As the Kabhi Main Kabhi Tum drama OST hums in the background, my family gathers in the living room, fully focused — no distractions allowed.

This is our ritual, a shared investment in Pakistani dramas that has become a cherished tradition for us as an overseas Pakistani family. No matter how busy our days are, we make it a point to end our evenings together, my parents sipping on chai while my sister and I enjoy a sweet treat, all four of us tuned in to the latest episode of our favourite Pakistani TV dramas.

My love for Pakistani content goes way back; I grew up watching classics such as the Baraat series, Humsafar and Zindagi Gulzaar Hai. But when we moved to the US in 2017, my appreciation deepened. Living in Pakistan, I almost took it all for granted. Being away made me realise just how much I cherish this connection.

For me — and so many overseas Pakistanis — our content feels like home away from home. In a place where we’re a cultural minority, Pakistani dramas and music offer something familiar, something uniquely ours.

An overseas Pakistani explains how Pakistani content fosters her sense of belonging

And there’s a reason that connection is so strong — it’s a language thing, too. American content, as much as I enjoy it, just doesn’t resonate with me the same way. Your native tongue plays a huge role in shaping the emotional experience words create. Urduis a beautiful, expressive language, and the depth it carries is incomparable. There’s a raw, heartfelt quality in the language that just no other language can replicate.

Then there’s also our slang, our jokes, and those made-up phrases and references that are so deeply rooted in Pakistani culture that you can only truly understand them if you are a Pakistani by heart. This whole linguistic and cultural layer makes Pakistani content feel like an intimate conversation with my roots.

At 21, navigating my identity in a country where my culture isn’t woven into the everyday experience can be confusing. Who am I really? What represents me? Is it “uncool” to take pride in my culture?

This is where Pakistani content has grounded me, allowing me to truly embrace my Pakistani identity. It’s more than entertainment; it’s a bridge to my roots, a sense of belonging I can’t find elsewhere. Through our stories, I’ve found a community of fellow Pakistanis, people of all ages, who feel the same way. Our culture and art now feel inseparable from who I am.

Ramazan, especially, is when I miss Pakistan the most. I miss the lively streets of my hometown, Karachi — from maghrib to fajr, the streets filled with people, bustling food stalls, and the kindness of strangers handing out iftar boxes on the roads. It’s a warm chaos I haven’t found here.

Waking up for sehri in Pakistan was a community experience; you could feel the city alive in the early hours of the morning, every window alive with light and the smell of parathas wafting through. Ramazan here in the US is quieter, and sometimes isolating, but watching Pakistani Ramazan dramas transport me right back.

Dramas such as Suno Chanda, Ishq Jalebi, Hum Tum and the fan (and personal) favourite, Fairy Tale, bring the spirit of Ramazan to life, even though their plots may not necessarily centre around the month itself. But just the lightheartedness and familial themes offer a comforting familiarity. In the 30 days, as my family and I gather after iftar to watch, these shows and their characters become an extended family.

And how can we talk about Ramazan without mentioning Jeeto Pakistan, a household staple that delivers the perfect post-iftar boost with Fahad Mustafa’s infectious energy?

Then, of course, there are the dramas that air throughout the year. Getting invested in these stories, understanding the cultural references, and connecting with other fans online feels like a homecoming in itself. And it’s not just limited to dramas — Pakistani music does the same.

My playlist is filled mostly with Pakistani tracks, though it wasn’t always what I’d play around friends. For the longest time, I’d default to American hits — Travis Scott, Drake, Kanye — partly because I assumed that’s what they’d enjoy more and partly because it felt like the “cooler” choice. And while I do appreciate that music, it’s so constantly around me here that it doesn’t hold the same connection, the same essence as Pakistani music.

In recent years, though, I’ve let that hesitation go. Now, when friends get in my car, they’ll hear the likes of Hasan Raheem, Maanu, Asim Azhar, or Kaavish. I love seeing their surprised, curious reactions, and often their instant appreciation. Such is the charm of our music, it’s bound to strike a chord with anyone who listens to it.

Our recent fixation is Jhol by Maanu × Annural Khalid from Coke Studio Season 15 — no explanation needed there.

In these past seven years, I’ve grown to become more grateful for Pakistani content and our artists. I feel a passion for our culture that I didn’t always know I had, and it’s now a topic I love discussing with new people. Every time I talk about Pakistani content, I feel like I’m sharing a piece of myself. Being away from Pakistan has given me a new understanding of what it means to have something I can claim as my own.

For so many overseas Pakistanis, the love for our content runs deep. From trending on X (formerly Twitter) to Reddit conversations, there’s a whole global community engaged in our shows, and it’s amazing that our content can bring people together this way, creating a sense of comfort, belonging and pride.

My next flight to Pakistan is a while away but, until then, our dramas and music will keep home close by.

Published in Dawn, December 22nd, 2024