The murder of Basant
The ban is tantamount to a denial of the opportunity to partake in Lahore’s rich culture and tradition
The writer is a practising lawyer and teaches law at two colleges in Lahore
On Friday, a few young men in Faisalabad celebrated what the media termed a “mini-Basant”. The celebration was organised despite the enduring government ban against the festival. Yet the festivity was marred, as it has been in many instances before, by loss of life. Ali Hasnain succumbed to bullet injuries sustained as a result of jubilation firing at the celebrations.
For some, the incident merely affirms the oft-repeated dangers intrinsic to the quintessential Basant sport of kite-flying: stray bullets; hazardous twine; road and rooftop accidents. The Punjab government’s ban on kite-flying, production and use of any premises for such purposes is then no more than an exercise of the state’s duty to protect the life and property of its citizens.
Why, then, do we continue to bemoan the loss of Basant? Why do we remain unconvinced by the arguments justifying the prohibition? Not all who protest against the government ban can be held guilty of short-sightedness, self-interest or absence of reason.
Many who have grown up and lived in the city of Lahore over generations, retain an affinity with this festival of spring that cannot be legislated out of memory or practice. For us, Basant is not a harbinger of danger and death. Instead, it represents life, colour, happiness, music and community.
I recall how, come February each year, our little rituals would begin: a visit to the darzi for a yellow jora; reconciling myself with the most feeble-looking guddi after the boys had taken a dig at the lot brought in; climbing up the shifty ladder to join the fun and frolic underway at my grandparents’ rooftop; bandaging finger-tips under the self-deception of being a seasoned kite-flyer; jubilation at the downing of a neighbour’s kite; dancing to Fariha Parvez’s iconic “Dil hua bo kata”; subsequent afternoons spent with cousins collecting spoils of battles fought in the sky.
For a few years now, February seems to pass without colour or festivity. Yet, from a critic’s perspective, sentimental invocations of childhoods past in a different Lahore are likely to be dismissed for exactly what they are — mere sentiments of little value when confronted with hard facts of fatalities and loss.
There is no denying that mismanagement and the failure to regulate the practice of kite/twine production and kite-flying has each year resulted in the loss of several lives. The Supreme Court probably had good reason to intervene by banning kite-flying activities in 2006. Yet, the ban imposed was in no way meant to be permanent. The provincial governments were told to work with kite-flying associations to “examine ways and means … to prevent … the loss of life and property”.
Indefinite continuation of the prohibition has instead presented an easier way out for the Punjab government. The Supreme Court ban was legislated into law by the Punjab government in 2007. The ban persists despite legal provisions permitting relaxation for a period of 15 days, and yearly appeals by the District Kite-Flying Association Lahore.
The Punjab government’s policy implies a degree of disinterest, indifference and defeat. Why does the government not consider alternatives to a blanket ban? Through more vigilant and effective surveillance and regulation, the government can surely control the production of dangerous twine and the practice of celebratory firing. Restricting the sport to designated areas of the city can ease the burden of such regulation. While no degree of regulatory intervention can guarantee against the incidence of injury or loss, the limits of regulation are equally applicable to dangerous public activities, which our government permits.
Sentimentalities aside, the exceptional treatment meted to Basant amounts to more than mere prohibition of a sport. The festival represents a shared history, which cuts across class and religious divide. The ban is tantamount to a denial of the opportunity to partake in Lahore’s rich culture and tradition. While it is true that the state must protect the life and property of its citizens, a society’s culture and heritage also warrant state protection and patronage.
Published in The Express Tribune, February 24th, 2015.
For some, the incident merely affirms the oft-repeated dangers intrinsic to the quintessential Basant sport of kite-flying: stray bullets; hazardous twine; road and rooftop accidents. The Punjab government’s ban on kite-flying, production and use of any premises for such purposes is then no more than an exercise of the state’s duty to protect the life and property of its citizens.
Why, then, do we continue to bemoan the loss of Basant? Why do we remain unconvinced by the arguments justifying the prohibition? Not all who protest against the government ban can be held guilty of short-sightedness, self-interest or absence of reason.
Many who have grown up and lived in the city of Lahore over generations, retain an affinity with this festival of spring that cannot be legislated out of memory or practice. For us, Basant is not a harbinger of danger and death. Instead, it represents life, colour, happiness, music and community.
I recall how, come February each year, our little rituals would begin: a visit to the darzi for a yellow jora; reconciling myself with the most feeble-looking guddi after the boys had taken a dig at the lot brought in; climbing up the shifty ladder to join the fun and frolic underway at my grandparents’ rooftop; bandaging finger-tips under the self-deception of being a seasoned kite-flyer; jubilation at the downing of a neighbour’s kite; dancing to Fariha Parvez’s iconic “Dil hua bo kata”; subsequent afternoons spent with cousins collecting spoils of battles fought in the sky.
For a few years now, February seems to pass without colour or festivity. Yet, from a critic’s perspective, sentimental invocations of childhoods past in a different Lahore are likely to be dismissed for exactly what they are — mere sentiments of little value when confronted with hard facts of fatalities and loss.
There is no denying that mismanagement and the failure to regulate the practice of kite/twine production and kite-flying has each year resulted in the loss of several lives. The Supreme Court probably had good reason to intervene by banning kite-flying activities in 2006. Yet, the ban imposed was in no way meant to be permanent. The provincial governments were told to work with kite-flying associations to “examine ways and means … to prevent … the loss of life and property”.
Indefinite continuation of the prohibition has instead presented an easier way out for the Punjab government. The Supreme Court ban was legislated into law by the Punjab government in 2007. The ban persists despite legal provisions permitting relaxation for a period of 15 days, and yearly appeals by the District Kite-Flying Association Lahore.
The Punjab government’s policy implies a degree of disinterest, indifference and defeat. Why does the government not consider alternatives to a blanket ban? Through more vigilant and effective surveillance and regulation, the government can surely control the production of dangerous twine and the practice of celebratory firing. Restricting the sport to designated areas of the city can ease the burden of such regulation. While no degree of regulatory intervention can guarantee against the incidence of injury or loss, the limits of regulation are equally applicable to dangerous public activities, which our government permits.
Sentimentalities aside, the exceptional treatment meted to Basant amounts to more than mere prohibition of a sport. The festival represents a shared history, which cuts across class and religious divide. The ban is tantamount to a denial of the opportunity to partake in Lahore’s rich culture and tradition. While it is true that the state must protect the life and property of its citizens, a society’s culture and heritage also warrant state protection and patronage.
Published in The Express Tribune, February 24th, 2015.