Tanushree Bhasin 
In the recently concluded superhit Pakistani drama Kabhi Main Kabhi Tum, the lead pair Mustafa (Fahad Mustafa) and Sharjeena (Hania Aamir) are kicked out of home by their parents and are left scrambling to find a roof over their heads. In a curious turn of events, an Indian fan wrote to Fahad Mustafa saying, “Mustafa bhai, mera Delhi mein flat khali pada hai. Aap Sharjeena ko le kar yahan aa jao (Mustafa brother, my flat in Delhi is empty. You and Sharjeena can come and live here).”
The comment won hearts on both sides of the border.
Stories like these tell you how short the distance is between Delhi and Karachi, both literally and metaphorically. With the same language, norms, food, music, and customs, there is little that separates the two countries other than a man-made border.
Indian fans of Pakistani dramas have been able to enjoy Kabhi Main Kabhi Tum on the official ARY Youtube channel, flooding the comments section with love. “Divided by politics, united by Kabhi Main Kabhi Tum” read one such comment on the first episode’s video on YouTube.
Pakistani dramas are often compelling to Indian viewers because they are starkly different from the saas-bahu sagas that crowd Indian television. From love stories, family dramas, college comedies to social commentary, Pakistani shows offer viewers a wide selection of storytelling that is not always available on Indian television.
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“It’s the stories, culture and the conservatisms that resonate with Indians. I think contemporary web series don’t appeal to everyone. There is an audience that wants to see family dramas or rom-coms. This audience might be more conservative but likes to watch classic romances and melodrama. And because there is a cultural overlap, these stories could very well be set in India,” says Surbhi Gupta, South Asia editor at New Lines Magazine.
It is no wonder then that, Kabhi Main Kabhi Tum, like many other Pakistani dramas — Humsafar, Zindagi Gulzar Hai, Parizaad, Suno Chanda, Mere Humsafar, Zard Patton Ka Bunn, Tere Bin, Sunn Mere Dil, etc — has a significant following in India, driving its views up to 20 million on YouTube. Curiously, GenZ has also been tuning in and posting their reactions on Instagram reels, YouTube shorts, and in the comment sections.
While the younger generation’s viewership might be new, older audiences have been watching dramas from across the border for years. The popularity has seen its heyday in 2014 when Zee had launched a channel called Zindagi that aired Pakistani dramas for Indian audiences. Intertwined culturally, while the Pakistani audience feeds on a healthy diet of Bollywood films, Indians gorge on Pakistani dramas.
Familiarity breaches borders
For Indians, the appeal also lies in the fact that Pakistani dramas break the monotony in the way Bollywood fetishises Pakistanis. Once you watch Kabhi Main Mabhi Tum, for instance, you realise that people on the other side speak, dress, behave and think a lot like Indians. Given that most shows are Punjabi-speaking or set in Punjabi households also adds to the sense of familiarity.
The way everyone dresses in kurta pyjamas or saris, cracks silly jokes, eats biryani or samosas, drinks endless cups of tea, and respects their parents only solidifies the notion that people in the two countries are not very different from each other.
In Kabhi Main Kabhi Tum, you see Sharjeena’s light hearted attempts to make their dingy little house into a loving home. You also see Mustafa’s cool and breezy way of living life, taking nothing too seriously. Ultimately, you are left with these two characters falling in love over the simplest of things that ordinary life has to offer. These are universal experiences that reveal just how indistinguishable the everydayness of life is in both countries.
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But what may be a stone’s throw away can just as easily seem miles apart between India and Pakistan. The two countries are, afterall, divided — a certain sense of enmity is engrained in the partition memory of states and in the hearts. This is why you see conflict and confrontation in politics, diplomacy and even cricket.
This dichotomy in the adoration for Pakistan’s cultural contributions along with an antagonism with the country, politically, is characteristic of India-Pakistan’s relationship.
Things are pretty simple when it comes to cricket, with its specific and long history of rivalry and competitiveness, but when it comes to cinema, television and music, things become a lot more complicated. In these mediums it is hard to deny the common histories and cultural markers that shape artistic expression on both sides of the border.
An illuminating example of this is the subcontinental identification with and adoration for Coke Studio Pakistan. The comment sections of these songs are full of Indians expressing their love for Pakistani singers and composers.
“Coke Studio Pakistan’s comment section is the only platform where both Indians and Pakistanis enjoy music together in harmony,” reads a comment under the song Tu Jhoom by Abida Parveen and Naseebo Lal.
Ali Sethi’s song Pasoori particularly found so much appreciation in India that it was even used in a Bollywood film. And yet when it comes to trash talking Pakistani governance, military or politics, Indians are particularly venomous, taking special delight in the misfortunes of their neighbour. How, then, are Indians able to love the television shows and songs coming out of a nation they so clearly despise?
Can there be less hate?
This cognitive dissonance is possible mostly because Indians appear to make a stark distinction between the intentions of the Pakistani public in general and those of its political class.
A very regular drawing room conversation goes: “It’s not the common man who’s at fault, it’s the Pakistani leaders and terrorists who create problems for India.”
When it comes to the civilian population of Pakistan, Indians have no qualms admitting to similarities, cultural likeness, and a shared history that allows them to partake in each other’s culture, even as the two countries currently refuse to issue each other visas and are reluctant to travel across the border for cricket matches.
The problem arises when Indians see Pakistanis asserting their national identity. As long as they are ordinary people, dealing with domestic issues as they do in dramas, Indians are happy to find cultural overlaps. As soon as the context changes, the nature of India’s relationship with its neighbour also changes. This is why politically active Pakistani characters in Bollywood films are caricatured and turned into stereotypes. This is also why the national cricket team of Pakistan is looked at only through the lens of animosity.
This dichotomy seems also to be fuelled by a voyeuristic curiosity about the other. Used to seeing Pakistanis as terrorists, army generals, spies and orthodox men and women, Indians are drawn to these dramas by their sheer normalcy.
The eye wanders over the lovely clothes the characters wear, their cars, homes, streets, markets, wedding festivities and every other object of everydayness that makes one feel closer to those who one had considered different and opposite.
Watching Pakistani dramas then is an exercise in both connection and voyeurism – a dualism that can only exist when gazing at something that is both familiar and foreign at the same time.