hese days, campaigns across various media platforms are warning of the dangers associated with kite flying, with dire messages about the legal consequences of violating the ban.

When we were growing up in Lahore, Basant was one of the most exhilarating days of the year. Kite flying was a winter tradition, taking place during daylight hours. As the season progressed, kites filled the sky with increasing frequency, reaching a thrilling climax on the day of Basant.

Basant often did not fall on a holiday, making it all the more agonising for school-going children. The day was spent longing for the festivity. By the time we returned home from school, it was already late afternoon. The excitement would be at its peak just as the celebration began to wind down. It was considered a bad omen to fly kites after sunset.

The Walled City used to be a hive of activity during Basant. For amateurs, flying a kite was nearly impossible, as the sky was already teeming with kites, their crisscrossing strings leaving little room for a newcomer’s kite to hold its own.

People crowded rooftops, many precariously perched on parapets or squeezing into any available space just wide enough for their feet. The air between sky and earth was alive with the sound of dhols, metal canisters and the celebratory cries of bo kata.

Gradually, the dhols were replaced by tape recorders, their songs and beats amplified by powerful sound systems. Then, something unthinkable happened – kite flying shifted to Basant eve. Most of the action took place at night under floodlights, turning the morning hours of Basant into a period of rest for kite fliers. The festivities picked up again lazily in the afternoon, continuing until sunset.

Of course, Basant was also accompanied by a great deal of feasting, with people indulging in qeema walay naan, cholay, various sweets and firni.

The more serious kite flying, mostly left to the professionals, took place in open spaces such as Minto Park (now Greater Iqbal Park) and Mughalpura.

Exactly a week after Basant, the festival was celebrated in Kasur, as these two cities had been the major kite-flying centres since Partition. Over time, however, Basant fever spread to every city and town, even reaching the beaches of Sindh, eventually taking on a national character.

From Khusro, we know that Basant was celebrated around Delhi, and from Nazir Akbarabadi, we learn that it was a cultural event in Lucknow.

During the 1990s and the first decade of the 2000s, corporate culture became a part of the festivities. Various companies organised visits for their guests, bussing or even flying them in from different cities, particularly Karachi and Islamabad. Rooftops were booked, and lavish parties ensued. This influx of corporate-sponsored celebrations further fuelled the popularity of night-time Basant. However, it also brought with it the troubling rise of aerial firing, which increased alarmingly with each passing year – a blatant reflection of the growing proliferation of firearms in the society.

The string used for kite flying was also made more effective with the addition of certain chemicals, which, in turn, strengthened the argument of those who wanted to put an end to this festival – one that did not originate in Arab culture.

The height of Basant festivities was likely during Maharaja Ranjit Singh’s reign when spring was welcomed with Holi and Basant, followed by a grand Mela Charaghan in the middle, and concluding with Baisakhi, the festival celebrating the harvest season.

During the winter months, Mochi Darwaza served as the wholesale market for kites and string, generating employment for many. Lahore’s hallmark festival, Basant, was gradually discouraged and eventually banned altogether. Despite efforts, all the king’s men and all the king’s horses have not been able to put it back together again.

Like many other activities, this, too, has been killed in the name of law and order. The authorities, unable to effectively curb the unlawful production and sale of deadly kite string, chose instead to mask their failure by banning the festival altogether.

From Khusro, we know that Basant was celebrated around Delhi, and from Nazir Akbarabadi, we learn that it was a cultural event in Lucknow. Perhaps now it should be held digitally – if, that is, it manages to escape the new regulations being enacted regarding social media.

The writer is a culture critic based in Lahore