By Muhammad Mohsin Iqbal
The state, in its ideal moral conception, resembles a mother—protective yet firm, generous yet disciplined. It provides security, creates opportunities, sets boundaries, and, when required, reprimands those who defy collective order. Authority, when exercised with purpose and balance, is not an intrusion into daily life but a fulfilment of responsibility. Recent developments of celebrating Basant in Lahore offered a timely reminder of this principle, demonstrating that when the state asserts its writ with seriousness and resolve, even long-suspended traditions can be revived without compromising public safety or social harmony.
Read also:Remembering Lahore’s basant: A festival of kites, culture, and collective memory
Lahore—the heart of Pakistan and the city of living hearts—welcomed spring this year with a massive jubilation that had long been confined to memory. After nearly twenty-four years, Basant returned, not as a reckless indulgence but as a regulated cultural expression shaped by law, vigilance, and administrative presence. In the past, the festival had degenerated into chaos, with unskilled practices, criminal negligence, and weak enforcement turning joy into tragedy. This time, however, the state chose not withdrawal but engagement with watchfulness. Rules were framed and enforced, the administration remained visible, and the writ of the government was neither symbolic nor selective. Apart from a few occurrences, the city passed through the season without hefty heartbreaking incidents—a success that deserves acknowledgement.
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The colours of Basant, the fluttering kites against a mild sky, the rooftops filled with cautious celebration, and the revival of traditional foods and shared laughter carried a deeper message. Joy, when guided and tailored by responsibility, becomes constructive rather than destructive. The presence of officials on the ground—alert, accountable, and prepared—demonstrated that celebration does not require the absence of law. On the contrary, it flourishes when boundaries are clear.
As the echoes of Basant fade, the nation now stands at the threshold of Ramadan, a month defined not by festivity but by restraint, reflection, compassion, and moral discipline. Ramadan reshapes daily life across the country: from pre-dawn meals and fasting hours to crowded bazaars before iftar and collective worship at night. Unlike Basant, which was confined largely to one city, Ramadan embraces the entire nation for a full month, touching every household regardless of class or geography.
Yet, even before the sacred month arrives, a familiar and troubling pattern has already begun to surface. Prices of vegetables, fruits, and essential food items have started climbing, shifting smoothly into the first gear of inflation, with higher gears expected as Ramadan begins. Quality goods quietly disappear from the market, while inferior substitutes reappear at inflated prices. This phenomenon, repeated annually, stands in stark contradiction to the spirit of Ramadan, which calls for ease, generosity, and sensitivity towards those who struggle.
Over the years, a peculiar and deeply flawed argument has often been offered in response to this problem. It is said that if fruit or other food items become expensive during Ramadan, people should simply stop consuming them and prices will fall on their own. This explanation, frequently presented as economic wisdom, raises a fundamental question: is it the responsibility of citizens to correct market distortions, or the duty of the state to prevent them? Expecting fasting families to abandon basic nutritional needs during a month of spiritual exertion is neither realistic nor just. Such reasoning, rather than reflecting policy insight, exposes administrative helplessness.
In many Western and Gulf countries, Ramadan is marked by special discounts, subsidised essentials, and strict monitoring to ensure affordability for all segments of society. The objective is not merely market stability but social solidarity. In contrast, when prices surge unchecked and the administration responds with advice rather than action, the burden of governance is unfairly shifted onto the public.
Here, the lesson of Basant becomes especially relevant. If the administration could demonstrate coordination, resolve, and presence for a cultural festival, it can and must do the same for a religious obligation that defines the nation’s moral rhythm. Officials who were visibly active during Basant should be equally present in markets and bazaars during Ramadan—monitoring prices, ensuring availability, and preventing exploitation. Authority must not retreat into silence at a time when vigilance is most required.
Accountability, too, must be clearly defined. Local administrations should be bound to their jurisdictions, with responsibility fixed and consequences enforced. If price manipulation occurs in a particular area, those entrusted with oversight must be questioned for their failure. Experience repeatedly shows that when the state intervenes decisively, markets respond. It is also telling that prices often return to pre-Ramadan levels once the month ends, revealing that much of the inflation is artificial rather than inevitable.
Ramadan is not only a spiritual test for individuals; it is also a test of governance. It examines whether leadership can rise above routine indifference and act in harmony with the ethical demands of the moment. Provincial leaderships must play their role, translating intent into visible action.
Between the disciplined joy of Basant and the solemn restraint of Ramadan lies a shared lesson: society flourishes when authority is exercised with sincerity and care. A state that can protect celebration can also protect devotion. A state that safeguarded lives amid flying kites can surely safeguard dignity at the fasting table. The nation now waits to see whether the resolve displayed in spring will endure through the sacred month—strengthening not only markets, but trust itself.
