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The man behind ‘Maa’
Kamran Qureshi carefully scrutinizes the tape recorder placed in front of him. Finding the microphone, he then fits his casually attired, bejeaned form, comfortably into one of the battered swivel chairs of the office. Like the perfect gentleman that he is, he introduces the petite, young lady sitting beside him dressed subtly in a shade of the lightest lilac.
“This is my wife and an assistant director in my production house.”
The romantic streak in me refuses to let him talk about his professional life, just yet. Asking them about how they first met, the couple, whose marriage is just three-months-old now, smile prettily.
“Well,” Kamran, the 27-year old owner of the production house, Evergreen, and freelance director extraordinaire, explains:
“She’s my cousin. Last year she came to Karachi from Pindi to do her internship with me; that was during the shooting of Maa,” he says, mentioning the programme of which he has directed for 72 episodes — and which has succeeded in touching a poignant cord in the hearts of many.
“Maa has a special place in my heart because that was when and where my wife and I made a commitment to each other.”
We talk about Erum Kamran Qureshi (his wife) as if she’s not there. But stealing a glance towards her made one realize, from her soft smile, that she didn’t seem to mind.
“The day right after our wedding, I had to go for the shoot of Har Dum Tayyar, a series of 25-minute documentaries based on the forces defending our country.”
“Later, she joined me in desert of Cholistan,” he adds, his eyes twinkling behind his horn-rimmed spectacles. With the searing temperature above 50 degrees; hordes of soldiers, the hostile Indian border just kilometres away-this one-of-a-kind couple were on their ‘honeymoon’.
“I had a great time,” she finally chimes in for the first time during our conversation.
Kamran is now itching to tell us about his work.
“Har Dum Tayaar was a series aimed towards putting the average Pakistani’s mind at ease showing him, and our ‘neighbouring’ country, how ready our army and other forces are in case of an attack.” Talking excitedly about the technical side of the project, Kamran explained about the planes and machines he came across during this shoot.
Kamran, who has directed innumerable concerts, sitcoms, commercials and shows even for Zee TV, started working as early as 1990 when he was but a fresh Matric graduate and had a few complimentary computer courses to boast of. The company he was interning at owned state-of-the-art Digital Video Effects (DVE) machines that were rented out to advertising agencies and channels.
“My first experience with television was when PTV hired me as a DVE expert to design the opening bumper for Iqbal Latif’s Padaash in 1994. I pursued my studies along with my career,” he jogs down memory lane. “I managed to get my MBA degree just last year, and even though I have a booming career now, I still felt the need for a degree to attain that mental grooming that only education can give.”
Kamran is a man who is self-made to the core. Grasping everything he needed to know on-the-job; channeling his extraordinary observation skills; thoroughly scrutinizing an assortment of editing set-ups and under the wing of Rimmel Pervez, Aslam Pervez’s son, he joined NTM in 1994 as an editing-cum-DVE expert.
“Then Telewise, the production house, was made and I was its first staff member. Here Faisal Sherjan had a 50% partnership with Rimmel who was also a director.”
No matter how hard we press him, Kamran remains tight-lipped about the financial battles that shook NTM and led to its eventual downfall.
“When did the controversy begin?” We pried.
“The controversy came much later. At this point Tahir A. Khan was the chairman of NTM. I don’t remember much,” he says brusquely. “And I don’t want to get into it.” His tone signals the end of this.
It was in 1996 that Kamran Qureshi’s first production venture Kaisa went on air. At this point he was producer, director, programme manager and senior-most employee all wrapped into one. It was in 1998 that the buzz of the launch of PTV World was in the air. Drama hi Drama was Kamran’s maiden venture as director for this infant channel, even though before that he had worked as segment director for many programmes. After a while, Kamran decided to take up the challenge of doing what he loved and had the passion for-direction.
“In 1999, I became a free-lance director mostly working for Combine, Ghazanfar Ali and Teleworld.”
“I was in Lahore for a project when I received the news that there was a split in Teleworld — the production house that different media giants had made — and Raheel Rao, who had been directing the nascently launched programme Maa, had removed himself from the coalition of Teleworld.”
It was then that Ghazanfar asked Kamran to direct it. Kamran transferred the set of Maa from Lahore to Karachi. He talks about Maa with a distinct fondness.
“This programme is entirely based on the strength and struggle of a mother; her immeasurable sacrifices,” he says solemnly. “It’s an inconceivable and also unfeasible thing in Pakistan to just go to peoples’ houses in small towns and ask to talk to their womenfolk. So we have a recruiting company comprising of a husband and wife who go scouring suburbs and towns to collect exceptional stories and convince the men of that area to cooperate.”
A road map is then chalked out, and 15 to 20 areas are covered on each road trip.
“Most of the stars we’ve had on the show have broken down and sobbed like babies,” he says emphatically. Leaning ahead, as if letting me in on a secret formula, he says: “there is no rote-learned script, no dialogues, no unnecessary pizzazz to heat up the screen. Just heart-felt emotions. When I’m shooting or editing Maa, for a while I forget that I’m a man. When the women on the programme go on and on about the atrocities that men have committed with them, I make sure that I air that. Because at that moment I’m the father of that programme.” After a second he smiles and corrects himself. “In fact, I’m the mother of the show.”
Kamran and Sania Saeed, the mesmerizing, compassionate host of Maa, share a special relationship.
“Sania is like a sister to me,” he starts off and then grins. “In fact she was the one who took my proposal formally to Erum’s house,” he says, glancing at his wife. “Even after the wedding when we first came back to Karachi, there was no one from my family to receive us but Sania,” he chuckles.
“So what kind of relationship do you share with your mom?” We query.
He seems taken aback by this question. His expression softens; he seems vulnerable for the first time during the course of our tete-a-tete.
“This is the first time someone has quizzed ‘me’ about this.” He seems to be talking to himself. Fumbling with a few phrases, he says, “I know this sounds terribly cliched but where I stand today, in my life and my profession, is all because of my mom. She pushed me to become ‘someone’. She was the one who got me a loan of a staggering amount from God-only-knows-where when I set up my own studio briefly in 1994.” Kamran has had to sacrifice a lot, too, in the line of his career. He clears his throat uncomfortably. “It was at the time when my father had cancer. During those days I would sleep at the hospital and go directly to work without going home for weeks.”
Only the pain in his eyes shows how cumbersome the memory of those days of 1998 is.
“My father had just got out of the ICU after a harrowing surgery and I got a buzz from the studio that they needed me for editing.”
If he’s bitter, it does not show.
“They refused to realize that my father was tethering on that fine line between life and death. I remember tears were racing down my cheeks when I reached the studio.”
He’s silent for a moment.
“A few days later, my father passed away.”
Today Kamran Qureishi is the proud owner of his very own production house, Evergreen Productions.
“According to me, Evergreen was born the day I bought my first TV camera in 1999, but officially, it was set up in 2000.”
“So you’re a workaholic?” We quiz.
“To the extreme,” he answers promptly. “My body will become soulless if I don’t work. It gives me reason to live.”
“I don’t have a social circle; no parties-nothing!” Glancing at his wife, he admits ruefully, yet unhesitatingly, “Now is the time for a change, because now with Erum by my side, socializing will have a charm of its own.”
Erum has been smiling with quiet assurity; her elfin features innocent in her lilac suit. “Women have played a pivotal role in my life—my mother, and then my wife,” he says.
When asked about the most thrilling thing about his job, he gives in to some serious pondering.
“I revel in the hustle bustle, in hanging out of door-less helicopters without any support; the wind blowing viciously. I’ve covered concerts in places like Siachen and Skardu and come back with sunburnt skin peeling off my face. I’ve been in unimaginable, unfathomable circumstances, battling the elements.”
Kamran’s most recent direction was the Food Street reopening in Lahore and the concert that accompanied it.
“At this juncture I have a happy life: a lovely wife, a thriving career, my own production house. I feel as if my work on this planet is done. But then I think that if I’m still alive then I ‘must’ have more to achieve.”
What more do you expect a workaholic to say?
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