Pamaal, starring Saba Qamar as Malika and Usman Mukhtar as Raza, is one of the most daring and disturbing revelations of recent times. What begins as a simple love story quickly turns into a psychological maze, forcing viewers to confront the behaviors that our society has long normalized.
Malika is introduced as a bright, creative young woman who aspires to become a writer. She is fearless, active, and passionate until she marries Raza, and that’s where the real story begins. Raza is a quiet storm whose charm masks a deep and controlling narcissistic personality. He makes all the decisions for Malika, from what she wears to where she goes to who she speaks to, claiming ”it’s for her own good.” Raza is a type of person that we usually see in our society, who steals the shine from a woman until she begins to question her own reality, which reflects the patterns that many women experience daily, but are encouraged to accept as love.
What makes this TV serial even more appealing is the audience demographic itself. Half sympathize with Mallika, recognizing the suffocation and fear that surround her, while the other half defend Raza, pointing out the apartment and outings he provides, arguing that she should be grateful. This division is Pamaal’s real twist, showing how society tolerates harmful behavior disguised as provision and love. This TV serial confronts viewers with an unpleasant truth; also, material comfort does not equate to respect, and control can be disguised as love. Pamaal goes beyond emotional control and shows insight into the psychological effects of physical and verbal abuse without resorting to melodrama.
The serial also reflects the nuances of societal reactions, with even her family condoning Raza’s actions and condemning Mallika for speaking out, reflecting the real-life dynamics that keep women trapped in abusive situations. With Saba Qamar and Usman Mukhtar’s outstanding performances and a storyline that challenges social norms, Pamar is more than just a TV serial; it is a conversation, a revelation, and a wake-up call to the realities that many women face every day.
In Pakistan, mental and emotional violence is one of the most neglected forms of suffering, so common that most people do not even recognize it as violence. Behaviors such as controlling a woman’s choices, monitoring her cell phone, deciding where she goes, silencing her opinions, and constantly criticizing her are often called “caring”, “benevolent”, “ghar ki baat,” etc. A husband restricting his wife’s freedom is considered his “right” and is not a red flag.
Families manipulate and inflate daily expectations, instilling in girls from an early age to remain silent, put up with everything, and protect their marriage at all costs.
When women express discomfort, they are told that they are overreacting, that they are ungrateful, that they are “subversives.” Emotional control is not a scar; it leaves deep scars that society refuses to acknowledge, making them invisible. Even in a drama serial, viewers may defend a man’s harmful behavior simply because he provides financial support. It is this normalization of psychological abuse that leaves many women silent, trapped, distrustful, and convinced that the problem is within themselves and not their partner, who is destroying them from within.
Plays like Pamaal should be shot in Pakistan more often, forcing society to confront the truth that we tend to hide. These stories awaken people and lift the veil of ignorance that has shrouded our eyes for generations. When such plays reveal the cruelty, manipulation, and silent suffering that pervades our homes, it becomes more than just entertainment; it becomes a mirror. Tragedies like this serve as a powerful educator, raising awareness and prompting families to reevaluate their actions. They start conversations that people are too scared to start.
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