Between Memory and Fire: The State of Contemporary Pakistani Theatre. Interview with Maham Fahad
Farah Ali*
Introduction
Pakistani theatre has long stood at the crossroads of art, politics, and survival. Emerging within a fraught cultural landscape marked by military dictatorships, conservative censorship regimes, and neoliberal pressures, it has simultaneously embodied resistance and vulnerability. To speak of contemporary theatre in Pakistan is to invoke a history of resilience and dissent, exemplified most notably by Ajoka Theatre, founded in 1984 by Madeeha Gauhar and later guided by her partner, playwright Shahid Nadeem.[1]
Ajoka carved space for politically engaged performance during General Zia-ul-Haq’s dictatorship, dramatizing themes of women’s rights, class inequalities, and state violence. Theatre under Ajoka was never mere entertainment; it was activism staged under surveillance, performance as pedagogy, and resistance inscribed in the body of the actor. Their legacy continues to inform how younger generations of theatre makers situate themselves within Pakistan’s socio-political fabric.
Yet, as we turn to the twenty-first century, the landscape of theatre in Pakistan has grown increasingly precarious. Institutions remain underfunded, censorship persists in subtle and overt forms, and theatre continues to be sidelined by both policymakers and mainstream audiences who often regard it as either “elite indulgence” or “dangerous dissent.” Within this context, the work of contemporary practitioners like Maham Fahad becomes invaluable, not only for what it reveals about current artistic practices, but also for what it signals about the ongoing struggle to sustain theatre as a living art form in Pakistan. Fahad’s reflections, experiences, and critiques illuminate the fractures and possibilities of an art struggling to exist between nostalgia for Ajoka’s radical past and the pressing urgencies of the present moment.
This essay situates Fahad’s insights within the longer genealogy of Pakistani theatre, drawing connections between her testimony and the foundational contributions of Ajoka Theatre. While Ajoka gave theatre a militant, oppositional voice during dictatorship, today’s practitioners grapple with newer questions: How does one create socially engaged theatre in an era dominated by digital media and corporate-sponsored art festivals? What strategies can counter the neglect of theatre by state institutions and educational curricula? How does class stratification continue to shape theatre’s accessibility and reception?
To approach these questions, it is necessary to foreground the dialectic between continuity and rupture. On one hand, Ajoka’s work, especially its landmark plays such as Burqavaganza (2007), Hotel Mohenjo Daro (1989), and the Legend of Nizam Saqqaby Mumtaz Mufti (2011),[2] remains a touchstone for politically committed theatre in Pakistan. These plays exemplify the use of satire, allegory, and musical performance to resist oppressive structures, while also serving as archives of dissent.
On the other hand, Maham Fahad represents a generation of theatre makers who inherit Ajoka’s radical ethos but operate in vastly different conditions marked by dwindling funding, a fragmented audience base, and the encroachment of commercialized performance cultures. Her concerns about institutional neglect, elitism in the theatre world, and the marginalisation of working-class stories echo Ajoka’s struggles, but they also demand a renewed vocabulary for critique and survival.
This introduction therefore frames Fahad’s interview not merely as anecdotal testimony, but as a lens through which to interrogate contemporary Pakistani theatre’s crisis of relevance and sustainability. Drawing on scholarship in performance studies, postcolonial theory, and feminist critique, this discussion argues that the challenges facing theatre today are inseparable from broader structures of cultural erasure and state-sanctioned amnesia. Theatre, in this reading, becomes a site of contested memory: an archive that refuses to be silenced, but one that also risks becoming obsolete if unmoored from institutional support and popular participation.
In anchoring this introduction historically, it is worth returning to Madeeha Gauhar’s own words. In a 2004 interview, she asserted: “Theatre in Pakistan cannot be apolitical. It cannot exist in a vacuum. Every performance here is a statement about survival.” This statement remains prophetic. For Maham Fahad, survival is not only about sustaining her own practice but also about ensuring that theatre remains a relevant cultural form amidst the dominance of television, cinema, and digital platforms. Her voice, therefore, is not isolated but part of a continuum of women who have fought for theatre’s existence in Pakistan, from Gauhar’s defiant performances in Zia’s Pakistan to Fahad’s critique of the indifference faced by theatre practitioners today.
As the Introduction unfolds, I will first contextualise Fahad’s trajectory as a theatre maker and academic within Pakistan’s broader artistic ecosystem, before analysing how her reflections engage with themes of class, gender, censorship, and cultural policy. By positioning her alongside Ajoka’s legacy, this piece highlights the tension between inheritance and innovation that defines the current moment of Pakistani theatre. It further argues that the struggles of figures like Maham Fahad are not merely symptomatic of institutional neglect but emblematic of the structural precarity of theatre itself, caught between its radical potential and its material fragility.
Ultimately, this introduction sets the stage for a central claim: that contemporary Pakistani theatre can only be understood by holding together its past of radical resistance and its present of uncertain survival. The dialogue between Ajoka’s legacy and Fahad’s testimony makes visible both the resilience and the vulnerability of theatre in Pakistan today, offering valuable insights into how artists continue to negotiate art, politics, and existence in a society marked by crisis and transformation.
I also spoke with Mr. Raja Mohammad Tabish Habib, Visiting Assistant Professor at the Mushtaq Ahmad Gurmani School of Humanities and Social Sciences, who served as Associate Producer and Script Supervisor on Saim Sadiq’s feature film Joyland. The film, which won two jury prizes at the 2022 Cannes Film Festival and was selected as Pakistan’s official submission to the Academy Awards, encountered significant resistance within Pakistan due to its candid portrayal of transgender lives. Mr. Habib noted that the challenges faced by Joyland, from censorship to public controversy, mirror the difficulties theatre practitioners encounter when addressing similarly sensitive themes. His reflections reinforce Maham Fahad’s concerns, suggesting that the barriers of censorship and cultural conservatism are not confined to theatre but resonate across the wider arts landscape in Pakistan.
The Interview: Maham Fahad’s Insights
Personal Journey & Background
Farah Ali: Could you share what first drew you to theatre and how your journey as a theatre maker began in Pakistan?
Maham Fahad: I was fortunate to attend a school that actively promoted theatre. We had a dedicated drama teacher who not only encouraged us to explore the art form but also took us to inter-school competitions, where different schools competed by presenting plays. This exposure opened up a whole new world for me. Theatre quickly became addictive, it was an art form that demanded so much learning, discipline, and collaboration, but also offered a powerful outlet for self-expression that I hadn’t experienced before. That initial spark carried me forward and eventually shaped my journey as a theatre maker in Pakistan.
Which artistic or cultural influences have shaped your vision and style of theatre?
Cultural and historical stories play a central role in shaping the kind of theatre I gravitate toward. I find inspiration in folk tales, legends, and stories that reflect our collective history, such as Sohni Mahiwal or the revolutionary narrative of Bhagat Singh. These stories carry deep cultural resonance and staging them allows theatre to become not just a form of entertainment but also a means of connecting audiences to their roots, sparking dialogue about identity, memory, and belonging.
How do you balance personal creativity with the realities of working in Pakistan’s theatre environment?
Censorship is very real and pervasive in Pakistan, and this shapes how stories are told on stage. However, because theatre still functions somewhat as an underground activity, there is space for creativity in how we navigate these restrictions. Much of it lies in the use of metaphor, symbolism, and allegory. For instance, last year we staged a play at Alhamra that reflected the political climate of Pakistan, but instead of being direct, we adopted a metaphorical approach. This allowed us to address sensitive issues without facing immediate censorship, showing how theatre can be both subversive and creative in its storytelling.
State of Contemporary Theatre in Pakistan
How would you describe the current landscape of theatre in Pakistan?
Theatre in Pakistan is very local, emerging, and still finding its footing. It is not yet a mainstream art form, but it has begun to establish itself as an important platform for raising awareness about social issues. While the scale may be small, the impact can be profound, as theatre allows audiences to engage with issues in a more visceral and immediate way than other mediums.
What themes or stories do you see dominating the stage today, and why do you think they resonate with audiences?
Theatre today often focuses on local stories because audiences crave narratives that feel authentic and relatable. Much of the entertainment we consume, through television, cinema, or streaming, is westernized, so seeing theatre that reflects Pakistani realities feels refreshing and meaningful. These plays also tend to grapple with social issues that audiences encounter in their daily lives, which strengthens their connection to the work on stage.
How do contemporary theatre practices in Pakistan engage with social, political, or religious issues?
Theatre does engage with social and political themes, but religious issues are often approached with great caution. When religion is addressed, it is done very covertly, often through metaphor or implication rather than direct commentary. This reflects the sensitivities of our context, but it also pushes theatre makers to find creative strategies for discussing topics that might otherwise be silenced.
Do you think theatre in Pakistan is thriving, struggling, or undergoing transformation?
Theatre in Pakistan is currently struggling. The main challenges include lack of funding, limited institutional support, and insufficient infrastructure such as venues and technical equipment. While there are pockets of growth and experimentation, the art form has not yet reached a level where it can thrive sustainably.
Challenges & Opportunities
What role does language (Urdu, Punjabi, English, regional languages) play in shaping the accessibility of theatre?
Language has shifted noticeably in theatre over the years. Many plays that were once performed in English are now staged in Urdu, and occasionally even in Punjabi. This makes theatre more accessible in terms of language, but accessibility in Pakistan often has more to do with social class. The reality is that theatre tends to cater to the elite, those who can afford to buy tickets, attend private schools that promote theatre, or move in circles where theatre is valued. So, while the choice of language matters, the bigger barrier is economic and social privilege.
Theatre, Audiences & Society
Who is the audience for contemporary theatre in Pakistan? How do you see their tastes and expectations evolving?
Theatre audiences in Pakistan are deeply class-based. In the circles I have access to, theatre tends to be for wealthy people who have the time, resources, and inclination to engage with art. That said, audiences are slowly beginning to diversify, especially as younger people explore theatre festivals and experimental performances. But overall, theatre remains largely confined to an elite cultural space.
Do you think theatre in Pakistan has the power to influence public opinion or social change today?
Absolutely. Art always has the power to influence public opinion and spark social change, though the impact depends on the themes being explored. When theatre deals with pressing social or political issues, it can open important conversations, challenge perspectives, and inspire action. While the audience may be limited, its influence on those who engage with it should not be underestimated.
Future of Theatre in Pakistan
Where do you see Pakistani theatre heading in the next decade?
I see theatre gradually increasing in scale over the next decade. There is more interest now than before, with festivals and formal productions becoming more common. However, it is important to note that the kind of theatre being promoted tends to be more formal, staged productions rather than grassroots or street theatre. If theatre is to truly flourish, it needs to embrace a broader range of forms and reach beyond elite spaces into communities.
What kinds of support—governmental, institutional, or community-based—do you believe are necessary for theatre to flourish?
The most important support theatre needs is funding. Without financial investment, it is nearly impossible to sustain production, hire talent, or secure venues. Beyond that, a cultural shift is needed to encourage and value the arts, not just as entertainment but as a vital part of social and political discourse. Community-based initiatives that bring theatre to public spaces could also play a role in making it more accessible.
What advice would you give to young theatre practitioners starting out in Pakistan today?
My advice would be to focus heavily on writing, think of new and fresh topics that can capture audiences’ attention. Strong, original content is what will ultimately sustain theatre. At the same time, securing funding should be a priority. Don’t hesitate to reach out to smaller brands or organizations that may be willing to sponsor emerging theatre projects. Building networks and being resourceful is crucial for sustaining yourself as a young theatre practitioner in Pakistan.
Conclusion: The Precarious Vitality of Pakistani Theatre
The status of theatre in Pakistan reveals a paradoxical space where fragility coexists with persistence, and constraint generates new strategies of resistance. From the testimonies of young practitioners like Maham Fahad, who is attempting to carve out creative and political space within the university and student-led context, to the insights of filmmakers such as Raja Mohammad Tabish Habib, who has confronted censorship in cinema through his work on Saim Sadiq’s Joyland, one sees a recurring pattern: theatre and the arts are simultaneously suppressed and invigorated by the very restrictions that attempt to silence them. In this sense, Pakistani theatre embodies what Homi Bhabha describes as the “third space” of cultural negotiation, where creativity emerges through tension, contradiction, and improvisation.
The testimonies of Maham Fahad and Tabish Habib reflect that the struggles faced by Ajoka Theatre in the 1980s and 1990s remain pressing today, albeit altered forms. Funding remains scarce, limiting the scope and frequency of productions, while censorship continues to shape content and performance strategies. As Maham suggests, many theatre practitioners resort to metaphor, allegory, and symbolism to navigate red lines that cannot be crossed openly. This echoes Mikhail Bakhtin’s notion of the carnivalesque, where subversive critique can occur through humour, parody, and symbolic inversion. In Pakistan, metaphor becomes not simply an aesthetic choice but a survival strategy, allowing artists to communicate politically resonant messages without triggering outright bans.
The class-based nature of theatre audiences in Pakistan also complicates its reach and potential for transformation. As Maham notes, most audiences come from elite or educated circles who have the cultural capital to appreciate theatre and the financial means to support it. While this narrows its base, it also creates the possibility of influencing opinion-makers, journalists, and activists who may amplify theatre’s impact beyond the walls of performance spaces. At the same time, the shift from English-language theatre to Urdu and Punjabi productions signals an attempt to broaden accessibility and reclaim cultural authenticity. Here, Pakistani theatre aligns with broader postcolonial performance practices, where language choice is never neutral but bound up with questions of identity, representation, and power.
Comparatively, one might situate Pakistani theatre alongside global traditions of activist theatre, particularly Augusto Boal’s Theatre of the Oppressed, which emphasises performance as a tool for community engagement and political change. While Pakistani theatre has not institutionalised Boal’s methods in the same systematic way, productions by Ajoka, Tehrik-e-Niswan, and student-led groups such as the LUMS Drama Line share the impulse to create dialogic spaces where audiences are not passive consumers but active participants in social reflection. Much like Boal’s “spect-actors,” Pakistani theatre audiences are often invited to question their realities, whether through allegorical critique of authoritarianism or dramatic explorations of gender oppression.
From a feminist perspective, Pakistani theatre has historically been a key site for articulating women’s agency in the face of patriarchal structures. Madeeha Gauhar and Sheema Kermani (of Tehrik-e-Niswan) foregrounded women’s experiences and voices at a time when authoritarian and conservative regimes sought to silence them.
In contemporary contexts, young theatre makers like Maham Fahad inherit this legacy, albeit within new institutional spaces such as universities. Theatre here becomes not only a cultural form but also an arena of feminist praxis, where issues of censorship, representation, and accessibility intersect with broader struggles for gender equality. Linking this to Judith Butler’s concept of grievability, one might argue that Pakistani theatre insists on making visible and audible lives and stories that are often denied legitimacy, whether those of women, the working classes, or the LGBTQ community.
At the same time, Pakistani theatre remains vulnerable to what Chandra Talpade Mohanty[3] critiques as the homogenisation of “Third World women’s” struggles. International attention often frames Pakistani theatre solely in terms of resistance to oppression, overlooking its diversity of aesthetic strategies and thematic concerns. To counter this, Pakistani theatre practitioners themselves, much like Maham Fahad’s commitment to folk tales and cultural narratives, emphasise indigenous forms and histories as integral to their creative practice. This suggests a need to read Pakistani theatre not only as reactive but also as generative, producing its own cultural archives and aesthetic traditions that resist easy categorisation.
In the globalised cultural economy, the challenges of Pakistani theatre are not unique but resonate with other postcolonial and marginalised performance contexts. Issues of funding, censorship, and elite capture recur across many nations where the arts remain undervalued. What distinguishes Pakistan’s theatre, however, is the persistence with which it continues to reassert itself in the face of political suppression and social marginalisation. The survival of Ajoka Theatre, the renewed interest in university drama societies, and the experiments of independent theatre practitioners collectively demonstrate a fragile but determined ecosystem.
Looking ahead, the trajectory of Pakistani theatre suggests cautious optimism. Festivals and collaborations are increasing, and digital platforms are creating new avenues for outreach. Yet, without systemic support, whether governmental, institutional, or community-based, its sustainability remains in question. The state’s reluctance to fund or protect theatre reflects a broader undervaluing of the arts in Pakistan’s national development discourse. Until theatre is recognised not merely as entertainment but as a critical medium of public dialogue and social critique, it will remain precarious.
Nevertheless, Pakistani theatre has shown remarkable resilience in its ability to adapt, improvise, and persist. In doing so, it enacts a form of what Cathy Caruth calls “traumatic repetition”: the return of suppressed stories and silenced voices through creative performance. Each production, whether staged in the confines of Alhamra Arts Council, a university campus, or an experimental festival, becomes an act of testimony, bearing witness to the socio-political fractures of Pakistani society. In this sense, theatre’s fragility is also its strength: it survives precisely because it speaks to what cannot easily be spoken elsewhere.
In sum, the status of Pakistani theatre today is best understood as a state of precarious vitality. It struggles against structural limitations of funding, censorship, and elitism, yet it endures as a powerful space for dissent, feminist critique, and cultural reclamation. Its history, from the daring interventions of Ajoka Theatre under Madeeha Gauhar and Shahid Nadeem to the emerging voices of Maham Fahad and other young practitioners, reveals a tradition of creative resistance that continues to evolve. To borrow from Bakhtin, Pakistani theatre thrives in its grotesque vitality, always provisional, always contested, but irrepressibly alive.
Endnotes
[1] Shahid Mehmood Nadeem is one of the most compelling and socially engaged playwrights in Pakistan, known for producing powerful works that address the country’s political, cultural, and social realities. A former student activist, Nadeem has consistently used theatre as a tool for critique and awareness, making his plays central to conversations about justice and reform. His most enduring legacy is Ajoka Theatre ( Ajoka means Current), Pakistan’s pioneering parallel theatre movement, which he conceptualised and developed in collaboration with his late wife, Madeeha Gauhar.
Madeeha Gauhar (1956–2018) was a visionary actor, director, and cultural activist who left an indelible mark on South Asian theatre. Educated in English literature at Kinnaird College, Lahore, and later in theatre in the UK, she combined intellectual depth with a fearless artistic vision. In 1984, during General Zia-ul-Haq’s oppressive military regime, she founded Ajoka Theatre as a space for creative resistance against censorship, patriarchy, and authoritarianism. Gauhar believed that theatre should not merely entertain but provoke, enlighten, and empower communities. Her plays—often staged in public spaces, streets, and community centres to reach audiences beyond the elite—drew upon history, folklore, and contemporary struggles to address issues such as gender inequality, religious intolerance, political corruption, and the suppression of free expression.
Internationally recognised for her contribution to cultural activism, Gauhar received awards such as the Prince Claus Award (2006) and Fatima Jinnah Award for her pioneering role in advancing women’s voices in theatre. Under her leadership, Ajoka grew into a platform that not only nurtured progressive Pakistani drama but also built bridges with neighbouring countries, particularly India, through cultural exchanges and collaborative productions. Her legacy continues to shape Pakistani theatre as a space of resistance, dialogue, and transformation.
Together, Nadeem and Gauhar redefined Pakistani theatre, ensuring it served not only as a form of cultural expression but also as a catalyst for progressive social change. See Shahid Nadeem-From Resolute Student Activist to Progressive Playwright by Shoaib Ahmad: published April 18th, 2021 [Accessed on Sep. 11th, 2025].
[2] The Legend of Nizam Saqqa draws on a popular Mughal-era anecdote about Nizam Saqqa, a water carrier briefly crowned king by Emperor Humayun in gratitude for securing water during the emperor’s exile. Granted sovereignty for a single day, Nizam used his authority to organise water distribution before abdicating, enabling Humayun’s return to power. The story has been repeatedly adapted in literature and theatre, often as an allegory of resilience, civic responsibility, and the capacity of ordinary individuals to disrupt entrenched hierarchies. Writers such as Mumtaz Mufti employed the tale to critique corruption and authority, while recent stagings, including LUMS Dramaline’s 2025 production, have reinterpreted it to comment on contemporary political and social crises. The legend thus endures as a symbolic reminder of how historical memory and performance can intersect to question power and foreground the transformative potential of individual agency.
[3] Chandra Talpade Mohanty, a postcolonial feminist theorist, critiques Western feminism in her essay “Under Western Eyes” (1986) for homogenizing “Third World women” and ignoring their diverse cultural and social contexts. See Feminist Review, no. 30 (Autumn, 1988), pp. 61-88.
*Farah Ali (PhD), Assistant professor of English at Lahore University of Management Sciences (LUMS). Previously, a Post-Doctoral Fellow at the University of Hull (UK). Her area of interest is Post-War British Theatre, in which she focuses on identity politics, power, oppression, and gender issues. Her thesis was based on the identity predicament in selected works of Harold Pinter, which was then published as book with Routledge, titled: Eroding the Language of Freedom: Identity Predicament in Selected Works of Harold Pinter, 2017. She is currently working on a second manuscript in which she discusses the theme of the female figure and diaspora fiction in Europe.
Copyright © 2025 Farah Ali
Critical Stages/Scènes critiques, #32, December 2025
e-ISSN: 2409-7411
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