Before tears became the script
“I spent forty years shaping women into strong, confident individuals—able to protect themselves, spread happiness, and live with dignity. But today, across countless channels, the same woman is shown beaten, helpless, and in tears,” said renowned playwright Haseena Moin, in an interview once, before she passed away six years ago in March.
When I read these words, I felt a deep sense of sadness and discomfort. It did not seem like just a statement, but a painful truth that we often ignore. It felt like someone had clearly expressed what we see every day but rarely question. There was also a feeling of loss, as if something valuable has slowly been left behind. It made me reflect on the kind of stories we watch on TV and accept, and whether we are becoming used to seeing pain instead of questioning it. More than anything, it reminded me that we need to rethink what we create and show about women today.
Moin has not only been celebrated for creating unforgettable characters in Pakistani television, and she also left behind a legacy that continues to be admired by audiences across generations. She played a leading role in shaping classic PTV dramas from the 1970s through the 1990s, apart from contributing to radio, stage, and film.
She began her career with Radio Pakistan in the late 1960s and made her television debut with an Eid play, Eid Ka Jora, in 1969, which opened the door to her journey as a writer. Recognition came with early successes such as Shehzori and Kiran Kahani, followed by block-buster serials such as Ankahi, Tanhaiyan, and Dhoop Kinare.
Eras are shaped by many factors, and sometimes their decline is marked by the loss of a single influential figure. For many people in Pakistan, especially those who grew up in the 1970s, 80s, and 90s, the passing of Haseena Moin felt like the end of an important chapter in television history. Known fondly as Haseena Apa, she created characters that connected deeply with urban middle-class women, particularly from Urdu-speaking families, because they reflected real life, dreams, and everyday struggles. Her female characters were rebellious, strong and independent, yet they remained balanced. They valued family, relationships, and personal growth without rejecting cultural norms.
They faced problems, felt pain, and made mistakes, but they stayed hopeful, learned from their experiences, and moved forward gracefully. Unlike many modern portrayals that show women in extreme ways, her characters were balanced both strength and softness.
Being an educated and independent woman herself, she wrote honest and relatable stories giving young women positive role models to look up to. Her dramas avoided unnecessary negativity and focused on humour, warmth, and human emotions, which helped them, connect with audiences even in difficult times. Today, many feel that the kind of dignity, simplicity, and balance she brought to both her writing and her life is no longer seen in our media or even in society, making her contribution even more valuable and deeply missed.
Her work stood out for its focus on strong, thoughtful female characters at a time when such portrayals were rare. She wrote about women who were confident, educated, and knew their worth, drawing her characters from everyday life to create that the viewers could easily relate to, whether it was a strict, disciplinarian elder like Ghazi played by Azra Sherwani in Uncle Urfi, a humorous friend like Jamshed Ansari in Ankahi, or her confident male leads. Her influence also extended to films, including projects like Henna (1991), what made her writing timeless was its simplicity and emotional truth—her stories reflected real human behaviour rather than an exaggerated mish-mash.
Women in her characters spoke openly and made their own decisions. They laughed, argued, and lived like real people. She showed that a woman can be strong without being disrespectful and independent without leaving behind her values. At a time when society expected women to stay quiet, she gave them a voice.
She often said in her interviews that the atmosphere of her home was reflected in her dramas—a home where respect and kindness were important. Her father believed strongly that girls should never be physically hit. Boys could be scolded or punished, but raising a hand on girls was unacceptable. This value of protection and respect shaped her worldview and became the foundation of her storytelling.
Moreover, her stories were rooted in honesty and humanity. She believed that honesty, in her time, existed at its peak. People were more genuine in their relationships, and that authenticity made her characters resonate with viewers.
However, today, the picture is disturbingly different. Women on television are increasingly shown being beaten, humiliated, or thrown out of their homes. They are crying, suffering, and living in constant pain. And the audience watches it as entertainment. What was once perhaps five percent negativity has now increased to ninety-five per cent! It is as if the dirt from a drain has been pulled out and spread everywhere, without anyone taking responsibility to clean it.
People, however, want to see good stories. They want to be inspired, uplifted, and reminded of hope. They want stories that celebrate strength, kindness, and happiness, not endless cycles of misery.
Umme Salma, Urdu professor, at the University of Sindh, contrasted this trend with Moin’s work, pointing out that today’s writers have even reduced women to degrading labels, such as “do takay ki aurat” being used across dramas to create hype and popularity. “Do these writers truly understand what they are writing?” asks Umme Salma, explaining that a woman holds the highest level of respect in our society as a mother, daughter, and individual, yet television is slowly damaging that respect by normalising humiliation. “This careless portrayal is not just poor writing; it reflects a deeper disconnect between media and values. Where Haseena Moin uplifted women with dignity and grace, many writers today seem to be pulling them down for attention, forgetting that words on screen shape how society thinks and behaves.”
“When almost 70 or more channels are showing the same kind of story—where women are crying, suffering, and being oppressed—it slowly becomes normal in people’s minds,” Salma adds. “Viewers get used to seeing women in pain, and this repeated image starts to feel like reality. But the moment even one drama comes forward with a bold, confident, and courageous woman, society reacts differently. Instead of appreciating the change, people begin to criticise. Women showed in progressive light are considered too bold, disobedient and hence unfit for a married life, and against our culture and values.”
This reaction clearly shows the problem is not with strong female characters, but with the perception that has been built in audiences. “Since negativity repeatedly shown has becomes acceptable, showing a strong woman feels unusual or even wrong.” Umme Salma emphasised that this mindset is dangerous because it discourages writers from creating positive and empowering characters. It also sends a message that women should remain within their, suppressed, confined and limited roles.
“The truth is, people do want to watch positive characters,” she says. “They want stories that give hope, strength, and a sense of happiness not just pain and suffering, because they are already facing enough of that in their real lives.”
This is when we miss Haseena Moin.
Her modern-yet-rooted-in-tradition, strong, independent, and respectable women did not need rescuing, they defined their own paths.
Today, writers are moving in the opposite direction. Most dramas focus on conflict, negativity, and sensationalism. Writers seem to think that pain sells better than inspiration. They repeat old tropes: women suffering endlessly, men dominating, families in constant turmoil. Subtlety and depth are replaced with loud arguments and emotional exaggeration, where originality is rare.
Her characters Zara, Zoya and Sana became household names, representing confidence, simplicity, and emotional strength. Her storytelling was so influential that an entire generation of Zaras, Zoyas and Sanas followed Ankahi and Tanhaiyan, across the borders too as her plays were not only popular in Pakistan but also widely appreciated and loved by audiences in India.
“Earlier, writers focused on meaningful content, which made their work feel more real,” says Ahmed Raza, a digital media manager in Islamabad. “These days screen writing is driven by ratings and repetition of the same themes for the same reason.”
According to him, women are now shown as dependent, limited, and weak. “Repeated negative portrayals can influence the society’s mindset,” he says. “In many cases, men may also be affected by these portrayals, leading to a reduced sense of responsibility and less respect towards women in real life.” Raza believes writers today are following trends instead of observing reality, and as a result, they are not showing balanced characters such as working women who can manage both their careers and households. He stressed that dramas should reflect real life, where women play multiple roles with strength and dignity.
“A unique attribute about Moin’s writing was her use of light humour and simple conversations to highlight serious issues,” says Naha Shamshad, an avid fans of TV plays. “Her plays were easy to connect with, without being too heavy or dramatic. In contrast, today’s dramas often focus on long conflicts that are monotonous and repeated.”
Shamshad also pointed out that Moin trusted her audience to understand the storyline, while many present-day serials over-explain everything, making them less engaging and less meaningful.
Moin’s absence is felt so much today because no one today dares to write like her. We miss her not only because her dramas were enjoyable, but because they taught lessons without sounding preachy. They taught us that media has the power to build society, not just reflect it.
How long are we going to see television glorify misery rather instead of celebrating resilience? Relying on shock value and harsh language to attract attention, our TV writers have become trapped in a cycle of cheap emotional manipulation, chasing ratings instead of impact, repeating the same formulas—loud conflicts, broken relationships, damsels in distress, humiliated, insulted, or suffering.
Perhaps today’s writers do not even come close to her observation, her talent, her education, and her sense of humility and pragmatism. Moin’s legacy challenges the present-day writers to make meaningful stories again -- to inspire instead of depress, empower instead of oppress? Can these writers give women characters dignity, positivity, and hope that they once had?
Her work remains a lesson for us all. Media does not merely entertain; it shapes minds, mirrors society, and carries the power to instill values. Until today’s television dramas reclaim that vision, we will continue to keenly feel the absence of Haseena Moin—a woman who spent four decades crafting women who were bold, joyful, and strong, yet whose lessons modern screenwriters have either forgotten or never truly learned.
Rabia Khan is a teacher and freelance contributor and can be reached at rabiayousufsai26@gmail.com
All facts and information are the sole responsibility of the writer