Umera Ahmad’s latest drama Kafeel, directed by Meesam Naqvi, is set against the backdrop of the 1990s and offers a painfully authentic depiction of how marriages were arranged in that era. For those who grew up during that decade, the initial episodes evoke a strong sense of nostalgia—simpler times marked by restrained lifestyles, limited exposure, and unquestioning obedience to family norms.
At the heart of the story is Zeba, played by Sanam Saeed, the eldest daughter of a traditional middle-class household and her father’s pride. Raised in a conservative environment with little interaction with the opposite gender, Zeba’s world is confined to her education, books, close friends, and family. Her sheltered upbringing leaves her emotionally unprepared for the complexities of real life.
A fleeting and innocent encounter with a young man—marked by a song and a handwritten note—sets off a chain reaction that alters the course of her life. When her mother discovers the note, she panics, assuming the worst. Instead of trusting her daughter or seeking clarity, she hastily decides that marriage is the only solution. Zeba is quickly married off to Jami, the brother of her mother’s close friend. On paper, he appears to be the ideal match: attractive, charismatic, and seemingly affluent.
However, the illusion of perfection soon shatters. Jami’s true personality begins to surface—he is arrogant, self-absorbed, and deeply entitled. Proudly calling himself raees and khandaani, he paradoxically has no shame in exploiting his in-laws financially. His reckless behavior leads him to destroy the family business, sell off shops, and dispose of ancestral property. When Zeba’s father uncovers the truth, he is crushed by guilt, realizing how blindly trusting others and acting in haste has cost his daughter her future.
Kafeel powerfully underscores the importance of trusting daughters and the devastating consequences of overreacting to harmless situations. Zeba’s parents fail to conduct even the most basic background checks, relying solely on personal connections. Their negligence results in their daughter being married to a deceitful, manipulative man who changes his colors effortlessly.
The situation worsens when Jami’s girlfriend appears, openly narrating her relationship with him to Zeba. These moments reinforce the necessity of thorough scrutiny when considering marriage proposals and the importance of faith in one’s upbringing rather than rushing to safeguard “family honor.”
As the family contemplates divorce, fate intervenes cruelly, sealing Zeba’s destiny. The drama raises an unsettling question: are we witnessing another Durr-e-Shahwar in the making? In societies where daughters are often viewed as burdens, haste to marry them off frequently leads to irreversible damage. Zeba’s mother, driven by fear of social disgrace, never pauses to hear her daughter’s side of the story. Marriage, for her, is merely a tool to silence potential scandal.
Umera Ahmad’s storytelling remains deeply realistic, supported by sharp, meaningful dialogue. Zeba’s character mirrors countless women from middle-class backgrounds who find themselves trapped in toxic marriages, enduring abuse and compromise to avoid the stigma of divorce. Once children enter the equation, escape becomes nearly impossible, and maintaining the façade of a happy marriage takes precedence over personal well-being.
While societal attitudes are slowly evolving, divorce continues to carry a heavy stigma. This reality was also highlighted in Geo TV’s Case No. 9, where Saba Qamar portrayed Sehar, a divorced rape survivor. Despite being educated and financially independent, Sehar is viewed as morally and sexually “available” simply because she is divorced—a mindset disturbingly ingrained in our culture.
A similar theme was explored in Pamaal, where Saba Qamar convincingly portrayed a widow treated as public property following her husband’s death. Even married women around her express discomfort, reinforcing the idea that a husband’s presence—real or symbolic—is what grants a woman respect and security.
Kafeel compels viewers to question these deeply rooted beliefs. Will Zeba ever reclaim her agency? Will her sacrifices finally bear fruit, or will Jami continue to exploit her resilience? As the drama unfolds, it leaves us reflecting on trust, patriarchy, and the tragic cost of silencing women in the name of honor.
