For us at Lahooti, this is a proud day.
The Boreendo, an instrument we have worked to preserve since 2011; has now been recognised by UNESCO as heritage in need of urgent safeguarding.
From our earliest live sessions to Lahooti Melo stages, from documenting its sound to painting the instrument, we have tried to keep the Boreendo alive with dignity and respect. We fought tokenisation, honoured our folk artists, and treated their craft as knowledge, not spectacle.
This recognition validates years of grassroots work; and strengthens our commitment to safeguarding the sounds and stories of Sindh.
— @saifsamejo , founder Lahooti
There is no festival like Lahooti Melo, and no audience like the Lahooti audience - energetic, fearless, sometimes tough, but always ready to dance, celebrate, and embrace art and music with their whole heart. Last night in Nawabshah (SBA) was truly massive, and it filled me with deep happiness to see thousands of girls, families, and young people come together to celebrate.
We take Lahooti to different cities so people can experience great music, culture, and celebration in their own towns. Lahooti is a true people’s festival where diversity is celebrated in a raw and genuine way, representing the spirit of today’s Sindh, Pakistan, and the wider South Asian culture.
The 16th edition of Lahooti belongs to our incredible team, whose tireless dedication has shown that safe, secure, and inclusive festivals are possible for everyone. I am deeply thankful to the Sindh Culture Department, District Government of SBA, Sindh Police, our friends in Nawabshah, and above all, our audience for their trust and overwhelming love.
All we ever wish to give you is honest music, beautiful moments, and sincere smiles. ❤️
Lahooti Melo isn’t just a festival—it’s a movement sparked by the vision of Saif Samejo, a musician and cultural practitioner who believed that music could be a tool for resistance, unity, and revival. Every year, the festival explores powerful themes. From eco-consciousness to cross-cultural exchange, Lahooti Melo continues to inspire resilience and unity through creative expression.
#LahootiMelo #SaifSamejo #Lahooti #Resistance #NoMoreCanalsOnIndus
At #OtherwisbyLahooti — Chapter Two, Owais Tohid reflected on the 1988 Hyderabad riots and the mass violence that deeply altered the social fabric of the city and his own sense of identity and belonging.
He spoke about witnessing not only the trauma of Hyderabad, but also the reaction and aftermath that unfolded later in Karachi, and how those wounds of ethnic violence stayed with an entire generation.
But the conversation did not remain only in grief.
Owais Tohid reflected on how artists, musicians, writers, and cultural practitioners, including people like Saif Samejo, Naz Sahito, and many younger performers, are slowly helping heal fractures that politics often continues to deepen.
And then came a line that quietly stayed with the room:
“Music, art, and culture are a big weapon against militancy and extremism. And this is something neither our state nor many people in power truly realise.”
Near the end, reflecting on the name Otherwise itself, he added:
“I don’t know about wise… but I definitely see the ‘other’ here. Art and culture.”
#Lahooti #OwaisTohid #SaifSamejo #hyderabadsindh
At Lahooti, we’ve been building with legacy in mind. Investing in people. Raising the standard. Creating a culture that outlasts us. Because in the end, legacy is about what you enable others to achieve.
#Lahooti #OtherwisebyLahooti #KaroonjharCommune #LahootiMelo #SaifSamejo
At #OtherwisebyLahooti — Chapter Two, Naz Sahito shared another story connected to Hyderabad’s old Orient Hotel: a place that once carried cinema, music, politics, literature and cultural life all at once.
He spoke about the 1967 Pakistani film Lakhon Mein Aik (correction: Aag Ka Darya) based on the sensitive subject of a Hindu-Muslim love story emerging from the realities of Partition in Kashmir.
The cast and crew stayed at Orient Hotel during production.
Naz Sahito recalled how at the time, Hyderabad and Bombay were actively competing in the world of Hindustani classical music. But when poet and lyricist Josh Malihabadi, who was involved with the film’s music, heard musicians playing the Sindhi classical piece ‘Pere Pawandi Saan,’ he was deeply moved by the raag and emotional texture within it.
So much so that he insisted the musical spirit of that raag continue flowing through most of the film’s songs.
Much later, newer generations would encounter echoes of the same composition again through versions like Tahir Mithu’s nationally recognized rendition on Coke Studio.
And perhaps moments like these remind us that Hyderabad, Sindh, was never peripheral to culture.
It was central to it. It was shaping it.
#NazSahito #SaifSamejo #Lahooti #SurKohiyari
At #OtherwisebyLahooti — Chapter Two, Owais Tohid reflected on growing up in Larkana during a time when the region felt politically, socially, and culturally alive in extraordinary ways.
He recalled witnessing visits by figures like Gaddafi, Shah of Iran Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, Farah Deeba Pahlavi, Sukarno, and Zulfikar Ali Bhutto; remembering being a child dressed in Sindhi topi and ajrak to welcome them, and even being gently moved aside by Bhutto himself so he wouldn’t block the red carpet.
He spoke about how memories of Garhi Khuda Bakhsh, Comrade Bukhari, Subhgyan Chandani sahib, books, political gatherings, soviet stories and deeply communal everyday life slowly shaped his political awareness early on.
And perhaps most importantly, he reflected on how different Larkana’s sense of community felt compared to the survival-driven pace of Karachi later in life.
#Lahooti #OwaisTohid #HistoryOfLarkana #Larkano
𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒐𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒍 𝒇𝒂𝒃𝒓𝒊𝒄 𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒔 𝒄𝒖𝒍𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒆, 𝒕𝒓𝒖𝒔𝒕, 𝒂𝒓𝒕, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒖𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒄 𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒊𝒔𝒉?
In another moment from #OtherwisebyLahooti — Chapter Two, Mazhar Abbas reflected on how extraordinary it is that a relatively small city like Hyderabad, Sindh produced some of the country’s biggest names across cinema, poetry, sports, music, journalism, and public life.
From Mohammad Ali to poet Himayat Ali Shair, from hockey legends Sohail Abbas and Safdar Abbas to countless musicians, writers, and cultural figures; he described Hyderabad as a city whose influence far exceeded its size.
The conversation then turned toward cultural responsibility.
Mazhar Abbas appreciated Saif Samejo for building festivals, artist residencies, archival initiatives, and cultural spaces that continue preserving and reactivating collective memory—saying that sometimes cultural workers end up doing the work institutions and governments fail to sustain.
He recalled how Faiz Ahmed Faiz once remarked that the Karachi Press Club was doing what the press itself was supposed to do.
And maybe that thought still feels relevant today.
He emphasized how important it is for younger generations to encounter the Hyderabad that once existed; not through nostalgia alone, but through conversations, documentaries, archives, literature, and cultural discourse.
A Hyderabad remembered not only through buildings, but through atmosphere: beautiful people, open-heartedness, community, warmth, and trust.
And he admitted something powerful: Despite spending years in Karachi, he never experienced the same kind of love and collective spirit there that he experienced growing up in Hyderabad.
#MazharAbbas #Lahooti #hyderabadsindh #historyofhyderabad
At #OtherwisebyLahooti — Chapter Two, Senior Journalist Mazhar Abbas reflected on Hyderabad, Sindh, the city he grew up in.
A city where literature, journalism, bureaucracy, music, poetry and everyday life naturally flowed into one another. Where his father would often initiate music conferences and communal gatherings. Where communities lived beside each other with familiarity and shared trust. Where children freely walked for miles through the city without fear, moving between each other’s homes regardless of language or background.
He spoke about studying at St. Bonaventure and later Govt. College Latifabad before moving to Karachi in 1974, while his father eventually returned to Hyderabad to continue serving the city.
And then came a line that stayed in the room:
“Hyderabad, this small city, gave birth to big stars of the country in hockey, cricket, cinema, poetry, music, literature, and bureaucracy. But as it goes, and my father used to say this too, big cities eat smaller cities.”
He reflected on how the gradual and often deliberate lack of opportunities in Hyderabad slowly pushed generations toward Karachi, draining the city of many of its people, ecosystems, and cultural rhythms.
He remembered the old Orient Hotel and witnessing protestors throwing stones at it as a child because its owner, Kazi Akber, supported Ayub Khan. Even St. Bonaventure became entangled in the political atmosphere of the time.
And slowly, the city began changing.
Cinema houses disappeared. The shared rhythms of public life shifted. Fear slowly entered spaces that once felt deeply communal.
Yet despite everything, certain memories remain untouched:
The smell of Hyderabad at sundown. Driving to Jamshoro for fish. Ice cream afterwards.
But Mazhar Abbas also reflected on something important: during the years he lived in Hyderabad, he and his friends never personally experienced hostility on the basis of language. There was an everyday understanding between Sindhi-speaking and Urdu-speaking communities within the city.
Question is: Who benefits when shared cities, shared cultures, and shared belonging are intentionally divided?
#Lahooti #HyderabadSindh #MazharAbbas
At #OtherwisebyLahooti — Chapter Two, Naz Sahito reflected on how Hyderabad, Sindh, a city once known for its writers, artists, poets, actors, traders, intellectuals, streets, architecture, and public culture, has been reduced in popular imagination to only a few consumable symbols.
Places like Haji Rabri and Bombay Bakery absolutely carry urban history and emotional value within the city. But Hyderabad was never limited to only this.
The conversation became a larger reflection on how cities are remembered, simplified, and sometimes deliberately flattened.
Ada Naz spoke about how generations of extraordinary people emerged from Hyderabad’s cultural atmosphere, and how that wider memory slowly disappears when a city is reduced only to aesthetics, rituals, or marketable fragments.
The discussion then moved toward Sindh’s relationship with memory itself. Referencing Mian Muhammad Ghulam Shah Kalhoro, son of Mai Gullan, coming from the lineage of Shah Abdul Latif Bhittai, and the way popular narratives now reduce him to “Machi Waro Baba,” the panel reflected on how rituals and mysticism are often how Sindh keeps ancestral memory alive but also how historical figures can gradually become detached from their deeper political, cultural, and intellectual contexts. In a land with history of migration and partition, this needs to be engaged with critically.
The question was not whether rituals are wrong.
But what happens when a city once known for culture, trade, literature, and public thought becomes remembered only through consumable nostalgia.
The conversation unfolded with Saif Samejo, Mazhar Abbas, Owais Tohid, and Naz Sahito.
Chapter 3 coming soon ~
#Lahooti #Kalhoro #NazSahito #HyderabadSindh
Some things can only be felt in person.
At #OtherwisebyLahooti, the conversations mattered but so did the energy, care, music, humour, listening, and presence shared between people in the room.
Maybe that’s why live gatherings, cultural conversations, open mics, and community spaces are beginning to matter so deeply again.
Otherwise Chapter Three Coming Soon
#CommunityGathering #Lahooti #LahootiMusicAashram #sindhiculture
