Written by: Amna Atif Shaikh
Posted on: May 27, 2025 | | 中文
The cast of House Arrest with Anwar Maqsood.
It was with great enthusiasm and excitement that I went, a few weekends ago, to watch the stage play House Arrest at the PNCA in Islamabad. After all, it was written by none other than the living legend, literary and humorous writer, Mr. Anwar Maqsood. With tickets priced at Rs. 3,000 per person, it felt like a reasonable cost given the name behind the production.
Unfortunately, and I say this with genuine respect for his legacy, I felt that Mr. Maqsood really missed the mark with this one. The jokes were not only dated, but also in very poor taste and at one point the play devolved into complete mayhem.
The play revolves around two elderly ladies in their 80s. One, Bee Amma, owns an expensive house in Karachi. The other, Nasreen, is her quick-witted cousin who moved to Pakistan from Lucknow at the time of partition. B. Amma never had children of her own but adopted a boy, Aftab, who is now scheming to transfer the property into his name. He has confined the two women to a small room in the house, occupied the rest of it with his wife, and barely feeds them. So while Bee Amma is wealthy on paper, she and Nasreen are living in squalor.
The premise had potential, and the play began on a strong note: the jokes landed, the Urdu was refined (as expected from Anwar Maqsood) and the acting, particularly by the two leading ladies, was superb. Where the play started to fall apart for me was when random characters who were essentially caricatures of the provinces were introduced.
In one scene, a Sindhi man enters, portrayed as drunk and lewd. The Pathan characters were either unintelligent or aggressive. The Punjabi policemen were fat and lazy, more concerned about samosas than doing their jobs. Baluchistan was only mentioned in passing to make a comparison between Nasreen and terrorists in Baluchistan. In every instance the “mohajir” characters were the victors in wit, refinement and intelligence.
Herein lies, in my opinion, one of the play’s most troubling aspects. We are nearly 80 years into the creation of Pakistan. It’s high time we moved past the narrative that “mohajirs” are the sole torchbearers of etiquette and sophistication, while the rest of the nation remains uncultured and backward. First of all, let’s be honest: 77 years on, the term “mohajir” itself needs to be retired, as most of those who actually migrated in 1947 have long since passed away. Secondly, we’ve been fed these clichéd portrayals of ethnic groups for so long that certain biases have seeped into our collective subconscious.
At this point in our history, we need a more positive, unifying narrative, one that uses humor without punching down or ridiculing groups that are already stereotyped. Resorting to stereotypes isn’t just uninspired; it reinforces the very divisions we should be trying to overcome. In a country as diverse as ours, there is a real opportunity to craft inclusive, intelligent comedy that highlights our shared humanity.
Perhaps I’m being overly sensitive about the use of stereotypes for laughs—some jokes did land and I laughed too. But let’s consider why one goes to see an Anwar Maqsood play. The name he’s built over decades assures us that this isn’t just another production. I go to an Anwar Maqsood play expecting masterful Urdu wordplay, and even if there are problematic undertones, I anticipate a deeper message, some witty, layered insight beneath the comedy. House Arrest had none of that. There was no redeeming message.
At one point, the play spiraled into a 10-minute scene of violence in which Aftab’s wife assaults the two elderly women, and they fight back. There’s nothing remotely funny about watching an able-bodied young woman beat two octogenarians. There’s no moral lesson to be found there. Setting the scene to “Eye of the Tiger” did nothing to elevate it. It was cheap, uninspired humor.
That said, I don’t believe the government should have revoked the play’s NOC the way it did. We must foster spaces where art can be critiqued, debated and improved, not silenced. Artistic expression, even when flawed, should be met with discourse, not bans.
One final thought: the actors delivered remarkable performances, especially the two young women who played Bee Amma and Nasreen. It’s heartening to witness such immense talent among the youth of Pakistan, and I’m excited to watch their careers continue to grow. I sincerely hope that the quality of material put forth in the name of entertainment, particularly from revered figures like Mr. Anwar Maqsood, evolves, so that this new generation of actors has more meaningful, nuanced work to shine in.
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