Cutthroat kites

Lahore, Pakistan —  Ah, springtime: Pretty kites flutter skyward on wisps of wind, then tear into each other so savagely that blood flows as if it were chain saw season in Texas.

Watch as Rehman Ghani, 51, feverishly reels in string, then releases it with such abandon that it slices a red groove in his palm. Watch as he swings his arm around and around, sending his kite into a spiraling attack.

“Bo kata,” Ghani and his friends yell in victory from their rooftop perch as the opponent’s crippled kite flutters to the ground. “Bo kata!” they shout, a trash-talking way of saying “I cut your line.”

Once a year, Pakistanis celebrate these gonzo kite battles during the country’s Basant festival, and nowhere is the springtime holiday embraced more enthusiastically than here, where the celebration lasts three days. Hotels book up months in advance as people flock to this ancient city from around the world. Rooftop parties go all day, all night. Music blares. Pakistanis in traditional garb feast on tikka kebabs, murg charga and basmati rice pilau.

But spontaneous, sometimes deadly kite fights are the main draw.

This year alone up to 19 deaths and hundreds of injuries were linked to Basant-related festivities, according to Pakistani newspapers. The kites’ string, called dor, causes many of the injuries, no surprise as it’s usually coated with fine glass particles to better cut an opponent’s cord -- the deathblow that cinches a battle.

This year, at least two children, including a 2-year-old girl, had their throats slit by strings, according to one newspaper account, and even though metal strings have been outlawed, several people were electrocuted when their kites’ paths crossed power lines. Others fell to their deaths off rooftops or were killed by cars as they focused their attention skyward. Then there are the brawls that sometimes break out as dogfights rage overhead.

Despite the undercurrent of mayhem, though, the mood is celebratory -- if a bit cutthroat.

“I’ve been flying kites since childhood,” Ghani, a managing director for an international medical device company, said after his victory. “Anyone can do it. It’s fighting, not rocket science.”

He has passed the kite warrior spirit on to his 21-year-old son, Niran.

“There’s nothing more exciting than cutting another person’s string,” said Niran, a Lahore resident and recent USC graduate. “As a kid, you would so look forward to this that you couldn’t sleep.”

The more skilled the flier, the more elaborate the kite. Most look like colorful manta rays made from paper wrapped around bamboo sticks.

During the festival, wildly colored kites swarm over the horizon. At night, powerful spotlights illuminate the aerial duels.

Most kite fliers tape their thumbs and first two fingers to guard against the friction from the strings. But cuts and blood are expected byproducts of a good battle.

“This is not an injury,” Ghani said, looking at his own wounded hand. “This is part of the sport. I give blood once a year.”

The festival is not without its critics. Muslim clerics oppose the celebrations because they view them as non-Islamic, pagan events that encourage immodest behavior.

In Lahore, as in other cities in this impoverished country, there is a clear division between the relatively small, affluent class that dominates the society’s leadership and the vast underclass. During Basant, the two classes collide -- and enjoy the close-proximity conflict.

“They are on their roofs and we are on ours,” Niran Ghani said. “And we both want to cut each other’s strings. It’s a battle, but it’s fun.”

Ahmed Javed, a 59-year-old shoemaker who has hosted Basant parties for more than 15 years, said the festival’s popularity keeps growing. When he first threw his soirees, about 50 guests would come. “Now 1,500 people come,” he said.

Among the partygoers this year was Los Angeles County Sheriff Lee Baca, who had brought a delegation of law enforcement officials to Pakistan to discuss anti-terrorism strategies.

“I came here to learn about terrorism ... and here I am flying kites,” said Baca. The sheriff sent three kites into the air. Each quickly met its match and spiraled to the ground, defeated.