t would be wrong to judge Baby Baji, the hugely popular soap which concluded recently, by its poster or opening credits. Indeed, it’s no sitcom, nor is it cast in the same mould as those ‘trying-too-hard-to-be-funny’ Ramazan-specials which have become quite a routine since 2018’s Suno Chanda.

At best, Baby Baji is a domestic drama that chronicles the everyday issues faced by members of a large, urban middle-class family living under one roof and how their bonding remains intact even as they drift apart.

It’s quite a tearjerker, which is why its poster featuring a bunch of happy people, is misleading. Also, there’s absolutely no correlation between its upbeat OST, which has rap by Eva B, and the show itself. Even the music video, with its use of neon lights and retro makeup of the artists all of whom appear to be posing fashionably for shutterbugs, is tonally a diversion.

Consider, for instance, Samina Ahmed’s resplendent, queenly appearance in the video, complete with a crown that sits perfectly on her head, which has nothing to do with the very simple and conservative housewife/mother/mother-in-law Rasheeda Bibi aka Baby Baji she plays in the serial. Let alone being the house-proud matriarch that the titles falsely project her as, Baby Baji does not even have an existence outside of the pre-set roles the society has chosen for her.

Things get tougher for her after the passing of her very supportive husband, Siddiqui, an aged and frail but immensely graceful Munawwar Saeed in a comeback screen appearance.

Age is clearly just a number for the makers of the show. Or, how do you explain the casting of septuagenarian (or octogenarian?) Saeed and Ahmed as parents to a 20-something Waleed (Syed Fazle Hussain of Ramchand Pakistani fame)? A biological marvel, no?

Where the cross-generational story affords Baby Baji enough room to explore and highlight family values, it commits the cardinal sin of stocking up on social ‘types.’ As a result, it begins to look like a morality play. The three sisters-in-law, who propel most of the action, could well be classed as good, bad and ugly. The eldest of them, Azra, played by the ever so effervescent Javeria Saud, is a trash mouth, greedy to the core. The middle one, Asma, is self-sacrificing and too-good-to-be-true. She has no clue that her toxic and abusive husband, Naseer (Hassan Ahmed), is cheating on her. It’s a strictly one-dimensional (read flat) character with no trajectory of its own.

Hand it to Sunita Marshall who lends Asma some gravitas and, thus, is able to save her from turning into mere cardboard. A lesser actor in her place would have faltered, but Marshall is a nuanced performer.

Where the cross-generational story affords Baby Baji enough room to explore and highlight family values, it commits the cardinal sin of stocking up on social ‘types’. As a result, it begins to look like a morality play.

From among the newer lot of actors, Junaid Jamshed Niazi as the younger son/brother-in-law Wasif is a complete natural. Wasif is among the few characters in Baby Baji that are given a proper emotional arc. His journey, from being the good-hearted and sensitive (he cries easily) young man, with an enviable academic record, who sacrifices his ambition for family business and agrees to an arranged marriage with Farhat (essayed by Tuba Anwar with great conviction) for the love of his parents, before finally succumbing to the lure of “a multinational,” is fairly well-defined.

Wasif’s decision to move away from the family business disintegrates Siddiqui House which is already coming apart at the seams chiefly because of the growing hostility between two of its inmates, Azra and Farhat. It is obvious that the anguished Baby Baji can do precious little to save her home.

Near the end, the show descends into drippy sentimentality. There’s a lot happening that will arouse pity for its central character: After the sale of Siddiqui House against her wishes, a lonesome and displaced Baby Baji finds herself at the mercy of her sons who will, reluctantly, take turns in offering her ‘stay’ at their respective places. It reaches a point where Baby Baji is forced to seek shelter at an old people’s home.

The play does not dwell on the saas-bahu conflict formula, as the mother-in-law here is too docile, but scriptwriter Mansoor Ahmed more than makes up for any lack of masala by invariably pitting the bahus, chiefly Azra and Farhat, against each other in episode after episode. Additionally, there is spice in the form of the gabby neighbor Gulshan Ara whose mannerisms and banters with “best friend” Azra are as hilarious as her praise is insincere.

Like in most Pakistan TV dramas these days, Baby Baji concludes in grand karmic justice: the good is rewarded, the ugly is punished, and the bad will live to expiate for their wrongs. The pattern is repeated in play after play, without fail. They call it “makafaat-i-amal.”

Baby Baji is also big on rituals. While elaborately filmed wedding sequences are common in our plays, here the makers go overboard even with a funeral, a milad and the grandchild’s Aameen, a novel addition.

In the final analysis, Baby Baji must be commended for having captured the fancy of the traditional ‘four quadrants’ of our TV viewing audience — over the course of its 60-plus episodes. With its fast-paced narrative, clever characterisation, a bunch of actors who perfectly fit their screen roles, and a strong social message (in Karan Johar’s world, it would be about “loving your parents”), Baby Baji checks all the ‘right’ boxes.

It won’t be an exaggeration to say that Baby Baji has raised the bar for the 7-pm slot on TV which has lately seen a lot of trash pass off as ‘soap opera’ on our private entertainment channels — and no, that’s not supposed to be a backhanded compliment.

The writer is a staff member. He can be reached at usmanghafoor@gmail.com