There are two kinds of Pakistanis in this world—those who put the green-and-white flag in their homes on August 14 and those who stay emotional year-round, no matter where they are. For them, standing for the national anthem, cheering for Pakistan in a cricket match, or getting unexpectedly emotional when a patriotic song comes on is not just a phase but part of life.
It is these kinds of people who, when they go abroad, miss their country like anything. For them, patriotism means missing Karachi’s rain, Lahore’s social life, arguing about Pakistani cricket on WhatsApp, or hearing a song you haven’t listened to in years and suddenly knowing every word. Perhaps that is why Pakistani patriotic songs have always mattered. They were never just songs but pieces of collective memory.
Sadly, over the past 25 years, despite the best interests of many, Pakistan hasn’t produced a world-class patriotic song that rivals the classics from the 1960s and 1990s. Ask anyone who grew up during that era to name a few Independence Day songs, and you will likely get a list: Sohni Dharti, Jeevay Jeevay Pakistan, Ae Watan Pyare Watan, Dil Dil Pakistan, Aye Jawan, and many others. Some came from films, some from PTV, and some from pop music. Together, they created something Pakistan seems to be missing today: a shared cultural soundtrack.
The strange part is that we have never had more singers, recording studios, technology, or platforms, yet every August we search for the next great patriotic song, only to end up playing the old ones. Why?
When We Were Kings
There was a time when Pakistan knew how to make an event out of a song. The story of Pakistani patriotic music goes back to the country’s early years, and it is ironic that a country formed in the name of Islam had Allah-o-Akbar as its first patriotic song. Composed by Rashid Attre, written by Tufail Hoshiarpuri, and sung by Inayat Hussain Bhatti for the film Changez Khan, it became part of the country’s musical memory.
Then came 1965, and Pakistan needed more songs like the adrenaline-rushing Allah-o-Akbar. Radio Pakistan and the new arrival PTV stepped up and became almost as important as the battlefield in shaping the national mood. Madam Noor Jehan, Naseem Begum, Mehdi Hassan and others provided a soundtrack to a country at war. The songs didn’t merely entertain; they raised morale of both those who were defending their country and those praying for them.
The war ended, and the countries returned to developing their nations. Then, in 1971, heartbreak struck Pakistan by surprise. At a time when Pakistan was grappling with the trauma of losing East Pakistan (now Bangladesh), songs such as Jeevay Jeevay Pakistan and Sohni Dharti Allah Rakhe offered the country something it badly needed: hope.
Much of that music was associated with the brilliant Sohail Rana, who first made a name for himself in films and later turned to patriotic songs, including Main Bhi Pakistan Hoon, Yeh Des Hamara Hai, Tera Pakistan Hai, Zameen Ki Goad, Teri Waadi Waadi Ghoomon, and numerous other evergreen songs.
In an earlier conversation with the author, Sohail Rana offered a simple explanation of his connection to patriotic music. He recalled that the legendary Indian composer Naushad had encouraged him to strengthen his roots rather than become entirely dependent on the film industry.
The music director, known for hit soundtracks such as Armaan, Doraha, Ehsaan, Shehnai, Ishara, and Baazi, followed that advice, continuing to compose patriotic music alongside his film work. When those patriotic songs became evergreen anthems, like his film ballads, he permanently shifted to TV and delivered countless national songs that are still part of our memories.
That’s the thing about those songs. They weren’t created for an Instagram reel or to compete for YouTube views. Nobody was wondering how many seconds of the chorus could become a TikTok sound. They were simply good songs, written and composed by those who knew what listeners wanted. That matters because the best patriotic songs weren’t memorable because they were patriotic. They were memorable for their great melodies, strong lyrics, and the personalities behind them.
Teri Waadi Waadi Ghoomoon and Zameen Ki Goad Rang Se sound more like film songs than traditional national songs. The disco-pop-inspired Khayal Rakhna was sung by Alamgir, who chose to stay in Pakistan after the creation of Bangladesh. It was composed by Nisar Bazmi, who migrated from India in the 1960s, and featured two of the three Benjamin Sisters, who represented the country’s minorities.
And then there was Dil Dil Pakistan, which changed the game because it was created by the younger generation born in a developing Pakistan. Patriotism suddenly became something young people could claim as their own.
Why Don’t We Have Good Patriotic Songs Anymore?
Before blaming today’s singers, let’s admit something uncomfortable: Pakistani culture as a whole has become less able to produce the kind of shared moments that once made patriotic songs memorable.
Look at sports like squash, hockey, and cricket, the ones we used to dominate. There was a time when Pakistan’s sporting victories felt like national occasions. Hockey was a source of enormous pride. Squash champions were international stars. Cricket produced heroes who seemed larger than life.
Today, we still produce extraordinary individual performances, but only in cricket, and even then only when least expected. The former players who didn’t pass their experience on to the juniors, as well as the administrators, are to blame for this decline.
Look at television. Pakistan still produces immensely popular dramas, but how many contemporary serials will people be discussing 20 or 30 years from now, the way they still talk about Dhoop Kinare, Tanhaiyaan, Waris, or Ankahi? The industry has grown, but bigger does not necessarily mean better.
Music isn’t immune. Pakistan has extraordinary singers and brilliant young musicians. It has Coke Studio, independent artists, YouTube channels, and a generation far more comfortable experimenting with genres. But somewhere along the way, the national song became a marketing category.
Every August, brands roll out a new campaign. A celebrity singer appears. Famous faces gather. The flag is raised. Children smile. Mountains appear. Someone runs dramatically through a field. A few weeks later, almost nobody remembers the song. The problem isn’t the production; it’s the memory.
In an earlier conversation with the author, musician Shuja Haider made an important point: creating a patriotic song requires more than artistic skill. It requires genuine feeling—and, crucially, the right moment.
He pointed to 1965, when the circumstances themselves produced an extraordinary combination of courage, emotion, and creativity. Those conditions produced songs that became cultural landmarks.
Haider also warned against endlessly recycling the past. The old songs have become part of our culture, he argued, but that should not prevent musicians from creating original work. After all, Vital Signs and Junoon created patriotic music that had not existed before. That may be the real challenge. We keep trying to recreate Dil Dil Pakistan instead of creating our own Dil Dil Pakistan.
Where Did the New Voices Go?
There is another problem: where is the ecosystem that produces them? Pakistan’s music channels are struggling to survive, and many, including Indus Music, are now part of the folklore. That’s not just a Pakistan thing but an international one, since MTV has ceased operations, which was unthinkable at one time. When young artists see how difficult it is to build a sustainable career, many understandably look elsewhere.
Director Wajahat Rauf, who used to head the youth-focused Aag TV, claimed that the decline of music channels could have been avoided. He believes that before the arrival of the ‘people’s meter’, things were going well for the music industry, but when officials tried to place music channels in the same bracket as news channels, the decline was inevitable.
Older generations had PTV, radio, film studios, and later music television. Today’s musicians have social media, but a million views do not automatically create a music industry.
And this brings us back to patriotism. Today’s Pakistan is more complicated than the Pakistan of the old national songs. People are more cynical, politically divided, and connected to the rest of the world. They can see how other countries function with a swipe of a phone and are less willing to accept slogans as substitutes for solutions.
That doesn’t necessarily make them less patriotic; it may mean their patriotism is more nuanced. A young Pakistani can love the country and criticize its politics. Cheer for the cricket team and question the cricket board. Love Pakistani dramas and complain about repetitive storylines. Celebrate Independence Day while wondering why so many talented people are leaving.
That isn’t the absence of patriotism; it is modern Pakistani patriotism. Maybe our music needs to catch up. The next great patriotic song doesn’t have to tell us that Pakistan is perfect. It could acknowledge that Pakistan is imperfect—and still worth believing in.
For Pakistanis living abroad, that distinction matters immensely. You can build a life thousands of miles away and still stop when Sohni Dharti comes on. You may have left because you were unhappy with how things were shaping up in Pakistan or because you got a better opportunity, yet somehow the song still gets you.
That is the test of a patriotic song. Whether someone hears it 20 years later and remembers exactly where they were. Pakistan doesn’t need another Dil Dil Pakistan, Maula, or Aye Jawan. It needs a song that does for today’s Pakistan what Dil Dil Pakistan did for its generation.
Until then, every August 14 will probably end the same way. We’ll scroll past the latest patriotic release, give it a polite listen, and then someone will put on an old song. Within seconds, we’ll all be singing along.
When it comes to patriotic music, Pakistan may not be making many new memories. Thankfully, we still have the old ones.
