For a while I refused to be caught up in the whirlpool of Pakistani drama offerings.
I was told on many occasions that our dramas had become really good but I refrained from exploring what seemed to be a plethora of episodes tumbling out of Hum TV and others. And then one Ramzan night when not a soul was stirring and I was comfortably full of pakoras and Rooh Afza, I decided to experiment with Humsafar, the mother of all dramas, the one that marked Pakistan’s return to great drama-dom.
Much to my delight, three episodes down, I was hooked. Part of it was Fawad Khan’s easy charm and subtle, brooding good looks and part of it was the storyline: an unlikely match, stirrings of romance, crackling chemistry and a passive-aggressive ma-in-law. I mean who doesn’t want all that. In life and on celluloid?
Smitten as I was, I began to explore other little gems of drama: Zindagi gulzar hai, Dastaan, Durre Shahwar and more.
Strong women with a clear voice and opinions are more often than not portrayed as bad or "teez, badtameez" characters
And then a thought struck me: every drama that enthralled me had, at the crux of its storyline, a woman in distress. Even Sanam Saeed’s Kashaf (supposedly a strong woman) in Zindagi...and her Ruhina in Diyar-e-Dil were both women with repressed pain and barely concealed bitterness that lasted more than twenty-four seasons each. Kashaf in the throes of a heady romance with Fawad Khan’s Zaroon finds it impossible to reflect joy (hard to believe) while Sanam Baloch in Durre Shahwar plays the passive daughter-in-law to a hilt. Mahira in Sadqe Tumhaare is the tormented daughter and Maya Ali in Man Mayal is eternally suffering and suffocated...
Fact is, out here in the Pacific north-west, my rain-drenched sensibilities find solace in the flavours of my home faraway and Pakistani TV offerings plays play a pivotal role.
I was fascinated by these dramas from home, but it was almost as if a furtive invisible circle was being drawn around me. A circle of weepy forlorn women. Finally I wanted to break away.
I had to abandon watching Man Mayal because of Maya Ali’s plaintive calls of “Salahuddin!” ringing in my ears. Nearly had me reaching for my Xanax.
Silently smitten by Salahuddin, (Hamza Ali Abbasi) Maya Ali’s character puts up with the sinister nuttiness of her husband (delightfully played by Gohar Rasheed) and this goes on for what seemed like endless episodes. There’s much more.
Atiqa Odho - the Iron Mummy-in-law in Humsafar
Mahira’s pleas in Humsafar, “Mummy, please yeh aap kyun kar rahi hain?” bought traffic to a halt in 2012.
Mahira’s Khirad was in pain, pleading, forlorn and gorgeous in white, yet no match for Atiqa Odho’s perfectly composed “Mummy” with the awesome arched eyebrows. Confident, in control and a villainess. Interesting combination of adjectives.
It interesting to note was that strong women with a clear voice and opinions are more often than not portrayed as bad or “teez, badtameez” characters.
Whether its Saboor Ali’s manipulative housemaid in Waada, Sajal Ali’s scheming Sassi in the currently running O Rangreza or Saba Qamar’s hardened widow in Bunty, I love you strong women in Pakistani plays appear to come with distinctly negative traits.
Hania Aamir in Titli is not afraid to speak her mind, the spoilt ungrateful wife finds her finale in a shelter for the disturbed, putting the insane locked up wife in Jane Eyre to shame. Grim rewards reaped.
Saboor Ali, in the final episode of Waada finds herself at the mercy of a mad-man captor. The play (I needed more Xanax) ends with a dagger on her throat. The vivacious yet wicked housemaid is headed for a sad end.
So what’s the deal? Does vivacious have to be wicked?
Does ambitious have to be promiscuous?
Most significantly, how high a price do women have to pay, to be happy?
This does not go to say that some of the topics covered by these dramas have not been pertinent and essential. Momina Duraid and Kashf Foundation’s Udaari, Mehreen Jabbar’s brilliantly directed Rehai, and others such as Chup Raho and Muqabil are just a few of the plays that have highlighted some of the heartbreaking evils of our society – which even the best of social conscience attempts to suppress. Shame in its insidious and obvious forms runs rampant through our lives and toxic shame is passed on from generation to generation. Psychology would say that awareness is the key. Hence the medium of drama plays a vital role in making us aware. Kudos to the sensitive script writers and directors who are able to bring this to the fore.
There has also been an influx of new, educated talent, the world of drama becoming an increasingly “acceptable” field even for people who a couple of decades ago would have shied away from allowing their girls to act.
This increasingly diverse pool of talent results in plays that are both informative and gripping.
The deftness of direction and increasing ability of plays to absorb our minds and moods plays a pivotal role in how we see women. Both myself, my friends, the housemaid and cook. We are all affected and our mindsets silently shaped.
Hence the powerful impact of these dramas cannot be undermined.
The continuing sagas of sorrowful ‘miskeen’ damsels (I’m still suffering from “Salahuddin”-related nightmares) should not be the yardstick by which women are judged or understood. Will the young girl working in our home ascribe to be that? Worse, will a young man assume that this is the role of woman? To suffer, to plead?
To be grief-stricken till episode 24, after which, in the finale, the strong confident woman finds herself in an asylum or held captive by some Pakistani distant relative of Son of Sam or most elegant yet, go quietly mad and call her granddaughter “pari” ( Atiqa Odho in Humsafar). Speaking of which let’s not forget Naveen Waqar’s Sara in Humsafar: urbane, sophisticated, tailored slacks, soaring career. Eventually, her scheming designs fail and she commits suicide. The villain meanwhile gets off scot-free and moves back to the U.S.
Hmmmm...suicide or the U.S.A. Befitting penalties both?
Many Pakistani women I know (across different socioeconomic structures) are strong, dynamic forces of nature and they are good souls too. You don’t need to be downtrodden to be seen as saintly. Mehvash Hayat’s Anmol in Dillagi is a refreshing change from the average damsel in despair. This good girl comes wrapped in a package of vitality, spark and strong opinions. But such examples are hard to find.
Once again, I want to say that Pakistani T.V has done much to bring to light the painful repression of several taboo subjects and more power to them for that. These issues exist and that is the heart-breaking truth.
But just as there is diversity in life, there should be, in dramas as well.
Wouldn’t it be true to say that there are joyous, confident women out there and more often than not (and fortunately) they don’t end up in a loony bin or an early grave?
You don’t have to be a “teez”, scheming “larki” if you are confident, vibrant, able to lucidly express your opinions and unapologetic for being able to do so.
While Humsafar several years ago held us riveted, it would be nice to have more heroines reflect the energy of the vibrant, effervescent Marina Khan in Ankahi and Tanhaiyan or the gracious, gentle strength of Kehkashan Awan in Dhoop Kinare.
A woman shouldn’t always have to be a phoenix rising through the ashes – sometimes she should just be soaring high without having to clamber through the muck and mire. Chances are that when this article goes into print, intrigue over Mahira Khan’s NYC pictures will still be doing the rounds. To me, Mahira Khan looks relaxed and reflective. She’s not Shaano in the brilliantly written Sadqe Tumhare, a docile victim to her demented mother’s venom – “Ammi, aaj mujhe na maarna, meri tabiyat theek nahin hai”. (That line pretty much destroyed my sleep for the night).
She’s not Khirad, the devasted daughter-in-law groveling at the altar of Atiqa Odho’s ominously (and fabulously) played ‘Mummy’. Maybe we could have more of the vibrancy of Mahira’s natural persona played out on screen at times. Feminine, self assured, happy.
Pakistani dramas today are obviously oozing pools of talent. They have tremendous power through their increasing popularity.
And they can work as significant instruments of social change given the undeniable impact that they have. One crucial aspect worth looking into would be the portrayal of women. More lead characters, unafraid to be happy, content to call their own terms and not have to pay a bitter price for it.
Summery white dress, handsome R.K and a cigarette to boot.
