Faisal Qureshi says honesty, not algorithms, is the key to lasting creative success

The name Faisal Qureshi is synonymous with a distinct brand of lightning-fast, deeply contextual humour. From disrupting state television conventions with Kollege Jeans and the iconic 3x3 sketches to creating some of Pakistan's most memorable commercials, the writer, director and satirist has spent decades shaping the country's comedy landscape.

Yet behind the razor-sharp wit lies a creative process far removed from the loud, slapstick humour that dominates many modern screens. In a recent interview, Qureshi revealed that his comedy is rooted not in performance, but in careful observation.

Contrary to his public persona, he describes himself as a serious observer rather than a natural class clown. "I take humour out of seriousness," he said.

Asked whether he has ever turned personal heartbreak into comedy, Qureshi laughed off the idea, insisting that his own life lacks the kind of dramatic twists people might expect.

Instead, his inspiration comes almost entirely from observing everyday human behaviour. "I find people's attitudes in everyday life very funny. Everyone notices, but I notice it and utilise it. It sits in my mind," he said.

Whether it is a subtle gesture from a vegetable vendor or an unusual social interaction, Qureshi quietly stores these observations until they evolve into characters on the page. "People do things which are very weird, or stupid, or funny. Everyone does it to some extent. I observe and note and make a character out of it."

Beyond comedy, Qureshi also reflected on the structural challenges facing Pakistan's film industry, arguing that the conversation extends far beyond a shortage of creative ideas. "In our country, I think that film is a big-scale thing," he says. "In the whole world, people who go to the cinema, they go to see something larger than life."

With endless free content available on smartphones, he believes cinemas must offer audiences an experience they cannot replicate at home. However, achieving that standard remains difficult when filmmakers face limited budgets and a shortage of institutional support. "There are no schools. If you talk about neighbouring countries, there are a lot of film schools, a lot of industry, and people are studying."

The industry's limited exhibition infrastructure, he argued, presents an equally serious obstacle. "There are no cinemas. That's also a money issue. We have maybe 80 to 100 screens in total. If five films are released on Eid, each gets 20 screens. You cannot earn a sustainable return on 20 screens."

According to Qureshi, this lack of opportunity eventually wears down even the industry's most passionate creatives. "Passionate people come. They also get tired after a while. Until an industry is created where people can see a concrete future, random people will just enter and leave."

Despite the industry's struggles, Qureshi maintains an unusually healthy relationship with failure. At a time when creators are often judged by instant metrics and viral success, he considers unsuccessful projects an essential part of the creative journey.

"Every star, take Picasso for example, his hit paintings are few," he says. "Out of thousands of paintings, only 50 are global hits. The rest are gone. So that flop is basically a ladder to your good work. Behind every masterpiece, there are thousands of failures."

That philosophy extends beyond entertainment. Among his entrepreneurial ventures is Khoya Barfi Light, a premium, sugar-free traditional dessert developed with a close friend for people with diabetes.

He also experimented with a fine-dining restaurant concept for children in Karachi in 2013, an ambitious project that eventually shut down after prolonged citywide strikes made the business unsustainable.

"I don't regret doing things that lose money," he reflected. "I put it down as the cost of learning. My criteria is simple: keep making mistakes, learn new things, and then make mistakes in some other direction."

When the conversation turned to Pakistan's new generation of TikTokers, YouTubers and digital creators chasing instant fame, Qureshi offered a perspective that was both humorous and revealing. "The young people tell me that I'm not doing it right, that I should make specific reels because there is money in it," he said with a smile.

"But when I watch those videos, I don't understand them. I feel that my heart doesn't want me to do this work that way. Until your heart wants to do something, I don't think audiences will want to see you either. Because this work is fundamentally done by the heart."

Looking ahead, Qureshi remains optimistic about the future of alternative media, believing audiences today are more open than ever to unconventional storytelling. Yet if he could change one thing about Pakistan's creative industries, it would not be bigger budgets or better technology.

Instead, he would restore something far more fundamental. "The honesty I want to put in people—if people are honest with themselves, their money, and their work, everything else falls perfectly into place."

For a man whose career has been built on finding humour in everyday absurdities, it is perhaps fitting that the lesson he values most has nothing to do with comedy at all, but with authenticity.