The Patriarchy Playbook: Kaif-O-Suroor

• fizzaayb
• Dec 1, 2024
• 3 min read

When Sadaf Kanwal swirled onto the screen in Na Maloom Afraad with “Kaif-o-Suroor,” clad in glitzy attire and framed by sultry lighting, her performance became the focal point of Lollywood’s marketing machine. Yet behind the glittering façade of her dance lies a troubling paradox: the very media corporations that profit off such item numbers are the same ones perpetuating regressive narratives about women in dramas and serials. For me, this song is a microcosm of how Pakistani entertainment exploits patriarchal ideals while simultaneously profiting from their commodification.

Turn on any prime-time Pakistani drama, and you’ll likely find women portrayed as the idealized mazloom figure—dutiful wives, sacrificial mothers, or chaste heroines waiting for male validation. These characters are lauded, idealized, and rewarded for their meekness. Contrast this with the high-octane allure of item songs in cinema, where women are transformed into larger-than-life symbols of desire, objectified for the male gaze.

The hypocrisy is staggering: on one hand, dramas preach morality, condemning women who step outside societal norms. On the other, films rely on the very antithesis of that morality to sell tickets. Sadaf Kanwal’s Kaif-o-Suroor embodies this dichotomy—a glittering performance crafted to attract eyeballs, yet one that exists within a system that shames women for embracing their autonomy.

Media corporations, driven by profit, are masters of compartmentalizing the feminine ideal. In dramas, women are cast as paragons of virtue, their value tied to their submission. In films, they’re transformed into objects of fantasy, a spectacle designed to titillate. This commodification serves a dual purpose: it reinforces patriarchal values in one medium while exploiting their subversion in another.

Kanwal’s dance in Kaif-o-Suroor is a perfect example. Her movements are bold, unapologetic, and magnetic, but they exist within a framework designed to commodify her as a product. The very industry that benefits from her charisma would balk at casting her in a lead role that challenges societal norms.

Item songs like Kaif-o-Suroor are often framed as empowering, but the empowerment they offer is superficial at best. The camera’s gaze isn’t hers to control; it’s the audience’s, filtered through the lens of male directors and producers. These corporations weaponize the female form, turning it into a tool to lure viewers while perpetuating the same patriarchal structures that restrict women’s roles both on and off-screen.

The irony is palpable: Sadaf Kanwal’s dance is celebrated for its allure, yet the actress herself becomes the target of moral policing. The backlash she faced after the song’s release—a barrage of slut-shaming and moral condemnation—reveals the societal double standard at play. The same audience that eagerly consumed her performance was quick to denounce her as a “bad role model,” ignoring the corporate machinery that engineered the spectacle.

The question then arises: can item songs like Kaif-o-Suroor ever be truly empowering in a media landscape so deeply entrenched in patriarchy? The answer is complicated. On one hand, they provide a platform for women to showcase their talent and reclaim their sexuality. On the other, they exist within a system that reduces them to commodities, profiting off their objectification while denying them agency.

To break this cycle, the entertainment industry must confront its own hypocrisy. Media corporations need to rethink how they portray women—not just in item songs, but across all forms of storytelling. It’s time to move beyond the binary of the virtuous damsel and the seductive siren, creating space for complex, multifaceted female characters who defy societal expectations. Until then, Kaif-o-Suroor will remain a glittering paradox: a celebration of feminine power trapped within the confines of a system that refuses to fully embrace it.