In a television landscape often cluttered with saas-bahu tropes and overblown melodrama, ARY Digital’s Parwarish delivers something far more real — and far more unsettling. It tells the story of a household that looks ordinary on the outside but is emotionally unraveling on the inside, one expectation at a time.
Directed by Meesam Naqvi and written with piercing clarity by Kiran Siddiqui, Parwarish examines the difficult line between love and control, care and suffocation, tradition and change — all within the space we call home.
A Drama That Doesn’t Shout to Be Heard
What makes Parwarish different is how quietly it moves. It doesn’t rely on heavy-handed drama or exaggerated scenes. Instead, it lets the tension simmer — in side glances, in the words left unsaid, in the weight of everyday moments.
Where many shows today lean into big issues like poverty, inequality, or outdated traditions, Parwarish goes for something deeper. It shows how those issues creep into a family’s daily life — how they shape decisions, silence voices, and create distance between people who love each other but can’t always connect.
You see parents who believe they’ve done everything right, who’ve given up pieces of themselves for their kids. And then you see those same kids — frustrated, misunderstood, quietly breaking under expectations they never asked for. It’s uncomfortable. It’s real. And that’s why it stays with you.
“Main ne tumhare liye har cheez chhodi. Tumse sirf itna kaha ke meri baat maan lo.”
Somehow it does sound like a plea for gratitude is, in fact, a confession of emotional control. The line is delivered with heartbreaking sincerity — yet beneath it lies an insistence that love must be repaid with obedience, which unknowingly leads to emotional burnout for children.
Complex Characters and Powerful Performances
The performances in Parwarish ground the emotional weight of the script. The expressions often say what words cannot — the ache of thoughts going dismissed before they’re heard.
Up-and-coming actors Samar Jafri, who plays Wali, and Aina Asif, who plays Maya, star as the romantic leads of the show, with Abul Hassan as Sameer and Reham Rafiq as Amal portraying Wali’s cousins.
The Language of Emotional Survival
Parwarish offers some of the most quietly devastating dialogue seen on Pakistani television in recent years.
“Aap samajhte hain main badtameez ho gaya hoon. Shayad is liye ke ab main chup nahi rehta.”
This line lands like a punch. It’s not shouted in defiance — it’s spoken in resignation. It reflects the heartbreak of a child who has realized that honesty is mistaken for rebellion in a house that fears emotional truth, another moment that stands out is when Wali says:
“Tumhein lagta hai main azaad hoon, lekin main sirf tumhare dar se door gaya hoon.”
Rather than glorifying rebellion, the show explores what drives it — not anger, but exhaustion. A desperate need to breathe, to be heard, to stop walking on eggshells in the name of respect
Direction with Restraint, Writing with Insight
What sets Parwarish apart is how intelligently it’s constructed. Meesam Naqvi’s direction gives space to the story — no overdone emotions, no flashy edits. The scenes breathe. The script trusts the audience to understand emotional subtext, to sit with uncomfortable truths rather than rush past them.
A Mirror, Not a Fantasy
Unlike many Pakistani dramas that offer either escapist fantasy or extreme tragedy, Parwarish sits in the real world — in the space between what parents mean and what children feel. It portrays homes where love exists, but so do emotional wounds. It doesn’t aim to villainize either generation, but it does hold them accountable, to take accountability and responsibility.
The drama is bold enough to show that even love in any form, be it platonic/romantic, when rooted in fear or control, can leave deep scars. And that healing — for both parents and children — begins with understanding, not authority.
Final Thoughts
Parwarish isn’t a drama you binge for entertainment. It’s a drama that lingers with you — in the quiet after an episode ends, or the pause during a family conversation. It reflects the unsaid, the misunderstood, and the emotional debts we often inherit without question.
At its core, Parwarish asks: What does it mean to raise a child? And at what cost?