I DON't normally go to modern western music concerts, but when my old pal Masood Hasan rang me to say that his son was playing at a local hotel and that I had to come, I couldn't say no.

And I'm very glad I went because young Mekaal not only leads his group, but has also composed most of the music they played with such verve and energy. While all the (mostly-British) members of the Mekaal Hasan Band were clearly very talented, for me Akhlaq, the percussionist on the tablas stood out. His use of the local drums was original and very skilful as he matched his colleague on the normal percussion set beat for beat and riff for riff. His solos were inventive and intricate as he revealed aspects of the instruments not explored by other Pakistani tabla-players.

This musical experience reminded me of conversations I have had with ustads and aficionados of our classical music. Basically I have asked them why no new ragas are being composed: most of the great ragas are centuries old, with many of them dating back to Amir Khusro in the 13th century and Tansen from the Mughal Emperor Akbar's era. In all these years, no notation system has been developed and the ragas are passed on from ustad to disciple.

The people I have spoken to are almost unanimously of the view that the ragas that have been handed down represent such a range of melodic genius that no improvement and further addition are possible. In support of this position, they cite the great works of Mozart, Chopin and Beethoven, and argue that since the time of these giants, no composer has matched their works. I have tried to argue that nevertheless, composers have continued to write scores for symphonies and audiences have enthusiastically flocked to these concerts.

In short, just because brilliant music was created in the past is no argument for the absence of any effort to surpass it. But our classical music is in a rut without our few remaining maestros putting in any thought or effort to explore new themes. Even Ustad Raees Khan, one of the subcontinent's leading half-a-dozen or so exponents of the sitar, feels that it is not possible to create any great new ragas. According to him, audiences are not receptive to experimentation, and insist on hearing their favourites. Thus, the only innovation taking place in music is being done by enthusiastic young musicians who are marrying the western idiom of rock, pop and rap to their own musical vocabulary and experience.

The stagnation evident in our classical music is also present in our culinary tradition. Not only are we failing to preserve old regional recipes, we are not innovating and experimenting. Cooks in homes and restaurants are repeating themselves endlessly (I will not say ad nauseum) without any attempt at creating exciting new dishes. But even those of us who claim to be interested in gastronomy are not very demanding, insisting only that the dishes we are familiar with should be well-prepared.

And yet South Asian restaurants continue to gain in popularity, not just in Britain but also in most western countries. An amazing third of the billions of pounds spent by the British on eating out every year goes to desi-style restaurants. In many of these establishments, especially those at the upper end of the spectrum, chefs have introduced dishes that I hadn't ever heard of. Many British chefs are using our spices to enhance dishes of western origin, creating a 'fusion cuisine' that is currently very fashionable. So there is nothing inherent in our cuisine that prevents innovation and change: fossilized attitudes and laziness are the only barriers.

This stagnation and reluctance to innovate extend to almost every walk of life from literature to science. Almost every Pakistani who has made a name has done so abroad where originality and experimentation are encouraged and rewarded. Here, a status quo based on mediocrity stifles creativity, especially among the young. Our establishment fears and mistrusts genius; indeed, our only Nobel Laureate, Abdus Salam, wasted much of his precious time in a futile attempt to convince successive governments to set up a centre for research into particle physics here in Pakistan. Despite all his dazzling achievements, he died a disappointed man, unsung and unwept in his own country where his Ahmadi beliefs outweighed his enormous contribution to science.

Others who can be termed intellectual and artistic refugees range from the writer Hanif Kureishi to the classical dancer Naheed Siddiqi. Thousands of others have been forced to leave these shores to make either a name or an honest living for themselves. Something in the very air here seems to extinguish the creative spark: while the mediocre thrive and the rascals prosper, genuinely talented people either sink without a trace or migrate.

An essential prerequisite for the creative process to begin is the right and duty of thinking persons to question the basic principles and the most cherished beliefs of the majority. If both state and society deny this right, then the urge to explore the unknown and expand the limits of knowledge shrivels up and dies. Breakthroughs only come when an individual is dissatisfied with the given theories and decides to test them. If he is discouraged from doing so by an environment that is both repressive and self-satisfied, nothing new will be discovered. When Galileo refused to accept that our Earth was the centre of the universe, he was rejecting centuries of Christian orthodoxy.

Culturally, respect for our elders is deeply ingrained in us. Even when our parents or our teachers are clearly wrong, we are taught from childhood not to contradict them. This attitude has evolved into a mind-numbing orthodoxy under whose influence we agree with our superiors and elders without thinking. Our educational system emphasizes conformity and discourages originality, and our rigid administrative structure positively frowns on subordinates contributing fresh insights or challenging the fixed ideas of their bosses. The result of this hidebound attitude is that nothing changes, except for the worse. We are locked into a cycle of mediocrity where the products of the system pass on this unquestioning behaviour to successive generations.