Welcome to yet another drama that pairs acchi behen (obedient, pious, and moral) with buri behen (jean-wearing, boy-talking, and predictably doomed). And while the stakes of ARY’s Bharam so far are hilariously trivial, the subtext isn’t: morality is binary, and stepping off the “righteous” path can only lead to ruin.
Sister Rivalry, But Make It Misogynistic
The sister rivalry trope is a staple of Pakistani dramas, but in Bharam, it feels particularly contrived. This isn’t a story about complex familial dynamics or emotional nuance; it’s a morality play dressed up as entertainment. The acchi behen, Sajal, is the custodian of family honor, ready to be martyred on the altar of obedience, while the buri behen is her foil—rebellious, individualistic, and therefore, ripe for punishment.
And punishment, dear viewers, is coming. The not-so-subtle foreshadowing is all there: the buri behen, daring to stray from the pre-approved trajectory, is practically guaranteed to be betrayed by her first boyfriend. A fleeting shot of her texting him or a longing glance is enough to cue ominous background music, signaling her inevitable downfall. And while the story clearly wants us to care about this betrayal, it’s hard to summon sympathy for a character written as a morality lesson rather than a person.
Patriarchy by Design: Why the Obedient Sister Always Wins
The sisters in Bharam aren’t individuals; they’re archetypes crafted to uphold societal norms. Hina Tariq’s doe-eyed Sajal is a walking advertisement for obedience, submission, and modesty, virtues that ensure her protection under the patriarchal umbrella. In contrast, the buri behen becomes the embodiment of cultural anxiety—a figure who dares to challenge norms, only to be cast as a cautionary tale.
Pakistani dramas have perfected this formula: the rebellious woman is painted as selfish and morally bankrupt, her “downfall” presented as inevitable. Betrayal by a lover? A ruined reputation? These are not just plot points; they’re morality checkpoints designed to keep viewers in line. Deviate from the path, and punishment awaits.
Do We Care?
Here’s the thing: when you strip away a character’s complexity, you strip away the audience’s ability to care. The buri behen’s choices don’t feel like genuine rebellion; they feel scripted, predetermined, and hollow. Her inevitable selfishness isn’t tragic; it’s boring. We know she’ll cry dramatically, and we know the family will shake their heads in disappointment. What’s left to care about?
As the drama progresses, we can only hope to be proven wrong. Big Bang Productions and a fresh-faced new cast have the potential to create quality stories – please do.
