EVERY so often my father and I watch a Pakistani drama together. It’s a good way for us to bond and also spend time away from news channels selling us destruction and devastation. We really get into our dramas and end up deliberating the outcome of the show — will the mother find redemption, will the couple survive their hardships, will this story have a happy outcome?

Watching dramas reminds me of my time abroad as a child, of my parents watching dramas on VHS tapes sent from Pakistan. I have no idea how they got them in Beijing in the early 1980s. Once we moved to Kuwait in the mid-1980s, I would join them, and we even watched black-and-white dramas. It was much easier to get VHS tapes given the size of the expat community and the proximity. We grew up on a diet of PTV dramas and Bollywood — pre-NRI era. Indian folks also loved our dramas and many would tell us about video shops having smuggled VHS tapes from Lahore. Kids today don’t know just how big and booming a business video wallahs had back in the day.

I assure you, I am not allowing nostalgia to blind me. Nostalgia blindness refers to holding something to a higher value because it reminds you of your childhood or thinking that experience or feeling is better than everything else. Our attachment to the past prevents us from seeing the shortcomings of that time.

Pakistani entertainment has evolved with time but my preference still veers towards good writing (no surprise there) or stories that portray social issues without too much moralising. There are so many stories to tell about the times we live in.

Pakistani dramas today take on bold topics.

There is a lot of ruckus over a digital reality show called Lazawal Ishq for not reflecting Pakistani culture. Admittedly, the show is not for me; I could not get through the first 15 minutes, but I don’t support its ban. Also, I don’t support the idea of a homogenous Pakistani culture. Women in revealing attire taking charge of their love lives are as Pakistani as the women agreeing to an arranged marriage. It is despicable that detractors want us to champion child marriage as Pakistani culture.

Pakistani dramas today reflect some grim realities, just like they did when I was growing up. But they also challenge stereotypes and take on bold topics like child abuse or sex trafficking. You also have plays with strong female characters who weren’t on screen to (a) weep, (b) find a husband, or (c) be a wallflower.

My only complaint is there are far more regressive portrayals of women than I care to watch. I was delighted with my friend Zebunnisa’s recommendation of Case No 9, a new drama, four episodes in at the time of writing, written by journalist Shahzeb Khanzada. I feel that watching it supports journalism — and is therefore my duty. Pardon the digression, but I am pretty sure you will be sucked into the show within the first 10 minutes.

At its most basic, it is a story about Seher, a successful head of marketing, played by the inimitable Saba Qamar, who is raped by her boss, Kamran, played by Faysal Quraishi.

I have usually been sceptical about rape storylines because they tend to be salacious or have become go-to plotlines in many shows in the West, almost becoming mainstream in dramas. Is rape used to add a jolt to the storyline or does it help challenge misogynist worldviews?

In Pakistan, where everyone but the rapist is blamed for the assault — who can forget ‘men are not robots’ and its women supporters — what purpose does its depiction serve in dramas? We cannot ignore violence aga­inst women, especially when the figures pertaining to it are shocking. The UNFPA says 28 per cent of women aged 15 to 49 years have experienced physical violence and 6pc have experienced sexual violence. Var­ious organisations have documented harrowing numbers of gender-based violence and the low conviction rates, pressing governments for urgent reforms in police and judicial systems.

It is against this backdrop that I recommend Case No 9 because it tackles what a rape survivor has to go through, both personally and professionally, within the wider community, and before the law. Each step is riddled with challenges, whereas the powerful use their privilege to bend the law. At least so far in the story. This much we know, but we need a massive shift in attitudes towards rape. I am stunned when women defend problematic statements like ‘why was she out on the road at 2am’ or Musharraf’s vile comments about women getting raped for Canadian migration. The perpetrators, meanwhile, get away with it.

Rape is a grim reality in this country, and Case No 9 is so far holding a mirror to society. I hope it will show us that justice is possible.

The writer is an instructor of journalism.

X: LedeingLady

Published in Dawn, October 12th, 2025