Songs such as these evoke great nostalgia, maybe because they have been imprinted into our genetic memory. It was a necessity of the time, but it also paved the way for some memorable music and memorable lyrics.Īye Watan Pyare Watan Pak Watan singer Amanat Ali KhanĬonsider the gems from yesteryears: Yeh Watan Tumhara Hai (Mehdi Hasan) Ae Watan Pyare Watan and Chand Meri Zameen (both by Ustad Amanat Ali Khan) Ae Rahe Haq Ke Shaheedon (Naseem Begum) Ae Watan Ke Sajeelay Jawano (Madam Noor Jehan) Jaag Utha Hai Saara Watan (various artists) Sohni Dharti Allah Rakhhay (renditions by Shehnaz Begum, Mehdi Hasan and Habib Wali Mohammad), Jeevey Jeevay Pakistan and Mauj Barrhay Ya Aandhi Aaye (both by Shehnaz Begum) Ye Des Hamara Hai (Waseem Baig) Main Bhi Pakistan Hoon (Muhammad Ali Shyhaki) Hum Zinda Qaum Hain (Tehseen Javed, Amjad Hussain & Benjamin Sisters) Watan Ki Mitti Gawah Rehna (Nayyara Noor) Hamara Parcham Yeh Pyara Parcham (Naheed Akhtar) Tera Pakistan Hai (Amjad Hussain) Khayal Rakhna (Alamgir & Benjamin Sisters) and Itnay Barray Jeevan Saagar Mai (Allan Fakhir)… to name just a few. The high point of these songs came in the 1970s but continued into the 1980s - perhaps understandably for a country trying to refashion a national pride after the secession of half the country in 1973.īack then, state-owned broadcast media (both PTV and Radio Pakistan) was tasked with building up and maintaining a sense of nationhood, where the idea of “one nation” and the perseverance of its culture and solidarity was the main priority. Some three decades ago, when PTV reigned supreme as the sole entertainment channel, milli naghmay made their way into every nook and cranny of the broadcast. Yet, for some reason, the people of Pakistan - or at least a majority of us - still keep returning to yesteryear classics: the milli naghmay aka national songs, a phrase often spoken on Pakistan Television Network (PTV) or Radio Pakistan, or read on the covers of EMI audio cassettes. With massive marketing budgets, hits on social media and YouTube, these songs also appear a lot on television. Jeevay Jeevay Pakistan singer Shahnaz Begum The songs include vocals from the veritable who’s who of the music biz - from Bagga to Atif Aslam to Rahat Fateh Ali Khan - and the hits on YouTube range from two to tens of millions, and maybe more. The calendar is loaded with days that need celebrating (there’s Pakistan Day, Independence Day, Defence Day, Navy Day and Air Force Day). His wares often display and propagate Pakistan’s military might in land, sea and air - but that’s to be expected, since the videos have often been produced by the military’s public relations wing, ISPR, or directly by one of the forces.Īctually, the military produces quite a bit of media that promotes the country’s sense of pride in the armed forces. Lately Bagga has been the go-to “maestro” for loud songs that jolt awake one’s sense of national pride. The video has a little over 130,000 views from his 2.5 million subscribers. Lately it is only about how much patriotic music we can inject on YouTube.Ī day before Azad Hain Hum, Sahir Ali Bagga came out with Jeve Jeve - a “Latest Pakistan Anthem 2021” (according to the video’s title), produced by the Directorate of Electronic Media and Publications (DEMP), a division of the Ministry of Information & Broadcasting. Hamara Parcham Ye Pyara Parcham singer Naheed Akhtar Perhaps this is a familiar sight across Pakistan. It’s a familiar sight the next day, at another intersection, with another youngster 10 or so years older. Whatever happened to good quality ‘milli naghmay’? Why do we keep going back to songs from 30 or even 50 years ago to rekindle the national spirit? Have we become incapable of producing good anthems? With Sindh Government’s Covid-19 restrictions on the verge of being relaxed hardly a day before Moharram starts, should he even entertain the idea of turning his speakers on? The shops around him - medical, general and hardware stores, kebab and drink kiosks - are open, but one never knows when the shrieking sirens of a police van might suddenly sound from around the bend. The only missing element from his table is the sound of Vital Signs’ Dil Dil Pakistan blaring from his small, blue tooth-powered speakers. His makeshift table-stall has the usual Independence Day merchandise one glances at while walking past such stalls: decorative pins, small stacked bundles of green paper flags, some miniature flags, and a handful of their bigger versions. At an intersection near Bagh-i-Mustafa in Karachi, one of the many scattered and tucked-away pieces of land technically qualifying as parks that haven’t been appropriated by squatter families in the building-strewn area of Aisha Manzil, sits a teenage boy with a dilemma.
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