No Basant

The play lamented the loss of Basant and also touched on several other themes as well.

Last week, I saw the superb new play by Ajoka Theatre called Lo Phir Basant Aayee. This play, written by the talented Shahid Nadeem and expertly directed by Madeeha Gauhar, not only lamented the loss of Basant, but through its captivating two-hour long performance, touched on several other themes as well — from the land mafia, to culture wars, religious extremism, education, etc. Watching this play made me realise how, in a very short span of time, we have lost one of the most significant markers of Lahori (or Punjabi for that matter) identity. I still remember the days when Basant meant a sky full of colours, people hosting night- and day-long parties, people visiting — at times for the only time in the year — their ancestral house in the old city, and just the general festive feel among the people. It was truly a time when the whole city rejoiced at the coming of spring, the first crop of sarsoon, and simply, life. I also recall when the city government and the Parks and Horticulture Authority, then under the inimitable Kamran Lashari, also officially celebrated the festival and all the main thoroughfares were full of festive buntings. It was perhaps the only festival where everyone — rich or poor — equally participated, as kites were available in every price range and the sky made no partitions — it truly transcended boundaries.

But then, just as the country fell to the wrath of certain elements, Basant became a victim too. While deaths by dangerous string were becoming a problem, the government, rather than tackling this particular issue, simply banned the festival altogether. In the last decade, the ‘origin’ of the festival again became a bone of contention. Some said that since the festival had Hindu connections (with the goddess Saraswati), it could not be celebrated by Muslims. Others linked it to Sikhism and the supposed anti-Muslim nature of the event. Still others, poor liberals, began to argue that, in fact, Basant was a Muslim festival. All, of course, forgot that kites have no religion. Whatever the origin of the festival, if it brings a smile on the face of a person and makes them feel good, then it is certainly a positive thing.

One thing which kept resonating with me after the play was the oft-repeated line that ‘kites breathe in the open air and fly without restriction in the great sky’. Surely, this was not simply a comment on the kites suffocating in the basement of Ustad Manjoo in the play, but also a stark description of our current state of being. Just like the kites, Pakistan is now living a suffocating existence, the movement of most people is restricted — the VIPs do not even want to venture out of their fortresses, the common man is being killed mercilessly on the streets of not only Karachi, but Balochistan, rural Punjab and Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa, and of course, as we know now, people have been dying because of famine in Thar, but no one cared (until the media teams got there, that is). We know what is happening, but we still act as if we do not.

A lot of people roll their eyes when people like me lament the identity confusion in Pakistan. But, in fact, this confusion is really at the root cause of most of our ills. Our commitment to our country, our society, nay to our own selves, cannot be strong unless we know and are comfortable with who/what we are. This is indeed a long and painful process, but unless we undertake it, we will neither know who we are or stand up for what we believe. In the play, Ustad Manjoo was so dedicated to the cause of Basant that he risked being caught and jailed by the police. In fact, in the end, he emphatically tells the policemen that they will have to arrest him again next Basant as he will stand firm and fly kites again. We, both as a society and individually, are still far from displaying the confidence of Ustad Manjoo, and so, I think, till then, the kites must remain in the dungeon, and that there be No Basant.

Published in The Express Tribune, March 12^th, 2014.

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