Mahtab Bashir
0333 53 63 248
ISLAMABAD
In the summer of 69, (quite different from Bryan Adam’s nostalgic hit), two men with tape recorders hanging on their shoulders, set out on a journey through Pakistan's dusty villages, far-flung towns, and underdeveloped cities, unaware they were about to stumble upon a treasure that would eventually reshape how a nation saw itself.
One was Samir Naguib, a folklore expert dispatched by UNESCO from Rome's prestigious Santa Cecilia Academy. The other was Dr. Uxi Mufti, a young academic freshly returned from completing his PhD from Prague, who had been assigned as Naguib’s local counterpart with a modest budget of just 5,000 rupees between them.
What followed was a tale so improbable that it reads like fiction, a story of bureaucratic betrayal, accidental television broadcasts, jealous colleagues, and one man's stubborn refusal to let Pakistan's cultural soul be buried in government archives.
This is the story of how Lok Virsa, Pakistan's National Institute of Folk and Traditional Heritage, came into existence, told in the words of its founder, Uxi Mufti, who for the first time reveals the complete, authentic history of its evolution.
Wandering scholars and the charge sheet
"Our mission was simple," Uxi Mufti recalls, his eyes still carrying the spark of adventure from those three transformative months in 1969. "Samir Naguib and I were to travel village to village, across the length and breadth of Pakistan, making sample recordings of 100 to 200 hours of folk music and traditions for UNESCO's archives."
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Uxi Mufti with the scribe. A file photo |
For three months, they crisscrossed the country, through the rugged terrain of Balochistan, the fertile plains of Punjab, the deserts of Sindh, and the mountain valleys of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa. They recorded everything: the haunting melodies of Sindhi dhamal, the rhythmic beats of Balochi dhol, the poetic verses of Pashto tappa. In the process, they discovered something far more valuable than recordings, they unearthed 2,500 unknown artists, musicians, and performers who had never appeared on radio or television.
But upon their return, instead of celebration, they were met with bureaucratic hostility. The ministry's officers had changed, and a section officer demanded they account for every single penny of the 5,000 rupees. "Where did you disappear?" They were asked. "You have no phone number, no office; where should we write a letter to you?"
A charge sheet was prepared. The folklore band they had formed was disbanded. Both men were effectively dismissed.
"I was treated very badly," Dr. Mufti says, the sting of that injustice still audible in his voice decades later. "But looking back, that rejection was perhaps the greatest gift I ever received. It lit a fire in me that would not be extinguished."
The pilgrimage of a dream
Undeterred, Dr. Mufti created a comprehensive project for a Folklore and Folk Art Academy in Pakistan. What followed was a pilgrimage through the corridors of power, a journey that took him to the Ministry of Information, the Ministry of Education, the Foreign Office, the Council of Integration, and every federal secretary who would grant him an audience.
"No one listened to me," he remembers. "I was quite disheartened."
But the 2,500 artists he had discovered haunted him. Among them were names that would later become legends: Khamiso Khan, whose soulful renditions of Sindhi shah jo raag would captivate millions; Munir Balaidi, the master of Balochi folk instruments; Charlie Malang and Party, whose energetic performances embodied the spirit of Punjab; and Allan Faqir, whose Sufi-inspired music transcended boundaries.
"People knew them a little in their own areas," Mufti explains, "but at the national level, no one knew them. They had never appeared on radio or TV. Their voices were trapped in villages, their instruments unheard beyond the next valley."
It was then that Mufti had an audacious idea.
The tomato challenge and the accidental broadcast
Armed with nothing but conviction, Mufti approached Aslam Azhar, the General Manager of Pakistan Television (PTV). "I will give you a stage show," he declared.
Aslam Azhar, known for his pragmatic approach, was skeptical. "What will be in your stage show?" he asked.
"In my stage show, I will bring very unknown people, whom no one knows, onto the stage," Mufti replied.
Aslam Azhar leaned forward. "Uxi, will you eat tomatoes?"
This peculiar question referred to a common Urdu idiom meaning to face humiliation or failure. "Tomatoes? Where will you do this show?"
"In Liaquat Memorial Hall, Rawalpindi," Mufti answered confidently. "The seating of Liaquat Hall is 2,500," Aslam Azhar said. "Will you be able to fill this hall?" "I promise that I will show you the hall filled and will not eat tomatoes," Mufti replied.
Aslam Azhar proposed a test: "First, make a pilot project for me in the TV studio. We will watch it. If it gets approved in our General Manager board, then do the programme. Otherwise, you are out."
Mufti created a pilot called "Lok Tamasha" (The People's Spectacle), featuring Pakistan's best regional musicians and artists, Munir Sarhadi, Khamiso Khan, Charlie Malang and Party, and others. He left no artist undiscovered.
The project was presented to PTV's General Manager Conference, which included media heavyweights like Agha Nasir and Nisar Hussain and others. They watched the pilot and rejected it.
"It is not worth being aired on the elite Pakistan Television," they declared, dismissing it as too rustic, too provincial. All of Mufti's cassettes were thrown into the archives.
But fate had other plans.
In those days, about three-fourths of PTV's programmes came from abroad, American shows like Lucy Show and Dennis the Menace aired during prime time. One evening, the episode of Dennis the Menace that was scheduled for 7 PM never arrived. The flight carrying the tape was delayed.
"The transmission controller got worried," Mufti recounts with a smile. "He called the programme manager and asked what to do. The manager said, 'Check in the cupboards, see what is lying there, play it.'"
The controller opened a cupboard and found cassettes labeled "Lok Tamasha." Without any alternative, he played it.
"My show accidentally went on-air on the national hook-up," Mufti says, still marveling at the cosmic coincidence.
A people's television
When Lok Tamasha aired, Pakistan Television was flooded with letters and messages, from Dera Ghazi Khan, Dera Ismail Khan, Quetta, all of Balochistan, the interior of Sindh, Jacobabad, and Hyderabad.
"For the first time, we realised that this TV is also ours," people wrote. "Where was this programme before? Why wasn't it done before? We liked it a lot."
Aslam Azhar called Mufti immediately. "Mufti, do the show, man! Do it in Liaquat Memorial Hall!"
And so, Lok Tamasha was born. For nine consecutive years, Mufti produced a live programme every week from Liaquat Memorial Hall. It became a cultural phenomenon.
"There was only one TV," Mufti remembers. "When my show used to run, the streets would become deserted. Wherever I went, people would say, 'Oh... the Lok Tamasha guy has arrived.'"
The show's popularity reached such heights that when Mufti went to perform Umrah, people recognised him there too. "Look, the Lok Tamasha guy has arrived!" they would say. The programme had become so beloved that even after nine years, it was difficult to stop.
A complaint against Faiz Ahmed Faiz
Now famous, Dr. Uxi Mufti finally secured an audience with Abdul Hafeez Pirzada, the Education Minister. His celebrity status opened doors that had previously been slammed shut.
Pirzada listened carefully to Mufti's proposal for a Folklore and Folk Art Academy and sent him to meet Faiz Ahmed Faiz, the renowned poet and Chairman of the Pakistan National Council of the Arts (PNCA).
"When I met Faiz Sahab," Mufti recalls, "instead of asking for something, I complained to him. I said, 'Faiz Sahab, I have a complaint against you.'"
Faiz, who knew Mufti in two ways, as the host of Lok Tamasha and as the son of the celebrated writer Mumtaz Mufti, listened patiently.
"You made the Karachi Arts Council, the Alhamra Arts Council, now you made the Pakistan National Council of Arts with a film department, research and publication, visual and performing arts, theater," Mufti continued. "One thing you forgot every time."
"What is that?" Faiz asked. "Folklore department, Folklore research centre," Mufti replied.
Faiz responded, "Brother, who will do that?" "Sir, I will do it," Mufti declared, placing his entire proposal before him.
Faiz was a man who could spot talent easily. He immediately called his accountant and said, "Give him a job, Senior Executive PNCA, Director-in-Charge Folklore Research Centre."
"Mufti, what salary will you take?" Faiz asked. "Sir, I am taking 1,000 as salary. I have an intention to marry, so if you increase it by 200 rupees, I will come to you," Mufti replied. "Give him 1,200 rupees," Faiz ordered.
The jealousy and the 500-Rupee budget
But acceptance was not without its battles. The subordinates at PNCA were jealous of Uxi Mufti's appointment. "Who has arrived?" they sneered.
"They did everything to undermine me," Mufti says. "They stopped the budget of the Folklore Research Centre; they made my programme budget 500 rupees per month."
With such a paltry sum, nothing substantial could be done. But Mufti had a resource that money couldn't buy, his Lok Tamasha programme on TV. He continued bringing artists into folklore research, recording their performances, and slowly building an archive.
Soon, his office filled with the sounds of drums, instruments, dance, and music. "In my office, drums, instruments, dance, music, sounds started coming all the time," he recalls.
The PNCA people became even more jealous. "He is doing performing arts, not research work at all!" they complained. "Stop him!" But Mufti paid no attention.
The first Lok Mela and the resignation
Mufti approached Aslam Azhar again. "Lok Tamasha is done now," he said. "My intention is to organise a Lok Mela. Will you fund it?" "How much money do you need?" Aslam Azhar asked. "Give me 75,000 rupees, and I will organise a Lok Mela for you," Mufti replied.
And so, the first Lok Mela, "Artisan at Work Festival", was organised in the parking area of the Islamabad Club in 1986 or 1987.
When the festival was broadcast on Pakistan Television's national hook-up, Khalid Saeed Butt, who had replaced Faiz Ahmed Faiz as DG PNCA, made a strong complaint against Mufti. He went to Hafeez Pirzada's office and said, "Look at Mufti! He said he would make a Folklore Research Centre, and he is holding festivals with dancing and folk dancers from all over the country, all without my permission and your permission."
Hafeez Pirzada immediately called Mufti and ordered, "Stop all this, and come to my office."
Mufti neither stopped the festival nor went to his office. Instead, he wrote his resignation and went to Hafeez Pirzada's office that evening.
"Before you say anything to me, this is my resignation," Mufti declared. "If I, being the head of the folklore department, cannot even show folk dance, cannot even call regional artisans, then you don't need me. I am sorry, I am going back to television to work for them."
Hafeez Pirzada instantly changed his stance. "No, no, no... No Mufti, I am sorry, what do you want?" "Sir, I cannot survive with PNCA," Mufti replied. "If you want my services to continue and I keep doing this work, then you must create a National Folk and Traditional Heritage institution for me, separate from PNCA."
Pirzada agreed. "Call all the diplomats," he said. "I will launch this new idea."
Read Also: Lok Virsa: Striving for cultural resurgence
Birth of Lok Virsa
Thus, the National Institute of Folk and Traditional Heritage (NIFTH) was established. In the beginning, it was a small office in F-7/1 with a tiny museum.
"When it became a complete separate institution, I kept its local name 'Lok Virsa'," Mufti says proudly. "Many people objected because in those days, local names were not kept for government institutions. I was the first person who kept a local name for a government institution."
The name Lok Virsa, which translates to "The People's Heritage", became famous all over the country and the world. What started as a rejected tape recording expedition in 1969 had evolved into a national institution that preserved and celebrated Pakistan's rich cultural heritage.
"Lok Virsa's soul is in Lok Tamasha," Dr. Mufti reflects. "The people of Pakistan opened their hearts to this television programme, and then they opened their homes to the idea of preserving their heritage.
Lok Tamasha was the call that awakened us, Lok Mela was the voice that carried the message, and Lok Virsa stands as the sacred sanctuary we raised with our shared hands.
Read Also: PAKISTAN MONUMENT: A THEMATIC MUSEUM
Epilogue: The voices that would not be silenced
Today, Lok Virsa stands as a living museum of Pakistan's diverse cultural traditions. The 2,500 artists Dr. Uxi Mufti discovered in 1969, the Khamiso Khans, the Munir Balaidis, the Charlie Malangs and Parties, found their voices on the national stage.
Their music, once confined to village gatherings, now reverberate through the corridors of Lok Virsa's museum in Islamabad.
The legacy of Uxi Mufti is a powerful reminder: when we listen to the unheard, we discover our own identity. His transformation, from a rejected officer to a celebrated visionary, from a shelved idea to a globally respected institution, proves that culture is not preserved in sterile archives. It lives in the dust of rural paths, in the songs of forgotten artists, and in the courage to carry tradition forward into an uncertain tomorrow.
"The evolution of Lok Virsa is a remarkable tale, Mahtab," Mufti declares with a knowing smile. "And what you have just heard is the complete, authentic history, never before told, and you are the first person I have chosen to entrust it to," he concludes.
The writer is an Islamabad-based journalist who puts ethics ahead of sycophancy.
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