Express News Service
Sarmad Khoosat’s Pakistani film Zindagi Tamasha (Circus of Life) begins with a quote from the Persian poet Sana’I: “To speak any word but your name (Muhammad, p.b.u.h.) Is error error; To sing any artistic praise but for you Is shame shame.”
It sets the context for the heart of the film—respect, dignity and autonomy of art forms beyond the limitations of religion, politics and ideologies. Ironically, the film has gone through similar suppression as the one faced by its protagonist, Rahat Khawaja (Arif Hassan). Like Khawaja, Khoosat also has had to face charges of blasphemy.
Zindagi Tamasha which premiered at the Busan International Film Festival and was Pakistan’s submission for the 93rd Academy Awards, has been in a limbo for the longest, unable to find a release at home in the face of extra-constitutional censorship issues. Plans to release the film March 2022 was put on hold following widespread protests by the political party Tehreek-e-Labbaik Pakistan (TLP). What about the film could have warrants such reactions?
It is a straight and simple story of a pious, God-fearing Khawaja who writes and composes religious hymns and is much respected and loved in his community. He is a real estate agent and caregiver of his ailing wife Farkhanda (Samiya Mumtaz). Their daughter Sadaf (Eman Suleman) keeps visiting them off and on. One day, at a family wedding, he ends up sharing his love for dance as a child and performs to a favourite film song—‘Zindagi Tamasha Bani’—brought alive by his heartthrob Aasia on screen, in a 1974 film called Naukar Wohti Da. A recording of it gets uploaded online, goes viral and throws his life off gear as funny memes, nasty comments and social boycott follow.
The kind and gentle figure of Khawaja is quite revolutionary in how he redefines masculinity. He doesn’t just dance with grace and elegance but takes care of all the domestic chores, including cooking a mean halwa which is relished by his neighbours. His wife is equally subversive despite being bed-ridden. She lays it down that after her death there should be no religious rituals, they needn’t wait for her other daughters to fly home to bury her, she doesn’t want her grave to be cemented nor any annual memorials to mark her passing. There is something lovely about the easy conversations between Khawaja and Farkhanda with actors Arif and Samiya sharing an easy camaraderie on screen.
Together the couple holds a mirror to the hypocrisies and conservatism of the world around them—their society, neighbourhood, family, even daughter Sadaf who points out to a colleague that her father doesn’t sing na’at (poetry in praise of the Prophet) but recites it. To her, like the others, singing and dancing are forbidden. Worse, for a man to dance to a feminine song is enough for him to be ridiculed and considered khusra or eunuch. Even an educated Sadaf pejoratively calls her father a bhaand and mirasi (lowly performer and comedian). It’s this aspect of the film that feels overdone. Every single person apart from the couple itself has objections about Khawaja’s dance. There is almost no one to support him.
Khawaja is admirable in how he takes on the clergy when he is forced to make an apology video than talk straight from the heart. He indicts the cleric for using mosque money to renovate his own home and brings up the issue of bachchebaazi (molestation of kids) among priests. It is this controversial portrayal of the holy men of God that has been the primary reason for the film’s many troubles.
But it is not as though the sensible Khawaja himself is beyond prejudices, especially when it comes to his reaction to homosexuality. Through the course of his own castigation, he must go through a change within himself. The film doesn’t offer a resolution or closure. We only get to see a stoic man getting lonelier and more ardent in his defiance.
Beyond the human drama, Khoosat’s camera is wonderful in its evocation of the sights and sounds of Lahore, particularly the old city during the festivities of Rabi-ul-Avval. The film also has a beautiful spiritual soundtrack that amalgamates traditional melodies with modern rhythms, especially the contemporary version of the hymn Ajj Sikk Mitraan Di. The kind of music that can make you a believer, even if the film itself questions the belief system.
Sarmad Khoosat’s Pakistani film Zindagi Tamasha (Circus of Life) begins with a quote from the Persian poet Sana’I: “To speak any word but your name (Muhammad, p.b.u.h.) Is error error; To sing any artistic praise but for you Is shame shame.”
It sets the context for the heart of the film—respect, dignity and autonomy of art forms beyond the limitations of religion, politics and ideologies. Ironically, the film has gone through similar suppression as the one faced by its protagonist, Rahat Khawaja (Arif Hassan). Like Khawaja, Khoosat also has had to face charges of blasphemy.
Zindagi Tamasha which premiered at the Busan International Film Festival and was Pakistan’s submission for the 93rd Academy Awards, has been in a limbo for the longest, unable to find a release at home in the face of extra-constitutional censorship issues. Plans to release the film March 2022 was put on hold following widespread protests by the political party Tehreek-e-Labbaik Pakistan (TLP). What about the film could have warrants such reactions?googletag.cmd.push(function() {googletag.display(‘div-gpt-ad-8052921-2’); });
It is a straight and simple story of a pious, God-fearing Khawaja who writes and composes religious hymns and is much respected and loved in his community. He is a real estate agent and caregiver of his ailing wife Farkhanda (Samiya Mumtaz). Their daughter Sadaf (Eman Suleman) keeps visiting them off and on. One day, at a family wedding, he ends up sharing his love for dance as a child and performs to a favourite film song—‘Zindagi Tamasha Bani’—brought alive by his heartthrob Aasia on screen, in a 1974 film called Naukar Wohti Da. A recording of it gets uploaded online, goes viral and throws his life off gear as funny memes, nasty comments and social boycott follow.
The kind and gentle figure of Khawaja is quite revolutionary in how he redefines masculinity. He doesn’t just dance with grace and elegance but takes care of all the domestic chores, including cooking a mean halwa which is relished by his neighbours. His wife is equally subversive despite being bed-ridden. She lays it down that after her death there should be no religious rituals, they needn’t wait for her other daughters to fly home to bury her, she doesn’t want her grave to be cemented nor any annual memorials to mark her passing. There is something lovely about the easy conversations between Khawaja and Farkhanda with actors Arif and Samiya sharing an easy camaraderie on screen.
Together the couple holds a mirror to the hypocrisies and conservatism of the world around them—their society, neighbourhood, family, even daughter Sadaf who points out to a colleague that her father doesn’t sing na’at (poetry in praise of the Prophet) but recites it. To her, like the others, singing and dancing are forbidden. Worse, for a man to dance to a feminine song is enough for him to be ridiculed and considered khusra or eunuch. Even an educated Sadaf pejoratively calls her father a bhaand and mirasi (lowly performer and comedian). It’s this aspect of the film that feels overdone. Every single person apart from the couple itself has objections about Khawaja’s dance. There is almost no one to support him.
Khawaja is admirable in how he takes on the clergy when he is forced to make an apology video than talk straight from the heart. He indicts the cleric for using mosque money to renovate his own home and brings up the issue of bachchebaazi (molestation of kids) among priests. It is this controversial portrayal of the holy men of God that has been the primary reason for the film’s many troubles.
But it is not as though the sensible Khawaja himself is beyond prejudices, especially when it comes to his reaction to homosexuality. Through the course of his own castigation, he must go through a change within himself. The film doesn’t offer a resolution or closure. We only get to see a stoic man getting lonelier and more ardent in his defiance.
Beyond the human drama, Khoosat’s camera is wonderful in its evocation of the sights and sounds of Lahore, particularly the old city during the festivities of Rabi-ul-Avval. The film also has a beautiful spiritual soundtrack that amalgamates traditional melodies with modern rhythms, especially the contemporary version of the hymn Ajj Sikk Mitraan Di. The kind of music that can make you a believer, even if the film itself questions the belief system.