Ali Xeeshan envisions designs complete with backdrops, props, the whole nine yards

Sitting in what Ali Xeeshan calls his “zen” garden, we are chatting about all things un-zen: the high-powered world of art and Pakistani fashion. Ali is a designer with a penchant for audacious statements.

A graduate of the Pakistan school of Fashion Design, Ali thought long and hard about how he would distinguish himself in the rigmarole of Pakistani fashion. “It is a cut-throat market that gives no second chances,” he says. His inspiration comes from his culture embedded in his DNA. “I come from a Punjabi family and we love our colours.”

‘I always wanted to be an actor. You know, I’m always so excited to see a poster of Aamir Khan!’

Ali attributes his success partly to the schools where he studied. PIFD is noted for its ability to consistently churn out designers who go on to make a mark in Pakistani fashion. But Ali also has praise for Mrs. Sehyr Saigol, the Chairperson of the Executive Committee of PFDC, who was astonishingly cool about his scattered debut collection. A green parrot perched on one of Ali’s mannequin’s caught her eye, and that became the deal clincher for Ali’s career. He says, “It was very encouraging for me at that fragile time. I was terrified of failure at every turn.”

So, what does it take to make it in the competitive industry of fashion? Imagination, to begin with, followed by tremendous stamina. Ali envisions designs complete with backdrops, props, the whole nine years. In other words, the designer must create drama in his collections. “I always wanted to be an actor. You know, I’m always so excited to see a poster of Aamir Khan!” laughs Ali. Under the umbrella of Ali Xeeshan’s Theatre Studio—where he is also quietly undertaking event management—he practices complete artistic freedom. “I love making areas and creating ambiences, with light, furniture, cut pieces, heights and shapes.”

A green parrot perched on one of Ali’s mannequin’s caught
Mrs. Saigol’s eye

The Ather Shahzad shoot at the Lahore Fort was a particularly memorable styling extravaganza for Pakistani fashionistas. The models, crew and extras amounted to a whopping 70. This kind of creative excess has become synonymous with Ali Xeeshan whose signature style is one that turns heads. So much so that Ali is particularly well known for his runway show at PFW in 2010 where Nadia Hussain walked onto the stage cuddling a furry white cat. His shows have included dramatic jewelry that covers the face, oversized turbans, nurses hats, and much more. His dream as a fashion designer is to do a solo show, consisting of characters for whom special clothes are designed. The show would have props, lights and music to match. “With Fashion weeks,” he says, “there are certain lines drawn already. I try to break them all, but, realistically, there are only a few that one can breach. You can’t just do anything you want.”

The most consistent request Ali gets from his clients is, “I want to look like a princess.” “Now,” he says, smiling, “I can guess it before they even say it!” But it’s clear that a client doesn’t always know what’s best for them. “One client wanted me to make her veil long enough so that five of her friends could carry it,” he says, “But it turned out being so heavily embellished that it wouldn’t even stay on her head!”

Every model wants to be a showstopper

The modelling pool has some ways to go. Ali reports on occasions where models have interfered with art direction and asked to be favoured. Every model wants to be a showstopper, he says, “One show where the model was going third-last made a fuss that she wanted to walk out with me onto the ramp; in the meantime, she missed her turn!” The unprofessionalism, he says, is the result of a lack of education in the industry. In the West, many models have a working knowledge of art history and fashion genres, or a sense of how to carry the ball gown or whatever it is they are modelling. But in Pakistan, raw talent and raw beauty dominate. In a developing industry, is that really a bad thing? Ali agrees that Pakistan is bursting with talent. A number of models, he says, are extremely professional: Mehreen Syed, his muse, is on top of the list; Zara Peerzada and Cybil, he says, are also great models to work with.

As I leave his “zen” garden, I think back to Ali’s quote about fashion shows: “There are certain lines drawn already. You can’t just do anything you want.” If anyone has defied the rules, it is Ali Xeeshan. And he has done it with blazing creativity.

Writer Muhammad Ahmed is that rare thing—a gentleman from another era

The world of screenwriting is unique: the writer labours away crafting beautiful dialogue for the actors, while he remains largely anonymous to audiences. Muhammad Ahmed has successfully merged the two professions. Mainly a screenwriter, he has also starred in several Pakistani drama serials including the much-lauded Coke Kahani and Durr-e-Shahwar. Simultaneously, he has penned the dialogue of blockbusters such as “Tere Bin Laden.” With a command of Urdu that would make old Allama proud, Ahmed is a jewel in the crown of Pakistani television. Through out, he has wielded humour in the service of a humane social agenda.

Of all the roles he has played, he says the character of Durr-e-Shahwar’s father is one of his favourites. He played the part of a caring advisor who gave his daughter (played by Samina Peerzada) little wisdoms that helped her confront her demons. He laughs, “At this point in drama serials, you basically get to only play the father.” The leading roles are reserved for the innocent or evil-as-the-devil female protagonist. But some roles allow for creativity. In Coke Kahani, for example, Ahmed was allowed to play around with a wig. “I’ve always hated wigs, if you’re bald, then you’re bald!”

‘We are told to keep the ending particularly tragic, to begin dousing the female lead in sorrow within the first 3-4 minutes!’

“I’ve taken a break from writing for dramas, because,” he says with his signature wit, “the only thing the industry is interested in is making women cry.” Seasonal trends, he says, dictate TV content. “In one spell, for example, you will only find dramas about extramarital affairs on all four major channels. The heads get together and see what subject the show with the highest ratings is featuring; then they feel a burning need to cash in on the same story!” Ahmed is making me laugh very hard at this point. He continues. “We are told to keep the ending particularly tragic, to begin dousing the female lead in sorrow within the first 3-4 minutes!”

Ahmed has mostly written light-hearted plays. A little-known fact: he wrote “Azar Ki Ayegi Baraat” (2009), the first in the comedy line-up that would eventually include the phenomenally popular “Dolly Ki Ayegi Baraat” and “Takkay ki Ayegi Baraat.” “Azar” starred some of the biggest names in Pakistani television, including Javed Sheikh, Saba Hameed, and the irrepressible Bushra Ansari.

Ever the modest poet, however, Ahmed says, “To clarify, I don’t write comedy—­that is Anwar Maqsood’s job and there has been no one to match his skill yet in Pakistan.”

But “Tere Bin Laden” was noted, especially, for its humorous script. Nikhat Kazmi of The Times of India gave it a 4 out of 5 rating, adding, “compared with recent laugh riots at box offices, Tere Bin Laden has both: a smart script and some smart acting.” Pankaj Sabnani of Bollywood Trade News Network said, “Tere Bin Laden is ‘laden’ with many humorous moments. It is by far the funniest film in recent times. A must watch.” Asked about his style, Ahmed says, “I’m not that good with punchlines, I don’t think my writing makes people laugh out loud, but it does make them smile.” Ahmed was selected after extensive testing and hired to train some of the non-Punjabi speaking cast members who found the Punjabi humour in the dialogue very fun. Citing an example, he says, “Woh bacchi bari tight hai,” something that no one in Pakistan would laugh at, since we have heard it so many times, but spoken by a Sikh in India it had everyone in stitches.

‘The beautiful things that Haseena Moeen has written will be lost to the world’

Ahmed has approached serious subjects too. When he wrote a play about incest, “Khamoshi,” it was banned from being aired a second time. “My reasons for writing about this particular subject was, first, that it was based on a true story and secondly, I wanted to prove that it is possible to write a story about something so vile without sounding vulgar and without the production seeming tacky.” The result was a beautifully directed, sensitive play.

With a career spanning three decades, Ahmed has, with immense grace, divided his talents into acting and writing. An old-fashioned gentleman at heart, he misses the days of yore, when script-writing was mesmerizing, designed to please the heart, not producers hungry for ratings. “No one will ever give television the same high status as literature. The beautiful things that Haseena Moeen has written, Tanhaiyan, Dhoop Kinaray, these all will be lost to the world as great writing.”