t is unfortunate that even in the year 2026 harassment can be mistaken for romance; men who refuse to take no for an answer glorified; obsession sold as passion and persistence as love. While a segment of the society now recognises problematic behaviour for what it is - regardless of gender – many have not moved nearly as far as would be a cause for celebration.

A majority still romanticises stalking and harassment as pyar. Men who refuse to take no for an answer are labelled dominant, passionate and hopelessly in love. However, if one is talking about lifelong companionship, love is rarely enough. What sustains a relationship is emotional maturity, understanding, acceptance and forgiveness that flow both ways. If one of the parties is expected to always yield space and “understand,” the relationship may endure on paper but can hardly be called successful simply because it has not ended.

No medium has worked harder to preserve this illusion in our society than television, which remains the most powerful and far-reaching voice to shape social narratives. Pakistani dramas, in particular, exercise immense influence.

While some of the narratives in TV plays are progressive, much of the content remains stuck in a loop: a toxic hero, a silent woman, a cousin marriage and eventual ‘redemption.’ Male persistence is rewarded; female agency is punished. Cousin marriages continue to be normalised because when women are denied exposure, independence and social interaction, the only permissible “option” is a cousin within the same household. Ironically, joint families are considered acceptable by many who otherwise wish to police interaction with na-mehrams.

Ask any woman and she will likely recoil at the idea of interacting with toxic men in real life. However, such men are often glorified on our television screens. Why are they elevated to this status on television? Why do people consume, celebrate, revere and fangirl over these characters? Certain actors have built entire fan followings by portraying characters that would be unsettling outside a script.

Whether they deliberately choose these scripts or are typecast as such, only they can say, but the mere fact that these characters are still being written - and enthusiastically consumed - is baffling.

What keeps this machine going?

Is it a lack of quality writers? Unlikely; Pakistan is home to some immensely talented storytellers with sharp insight and powerful creative expression. However, their work is rarely screened and possibly garners fewer views. The easy explanation is ratings. Are television channels pressuring writers to produce content that “sells,” reinforcing the notion that this is what audiences want? If television is the most accessible medium in the country, then the responsibility to shape healthier narratives should rest squarely with its gatekeepers. This is particularly important in a country with a literacy rate hovering around 60 per cent. Media has a crucial role to play in steering public consciousness - and television is uniquely positioned to do so.

Then there is the broader issue of mediocrity. It is difficult to raise societal standards of morality and ethics when we continue to struggle with basic literacy. As patriarchy is deeply embedded in social norms and many people struggle to consistently distinguish right from wrong, toxic characters can continue to command influence.

If such characters must exist, they should be framed as warnings - not fantasies; as lessons, not aspirations. Otherwise, change will continue to arrive in fragments: a Kafeel, an Aik Aur Pakeezah, an Udaari at a time.

The problem is hardly unique to Pakistan. Humanity, ethics and moral accountability have in general taken a plunge globally. The glorification of toxic heroes is widespread. Take, for instance, the Turkish play Arafta, currently enjoying massive popularity. It would not be unreasonable to say that the bar for men has sunk frighteningly low when a character is praised for ‘saving’ the heroine after she has already endured torture or physical abuse. Equating basic decency as heroism is deeply disturbing. Why should we be still waiting for knights in shining armours in 2026? Why should tolerance, sacrifice and suffering be still normalised as virtues? Why should we still reward these narratives with views so that they return season after season?

Some actors have built their entire careers essaying such roles. Perhaps even those celebrated today for choosing meaningful, layered characters began their journeys with similar scripts. Unfortunately these roles probably remain the entry ticket to visibility and validation in the industry.

Until we stop rewarding these narratives - with ratings, applause and blind fandom - we remain complicit. The stories we consume shape the lives we accept. We may insists that we have evolved as a society but the stories we continue to tell suggest otherwise.

The writer is based in Karachi. She can be reached at [email protected]