Pashto Traditional Music Fading into Silence

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Peshawar: Pashto music, even if you don’t understand the language, you feel it. Raw, poetic, and deeply rooted in emotion. Almost every Pakistani grew up hearing  fragments of it, on radio, on a drive back from work, or through walls at a wedding. Even if the lyrics are incomprehensible, the music and emotion stays.

The strumming of Rabab, and the echo of Tabla makes the very essence of Pashto music. However, the mesmerizing Pashto music is slowly fading. The traditional instruments, folk rhythms, and ancestral sounds are being overshadowed by digital beats and commercial pressure.

Once known for his soulful Pashto melodies and mastery of Rabab and Tabla, Shahzab Khan now drives a motorized rickshaw through the busy streets of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, a striking change from the stages he once performed on.

Echo of a Vanishing Art

Shahzab, a resident of tehsil Pabbi, Nowshera, rose to fame through his heartfelt performance and innate control of the traditional instrument. His live music programs grew across the region and impressed many.

However, as shifting cultural behaviors and norms interrupted communal events, he started to struggle when faced with security concerns. “I never imagined I would have to step away from the stage,” he said, “but with fewer events, lack of sponsorship, and mounting household expenses,  I was forced to choose, and I chose my family’s survival.”

Shahzab, like many folk artists of the region, was downed by the burden of cultural pressure and financial struggle. Cancelled concerts, inconsistent music shows, and little-to-no institutional support, his flourishing music culture went unnoticed and slowly faded.

To earn a sustainable livelihood for family, he invested in a rickshaw, and now ferries passengers around Nowshera and other towns nearby. Despite the drastic career change, he is still connected to his musical roots.

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“I still play the Rabab in the evenings, for myself and sometimes for close friends,” he smiled. “With the stage gone, music stays in my blood. It can never be taken away.”

Shrinking Industry

The rich heritage of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa, especially in Peshawar, is threatened due to social and economical pressures. The tradition and values of its artistic spaces are being eroded due to commercialization, poverty, and terrorism. The major contributing factor is growing social media dominance that has pushed the art forms like music, theatre, and cinema to the edge of extinction.

Peshawar, once a thriving center for performing arts, has witnessed a steady loss of its cultural identity. Echoing cinemas, bustling hujras, and local theatres have been shut down, leaving a cultural void in the city. The youth has been socially frustrated, intolerant, and emotionally disconnected from its heritage and tradition.

Peshawar is the producer of South Asia’s biggest legends, like Yousaf Khan, famously known as Dilip Kumar, Raj Kapoor, Qavi Khan, Ismail Shahid, Najeebullah Anjum, and Firdous Jamal. Today, it has barely any resemblance left with the cultural powerhouse it once was.

Out of fifteen cinemas that operated in the city, only a few remain. Likes of Shabistan, Palwasha, Capital, Falak Sair, Novelty, Metro, Sabrina, and Ishrat have been demolished to be replaced by plazas and hotels.

The surviving houses, such as Arshad, Aaeena, and Shama, are barely functional. Suffering from broken infrastructure, lack of fresh content, and “government apathy” towards the industry, these cinemas are also on the edge of a shut down.

Mushtaq Khan is a Peshawar-born taxi driver working in Riyadh. He recorded with sadness how the capital cinema used to be packed with movie lovers, and now it has been turned into a shopping mall. He blamed the Khyber Pakhtunkhwa government for showing ignorance to the film industry, and called for immediate efforts to revive the cinema in Peshawar.

A movie enthusiast from Katlang, Mardan, Muhammad Farooq, shared a similar experience recalling his “college days spent watching Pashto and English films in packed cinema halls. Disappointed by the demolition of his favourite cinema on Arbab Road he said “Now just to watch a good movie, we have to travel all the way to Rawalpindi, or Lahore.”

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Even the cinemas that are currently operating, like Sabrina cinema, are struggling. The manager, Gohar Yousafzai, mentioned that “despite the low ticket prices, only a few people showed up during the recent Eid screening.” He explained that the cinema cannot keep running like this forever. Taxes, utility bills, and staff wages are too high and it is not sustainable any longer.

Veteran Pashto film makers Shahid Khan and Jahangir Khan said that “the misinterpretation of Pashto culture is responsible for declining interest in local films.” They also called out poor scripts and outdated visuals as few of the reasons. Shahid and Jahangir Khan noted that a quality movie today costs at least Rs. 10 million while the film makers are forced to work with a bare Rs. 2 million.

They recall the days when new film releases from KP brought huge crowds, dancing and celebrating outside the theatre,a sight which is now lost to time. Even so, they still believe that Pashto films have a great potential, not only in KP, but in Karachi, Afghanistan and beyond.

They believe that the problem is rooted in low wages and social stigma that discourage young talent from joining the industry. They urge the government to remove excessive taxes and offer financial incentive to create a safer and more encouraging space for the artists to flourish.

Broken Connections

However, some experts have linked the collapse of cultural values to a larger social problem. Former Principal of Khyber Medical College and a renowned psychiatrist, Dr. Khalid Mufti said that, “the decline of live performances and shrinking of community places like hujras can lead to feelings of isolation, emotional stress, and growing intolerance among people.”

He noted that cultural heritage, whether its music, theatre, or gardens like Shalimar and Wazir Bagh, is fading. “The reason” Dr Mufti believes, “is not just neglect but the social media over powering it with unfiltered, often harmful content.”

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Famous Pashto singers, like Khayal Muhammad and Bakhtiar Khattak, also emphasize the need to bring regional music, theatre, and drama back into society; they called for new cinemas, tax exemptions, and job security for artists to help safeguard the cultural legacy.

A Shared Responsibility

It might not seem so, but the efforts are being made. Director of archaeology and Museum KP, Dr. Abdul Samad Khan pointed out the province’s deep historical roots. From Gandhara and Indo-Greek civilizations to the malls and British Raj, sites like ancient Takht-i-Bahi monastery and Pushkalavati ruins in Charsadda, remain the symbols of rich history of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa.

According to Dr. Abdul Samad Khan, under the KP Antiquities Act, several heritage sites have been digitally preserved and 3D mapped for conservation and virtual access. He added that in districts like Dir and Buner, traditional wisdom and modern preservation tools are being combined, as well as local communities are being trained as Heritage Guardians.

Schools and Institutions are also set to introduce cultural education, and youth-led heritage walks are in action to bring awareness and pride back to the younger generation. Dr Samad said, “We are not just losing bricks and music, we are losing memory, identity, and culture.”

“Preserving The Heritage,” he added, “isn’t just the government job, it is a responsibility of every individual.”

Standing between modernization and the risk of cultural loss, KP is at a critical point. The region will lose its art and tradition, as well as its long-standing social harmony, if an active preservation and investment is not provided.

In this product crisis Shazab Khan’s story stands as a symbol. A respected Pashto musician, known for his Rabab and soulful melodies, now drives a rickshaw, far from the stages once adorned by him. Though the music has gone silent, for those who remember, his voice echoes in their mind and hearts.