The title of Pakistani-British filmmaker Asim Abbasi’s ten-part feminist series, Churails, has some delicious layers to unpack. On the face of it, this is a reference to the Urdu word for ‘witches’ – a self-appointed title that our band of women who’ve come together to run a private detective agency give themselves in a bid to stand out and attract clients. Once you scratch the surface, there’s more here than what first meets the eye.
Churails isn’t just the Urdu equivalent for witches. In Hindustani, the lingua franca of much of the Northern region of India and major parts of Pakistan, the word has evolved to be a loaded epithet that’s synonymous with women who do not submit to the status quo and follow the conventional norms of society. A woman who smokes? A churail. She drinks? Churail again. Demands sexual freedom and bodily agency? The biggest churail of them all!
On seeing this delightful wordplay – the show’s title is a not-so-subtle, yet clever reclamation of a word that in its respective cultural context has thus far only been used pejoratively – you realise that Abbasi is executing a rope-a-dope: he lures you in with a false sense of comfort where you expect a pulpy, detective thriller, to eventually deliver an unexpected knockout punch that’s laced with biting social commentary. By the time you realise what’s hit you, it’s too late.
Yasra Rizvi plays Jugnu Chaudhary in the series. Credit: Glasshouse
Churails traces the lives of four women – each with different social and cultural backgrounds, experiences and scars to hide – that unite to form a detective agency that aims to make cheating husbands pay for their infidelity. The catalyst for the beginning of this women-led startup is when Sara Khan (a terrific Sarwat Gilani whom you can also watch in ) accidentally discovers that her perfect marital life has been a lie, and that her politician husband Jameel (a smarmy Omair Rana who keeps you guessing about his true intentions) has been cheating on her. Realising she’s not alone in this predicament, Sara decides to channel her newfound rage into teaching unfaithful men a much-needed lesson. In this crusade, she’s joined by her best friend Jugnu Chaudhry (Yasra Rizvi), an alcoholic former event manager nursing wounds of her own. The paths of our two privileged women intersect with former convict Batool (a standout performance by Nimra Bucha) and young runaway Zubaida (Mehar Bano), and together, these four women gradually build an army of churails that are loyal to the cause.
Sarwat Gilani in 'Churails'.
Initially, this appears to be a fresh twist on the tried-and-tested police procedural format, with a whole episode focusing on the ‘case of the week’ – except here, the ‘cases’ are the unfaithful husbands who need to be taught a lesson. So far, so good. But, if there’s anything one can say for sure about Asim Abbasi’s radical vision, it’s that he’s not someone who is creatively satisfied with doing a template refresh. Instead, Abbasi throws the entire template out of the window and takes some incredibly wild and ambitious swings with this show, keeping you on your toes as a viewer.
What Abbasi has managed to create with Churails is a truly intersectional feminist series casting a wide net to highlight how patriarchy and institutions set up to benefit men continue to have an adverse impact on women of all ages as well as social and economic backgrounds. Moreover, this systemic oppression also extends to other minorities such as queer and trans folk. One of the more heartbreaking stories in this show revolved around a gay professor in a straight marriage going to extreme lengths to keep the true nature of his sexuality hidden from his wife and the rest of the world. Homosexuality is criminalised in Pakistan and there’s no clarity regarding laws that govern same-sex relations, to the extent that in certain cases even the
More than anyone else, Abbasi himself has been the churail that has rebelled against the conservative ethos of Pakistan’s screen industry, pushing it in new and exciting directions. He burst onto the scene with his debut feature Cake (2018), which went on to be chosen as Pakistan’s official entry for the Best Foreign Language Film at the 91st Academy Awards. With the film being a critical and commercial success, praised for its technical prowess and performances, Abbasi was soon billed as the poster boy for Pakistan’s New Wave cinema.
Churails is sharp, funny and unpredictable: (L-R) Shabana Hassan, Sarwat Gilani, Meher Jaffri, Zara Usman and Mehar Bano. Credit: Glasshouse
But Abbasi has never seemed interested in traversing conventional paths. No one could’ve predicted that Abbasi would follow up Cake with such a delectably twisted show such as Churails (2020). With its ‘take no prisoners’ approach – the show lays bare pervasive attitudes that are embedded with misogyny, sexism, domestic violence, forced child marriage, racism, colourism, homophobia, transphobia, feudalism, colonial apologism, and if all that wasn’t enough, a sprinkle of eugenics on top Abbasi takes aim at all the uncomfortable truths that the subcontinent wishes to brush under carpet in this series.
Abbasi has never seemed interested in traversing conventional paths
Nothing like this had ever been aired in Pakistan, especially considering the space given to fully fleshed out queer and trans characters in the show. Churails caused such a furor that it was momentarily banned in Pakistan, It’s important to remember that Churails first landed on our screens back in 2020. This is two years prior to Saim Sadiq’s much celebrated and Cannes award-winning (available to watch at SBS on Demand), a film that explores repressed queer desire and lived experiences of trans folk within the confines of a family drama. Like Churails, Sadiq’s film was also banned momentarily before being granted a limited theatrical release in Pakistan, albeit post censorship. Recently, Abbasi’s latest six-part limited series called Barzakh (2024), was pulled last month from YouTube Pakistan after Still, Abbasi continues to stay true to the stories he wants to tell, the way he wants to. He remains a unique voice in Pakistan’s creative fraternity, paving the way for other daring voices to come forward and push the boundaries of creative freedom and expression.
Abbasi takes this rebellious streak and knits it into the fabric of Churails. One of the most rewarding aspects of the show is how it plays with your expectations as the viewer, marching to its own drumbeat, surprising you by going into new directions when you least expect. For example, take the music choices, which are cleverly utilised in the background to either undercut or elevate the narrative. My favourite illustration of this was the unexpected choice of using a Jaun Elia ‘ghazal’ – a poetic form traditionally used to convey deep yearning and romanticism – that’s reimagined as an acoustic jazz piece (a brilliant rendition by Schumaila Rehmat Hussain) and utilised to convey hope as opposed to sadness or grief. The cinematography by Mo Azmi, Abbasi’s frequent collaborator, presents the show as a moral fable with a sprinkle of magical realism, elevating it from the trappings of the genre conventions of a detective thriller.
Churails is compulsive viewing because it surprises at every turn – just when you think you’ve got the show figured out, it pulls out the carpet from under your feet. It’s not afraid to take big, ambitious swings and subverts expectations to create a wholly original universe that’s unlike anything that’s emerged from Pakistan so far. Sit back and prepare to be ‘bewitched’ by these churails.
Churails is streaming now at SBS On Demand.
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Churails
