Not all men, but always a man

In Flames, a poignant reflection on womanhood, Karachi, and the hope that endures in spite of it all

Zarrar Khan’s In Flames delivers a gripping narrative of what it’s like to be a woman in Karachi, through its sound design, characters, and spatial scenery, offering a true soundscape of terror.

The first day of the 16th Karachi Literature Festival (KLF) on Friday 7th February, concluded appropriately around 10:15 pm with the screening of Zarrar Khan’s 2023 directorial debut In Flames, a film that left me and my friend hyper-aware about having to travel back home in a ride with a stranger. 

As I watched Ramesha Nawal and Bakhtawar Mazhar play mother-daughter duo Mariam and Fariha on screen, navigating the onslaught of creepy, abusive or simply annoying men in their lives, I couldn’t help but reflect on my own relationship with my amma. There are so many things that are left unsaid between us, things we know affect and shape a big part of who we are, such as the reality of existing as a woman in this world, and more specifically, in this city of Karachi.

This reality is projected onto us both externally, through our bodies—how we perceive our own limbs—and internally, through our subconscious gestures. The hand we place across our neck when we feel a pair of eyes on our flesh, the desperate grip of our shawl as we pull it tighter around our chest (we anticipate the betrayal of a strong gust of wind).

My amma never sat me down to tell me what I should expect living as a woman in this world. Neither did her mother before her, and neither did Fariha do so for Mariam.

We are made aware of what we are in for solely through our experiences and confrontations with the unfiltered and screaming face of the world. We live this reality every day, and we are living manifestations of it - in our bones, the lines on our face, the fists of our hands. 

Characters Mariam and Fariha not only confront the things unsaid between them, but confront the one character in the film that leaves no stone unturned in making us realise the frailty of our existence—Karachi. 

Karachi, as a spirited, potent, and dynamic entity, emerges as the film’s main antagonist. It is the current against which all the characters, even the perverted men, are flowing.

The sensorial depiction of the city is, for me, the film’s most captivating element. The fervent sound design perfectly captures the ghutan—the acute suffocation we feel, as if a boulder sits on our chest, living in this vast, open-mouthed, overflowing city.

The eerie resonating whistle of a security guard patrolling the area at ungodly hours of the night is symbolic of the ironic terror that the image represents i.e. no guard can protect you from the horrors that haunt you from within, be it within your house or your mind.

Sometimes, the guard himself is part of the problem.

Moreover, the film beautifully portrays the city’s gluttonous appetite to overload our senses. The haunting shadows cast by the lights—the green light blinking over Mariam’s head as she stands on the balcony, tormented by images of her deceased father, her deceased boyfriend’s hands choking her, and the deviant rickshaw driver revealing his perverse intentions—are all symbolic of the overwhelming nausea induced by this environment.

Despite the bleakness and apprehension that all of us would undoubtedly feel once we confront the absurd caricatured dangers of our world, In Flames reminds us that hope exists. 

Hope exists in love—in Fariha’s arms as she embraces her daughter after saving her from a traumatic experience with the twisted rickshaw driver. It lies in a mother’s silent observation of the subtle worry lines between her child’s eyes, the hand that brushes the sweaty, matted hair from her fevered little one’s face.

Here’s hoping we can stop hiding someday, drowning our sorrows in the ocean, sending our woes up in flames, their red-hot embers burning a formidable memory in their wake.