When Ustad Vilayat Khan died a couple months ago, Jawed Naqvi, this newspaper's New Delhi correspondent, wrote a moving tribute to the greatest sitar player the world has ever seen, at least since music was recorded.

But by and large, the sad event was ignored by the Pakistani media, not so much because the maestro was an Indian, but because hardly anybody in Pakistan had heard of him. The depressing fact is that classical music is virtually dead in this country, and had it not been for the valiant efforts of a few individuals, its funeral would have preceded Vilayat Khan's by several years.

Ustad Rais Khan, Vilayat Khan's cousin, has been living in Karachi for years, and is probably one of the three finest sitar players alive today. He seldom performs in public because there are so few people around who appreciate classical music. And Karachi's rich do not have the taste and sophistication to invite him to perform at private concerts.

So he lives in quiet and dignified obscurity in his chosen hometown. But when he goes to India or tours abroad, it is a different story: his concerts are packed with connoisseurs who can appreciate his flawless technique and complete mastery over the sitar. Luckily, his son has followed in his illustrious father's footsteps, and in his early twenties, is already a virtuoso performer.

At a concert at Radio Pakistan's Karachi premises, Rais Khan was understandably annoyed by the noise from the traffic as the concert was outdoors. But more irritating for me was the constant chatter and incessant movement among the audience that distracted from the marvellous music.

Under such conditions, it is easy to see why classical music does not thrive. Apart from untutored and uncouth audiences, there is a complete and deadening indifference to all kinds of vocal and instrumental classical music.

Although Muslims have created some of the finest music in the subcontinent (and continue to do so), bigots and Philistines have made it an article of their narrow faith that music is somehow "un-Islamic".

As it is, classical dancing has long struggled to survive in these inhospitable climes. Naheed Siddiqui, one of the finest exponents of Khathak in South Asia, has been living in a kind of cultural exile in Birmingham for over 20 years. An entire generation of Pakistanis has been deprived of her magical dancing.

Those keeping the flame of classical music alive in this confused and benighted country can be counted on the fingers of one hand. Hayat Ahmed Khan has been organizing the annual All Pakistan Music Festival for decades.

Every year, he invites classical, semi-classical and folk singers and instrumentalists, and provides Lahoris the opportunity to participate in all-night, open-air sessions.

In Karachi, Safia Baig and Saleem Khan organize regular performances by professionals and gifted amateurs. Raza Kazim has endowed a department of musicology in Lahore's National College of Arts. And that's just about it, to the best of my knowledge. The state has no teaching programme in any of its plethora of educational and cultural institutions.

A few people pay for private music tuition at home, but for the rest, music consists of whatever their radios and television sets provide. Music shops hardly carry any classical music because there is simply no demand for it.

I have been fortunate in listening to classical music, both subcontinental and western, as a child since my father was an aficionado. Many performers, including Umrao Bundu Khan, played and sang in our home when I was growing up.

My brother Navaid has been playing the sitar for thirty years, and has reached a high level of competence. His practice sessions with an ustad and a tabla player have filled the family home with sparkling notes for years.

When he needs to have his sitars repaired, he takes them to Zafar who has a small shop in Karachi's Nazimabad. Zafar has been practising his craft for 20 years, but has to work as a clerk to survive. He is the only sitar repair specialist in the entire city, but has only three regular customers. This is as damning an indictment of the level to which we have sunk as any.

Young people, ignorant of their rich musical heritage, listen mindlessly to loud, jarring songs devoid of melody and complexity. Not wishing to sound like an old fuddy-duddy, let me say there is lots of pop music I love, but it is grounded in sound technique and imaginative lyrics.

And of course, everybody is free to listen to the music they most enjoy. But it seems a pity that so many millions are cut off from so much pleasure just because they were never exposed to classical music at any stage.

I am always embarrassed when a foreign visitor asks me if there are any concerts he can go to in the evening. Cities far smaller than Karachi have a number of daily musical events around the year. But our city of some 12 million people cannot sustain a concert hall or a permanent theatre.

This state of affairs says as much for the state's indifference as for the lack of philanthropy. Unfortunately, most of the city's super rich are nouveaux riche who want to flaunt their money (and poor taste) through palatial eyesores and flashy cars. Lacking grounding in culture, they see no point in supporting things like classical music.

As a result, the dwindling brotherhood of classical singers and instrumentalists lack the patronage they so desperately need if they and their art are to survive.

Facing such a bleak future, it comes as no surprise that most of them discourage their children from pursuing their profession. Traditionally, musical knowledge and sk lls have been passed down from father to son over the generations. There are no music academies here to train young musicians, so once the link is broken, it is final and irreparable.

People will undoubtedly ask why the loss of our musical tradition matters. In a world driven more and more by materialism, who cares if geniuses like Ustad Rais Khan are given their proper place and recognition in society? But man does not live by bread alone. Or even by gourmet food. The arts are just as important for the sustenance of the individual and the health of any society.