Syed Muhammad Ahmed had nearly lost faith in the craft he once devoted his life to. “What are we writing? What are we showing? What are we promoting?” he asked in an interview with Sheeba Khan. Watching a recent drama, he felt an overwhelming despair. “I thought, that’s it—our culture, our storytelling, everything is lost. We are no longer artists; we are just stacking bricks.”
But then, something changed.
It was Tann Maan Neel o Neel that reignited his passion. “After watching, I cried. The final episode was so intense. It gave me hope that real art is still possible.” He credits writers like Mustafa Afridi for keeping the essence of quality storytelling alive. “It restored my faith. I saw light at the end of the tunnel.”
A Legacy of Resistance and Resilience
Muhammad Ahmed is no stranger to resistance. With mentors like Sheema Kermani, his journey in the arts was shaped by perseverance, defiance, and an unwavering commitment to truth.
“They were very sweet people,” he recalls of his early mentors. “They included me in the dance group and theater, where I learned acting and movement exercises.” The belief was simple—without mastering body awareness and movement, an actor couldn’t own the stage. “For about two and a half years, they trained me. But at that time, there was no hint that I would ever get into writing. There was no formal training for that.”
A Banned Play and an Unexpected Breakthrough
His writing career began almost accidentally. When Ahmed wrote his first play, Aurat, Sheema was immediately impressed. “She read it, looked at me a few times, and said, ‘Ahmed, this is really good.’” But Khalid, another mentor, wasn’t convinced. “He put the script aside and said, ‘No, Ahmed, this is too black and white. Writing should have shades, layers—it shouldn’t be this predictable.’”
The rejection stung, but Sheema insisted the script be shared with Ghazanfar Ali, a respected director. Ahmed recalls that Ghazanfar Ali had a unique habit—he would read the first few pages, skip to the climax, and make a decision. “He directed the play, and Tazeen Hussain played the main character. Back then, television was very conservative. You couldn’t say anything bold the way people do now.”
The play, based on a true story about a woman, was raw and unfiltered. “I wrote it exactly as the girl had told me her story.” But when the script reached PTV, it was banned.
“Not only was the play banned, but I was banned too! They thought I would corrupt society with such narratives.”
Ghazanfar was livid and took the play to NTM, a newly launched private channel. “They aired it over the weekend, and soon it was being discussed in the Assembly.” Unlike today, he says, the Assembly was full of educated people who debated the importance of awareness. “They decided that such plays should be aired. The play ended up being repeated for six consecutive days!”
And just like that, overnight, Ahmed became a recognized writer. “From then on, there was no turning back.”
Art, Politics, and Censorship
His father, a traditional man, never supported his foray into theater. “He never spoke to me about it. But my mother always encouraged me.” His Urdu proficiency, he credits to her. “She made us read novels every holiday—sometimes forcefully!”
When his parents finally watched The Song of Mohenjo-Daro, a dance drama, his father remained silent. “But I could see the disappointment on his face—his son was dancing on stage instead of becoming an engineer or a doctor.”
One of his later plays, which commented on political parties, gained immense popularity. “It became so controversial that we were thrown out of the auditorium!” The demand was so high that people watched it from the balconies of nearby apartments, even selling tickets for those spots.
One of the most remarkable moments was when legendary Indian artist M.F. Husain attended a rehearsal. “He watched the play and offered to paint the backdrop himself.” It was an overwhelming honor. “Journalists, art lovers, and theater legends like Sheema and Khalid gathered to watch him work.” Within two and a half hours, he created a masterpiece. “But then came the question—where would the painting go? Government custody or with the team?” Tragically, it was destroyed. “A painting worth millions was lost.”
Ahmed has always fought against artistic censorship and mediocrity. But despite the challenges, he remains hopeful.
“As long as there are stories like Tann Mann Neel o Neel, as long as there are writers like Mustafa Afridi, we are not lost yet.”
His journey—from an actor learning movement with Sheema Kermani to a banned playwright, to a storyteller who found hope again—proves that real art survives. It bends but never breaks.
