“Dil Hua Bo Kata”: The Songs That Once Made Basant Complete in Lahore
For decades, Basant in Lahore was not just about kites. It was about sound, rhythm, and shared joy. Without
For decades, Basant in Lahore was not just about kites. It was about sound, rhythm, and shared joy. Without music blasting from rooftops, Basant felt incomplete almost hollow. Long before safety bans and silence replaced celebration, Lahore’s skies were filled with color, and its rooftops echoed with songs that became inseparable from the festival itself.
This is the story of those songs—the melodies that defined Basant, announced victories, sparked dances, and turned ordinary rooftops into living festivals.
Lahore 2001: A Rooftop, a Kite, and a Song
Picture inner Lahore in 2001.
An old, tall house near the Walled City. Narrow streets below. A wide open sky above.
In one corner of the rooftop sits a home-made sound system—wooden casing, two oversized speakers, a worn amplifier, and wires held together with tape. The man controlling it isn’t a DJ. He’s simply “the one who plays songs.” His hand stays on the volume knob, eyes fixed on the sky.
Nearby, a barbecue burns. Skewers of meat roast over glowing coals. Smoke rises and mixes with laughter, chatter, and the hum of excitement.
A young man grips a charkhi (kite reel). The string slips through his fingers with a sharp sound as the kite catches the wind. The sky is no longer blue—it’s crowded with yellow, red, green, and blue kites. To outsiders, it looks beautiful. To kite flyers, it’s a battlefield.
Suddenly, a shout erupts:
“Oi! That one… on the right!”
The reel loosens. The kite dips, then rises sharply, chasing its target. The rooftop goes silent. Eyes lock on one point in the sky.
Then it happens.
“KAAAAAATAAAA!”
Cheers explode. Whistles, claps, chaos—and instantly, the song changes. Volume up. Celebration begins.
This was Basant.
When Basant Became Music, Not Just Kites
By 2002, Basant in Lahore had evolved. It was no longer just a kite festival. Music became its heartbeat.
From the 1950s to the early 2000s, Basant was never silent. Rooftops, radios, films, cassettes, CDs—music was everywhere. Songs weren’t just background noise; they were signals. A cut kite, a win, a reason to dance, or simply an excuse to celebrate together.
To truly understand Basant, you had to understand its music. Because Basant wasn’t born from noise—it was born from melody.
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Classical Roots: Raag Basant and Raag Bahar
In South Asian classical music, every season has its own raag.
Spring belonged to Raag Basant—playful, restless, full of anticipation.
Then came Raag Bahar, a raag of full bloom, when flowers and emotions open completely.
These raags carried joy, mischief, and longing, and although later film, folk, and pop songs were different in form, the spirit of these raags lived on—often unconsciously—in Basant music.
“Gudi Wango Sajna”: The Turning Point of Basant Songs
One song changed everything:
“Gudi Wango Sajna, Menu Uraai Ja”
From the hit Pakistani film Danka, this song became one of the most iconic Basant anthems ever. Composed by Wajahat Attre, written by Khawaja Pervez, and sung powerfully by Afshan Bibi, it blended classical emotion, folk rhythm, and item-song energy.
The metaphor was unforgettable:
The woman becomes the kite.
The kite becomes desire.
And Basant becomes identity.
Afshan Bibi belonged to Kasur, a city with a legendary musical lineage—Noor Jehan, Azra Jehan, Saima Jehan, Nadia Jehan, and today, Deba Jehan. This was not just a song; it was part of a cultural chain.
“Main Ban Patang Ur Jaungi”: When Basant Was Still Gentle
Long before loudspeakers ruled rooftops, Basant was quieter—more emotional.
In 1952, the film Dopatta featured the song:
“Main Ban Patang Ur Jaungi”, sung by Noor Jehan.
This wasn’t about shouting victories. It was about silent longing. The woman wasn’t a noisy kite fighting others; she was a soft wish floating in the spring air.
For decades, this song played on Radio Pakistan every Basant, reminding listeners that the festival once spoke in feelings, not volume.
“Patang Baaz Sajna”: Basant Reaches the 90s Generation
Many classical Basant songs faded with time, but the 1990s brought a bridge between generations.
“Patang Baaz Sajna”, sung by Fareeha Pervez, became that bridge.
As Basant became more commercial, this song turned into its unofficial national anthem. It carried folk warmth, pop energy, and kite-flying excitement—all in one. For many young Lahoris, this was their first Basant soundtrack.
Abrar-ul-Haq: The Sound of Lahore’s Basant
No discussion of Basant’s golden era is complete without Abrar-ul-Haq.
Songs like:
- Nach Punjaban
- Billo De Ghar
- Mela Vekhan Aayan Kuriyaan Lahore Diyan
- Chariyan Da Dil Cheer Day
These weren’t written specifically for Basant—but no Basant was complete without them. His concerts became a core part of the festival, and his music matched Lahore’s energy perfectly.
“Lahore Lahore Ae”: A City Singing Itself
If Basant was happening in Lahore, then a song about Lahore had to be there.
“Lahore Lahore Ae”, sung by Tariq Tafu, became a rooftop favorite. Year after year, it played from speakers across the city, celebrating Lahore itself as much as the festival.
Dance, Memory, and Viral Moments
Some songs became part of Basant through memory rather than intention.
“Saday Dil Te Chhuriyan Chalaian” by Daler Mehndi, released in 1997, became wildly popular for rooftop dancing. A now-viral Pakistani video from the late 1990s captures young friends dancing to it—grainy footage, but unforgettable joy.
More Songs That Defined the Era
Other Basant favorites included:
- “Jan Devo, Sanu Gudiyan Uran Devo” by Milko
- “Tak Len De”
- “Gudi Vi Urani Ae” by Fakhar-e-Alam
Some of these songs may feel lost today, but the moment they play, Basant comes rushing back.
Basant in Pictures: 2003–2007
From 2003 to 2007, Basant reached its visual peak. Rooftops packed with people, skies thick with kites, speakers at full volume, and Lahore alive in color and sound. These years are now frozen in photographs—and in memory.
Conclusion: When Basant Had a Soundtrack
Basant was never just about flying kites.
It was about collective joy, music as celebration, and a city singing together.
Today, the skies may be quieter. But these songs still exist—in playlists, in memories, and in the hearts of those who once stood on Lahore’s rooftops, eyes on the sky, waiting for the shout:
“Dil hua… bo kata!”
