this nation has not forgotten them, and never will.

Now, here is something that hurts me. Every time Pakistan celebrates, we reach for our patriotic songs, and rightly so. These are not just melody but memory. The sound of something felt in the heart before it is understood by the mind. Made with passion and artistic commitment, they deserve every second of airtime they get. Yet year after year, our TV anchors and journalists rarely pause to mention the names of those who created them.

Take Dil Dil Pakistan, the virtual second national anthem of a generation. Ask anyone who sang it. Vital Signs, they will say, correctly. Junaid Jamshed is the face of Vital Signs. Children of the 1980s recall members like Rohail, Rizwan, Nusrat and Shahzad, and the iconic videos directed by Shoaib Mansoor. Now ask who wrote those words. Silence. His name is Nisar Nasik. Remember it.

Consider Ae Rah-e-Haq ke Shaheedo, that fervent homage in the melodious voice of Naseem Begum. Salim Iqbal composed it for the 1966 film Madar-e-Watan. Directed and produced by Saifuddin Saif, the film came straight from the wounds of the 1965 war. And the man who wrote those words? Mushir Kazmi, a poet who understood grief and glory both. When was the last time his name was spoken on prime-time television?

Tufail Hushyarpuri gave us Ae Mard-e-Mujahid Jaag Zara, Ab Waqt-e-Shahadat Hai Aya – words that meet death not with despair but with the dignity of faith. Composed by Rasheed Attre and sung by Inayat Hussain Bhatti, the song was first recorded for the 1958 film Changez Khan. Seven years later, on September 6, 1965, it became the first song broadcast on radio after President Ayub Khan's historic address to the nation, and has remained an official band song of the Pakistan Army ever since. It is time Tufail sahib's name was mentioned alongside it.

Then there is Jamiluddin Aali, who wrote Pakistan Pakistan – words that Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan took into his lungs and made immortal. Two giants. One remembered for his voice. The other, far too often, forgotten for his pen.

These are just four names from a much longer list. Poets, lyricists, composers, music directors, background singers and chorus voices who gave this country its most memorable national songs, then quietly stepped back while the music walked into history without them. They were not seeking fame but serving and that is why we owe them this.

This does not happen by accident. Television puts the singer in front and the songwriter behind. Hardly anybody reads the credits. We do not teach our children who wrote these songs in school and so, slowly, even the things we love most get stripped of the people who made them. Can a nation truly preserve its cultural memory while forgetting its creators?

My appeal is heartfelt and direct. Give them an award. These gifted souls must be officially recognised. For most of them this recognition will arrive at graves rather than doorsteps but it will still reach them and it will mean everything to those they left behind.

My request is directed to ISPR, which has done extraordinary work bringing Pakistan's story to life: please take the lead. Their names are on record, their contributions documented. Brief our anchors, journalists and media personalities until these names become as familiar as the songs themselves. When the formal ceremony does come, let it be the kind that makes their grandchildren sit up straight with pride.

If our cultural institutions were to put these names on reels, short documentaries and tribute posts, our young people would find them and they need to. My Pakistani heart aches each time I see Indian filmi songs playing over tributes to our fallen soldiers on social media. Pakistan does not need to borrow another country's songs to honour its martyrs. Respect for South Asia's shared cultural heritage is one thing, but every nation must know how to recognise its own voice.

Bunyan-um-Marsoos has reminded us what Pakistanis are made of. Our young people carried that spirit on the streets, on social media, in their prayers. Now let them carry these names too. The next time a patriotic song moves you to tears, look up for the original creators too. Who wrote it, who composed it and who first sang it! What was the context! Share those names and stories. Post them. Keep them alive. The people who gave Pakistan its best national songs should not perish from Pakistan's cultural memory and new age media's landscape.